Wrangling the Cowboy's Heart Page 12

  Amy Bernstein was looking at them, her brow furrowed.

  Finn remembered what Jodie had told him about her relationship with Amy and her daughter.

  But there was nothing he could do now. He glanced over at Jodie, who to his surprise lifted her head and gave Amy a cool smile. The woman’s frown deepened and she looked away.

  Finn noticed the flush on Jodie’s cheeks, and he prayed that Amy’s seeming disapproval didn’t take away from the service for her.

  Then he looked over at Jodie and felt it again. That peculiar connection holding her to him. He knew on one level he had to be careful, but he couldn’t deny how he felt about her.

  Then the singing group started a new song, encouraging everyone to stand and join them.

  As they did, Jodie leaned over to whisper in Finn’s ear. “Can’t believe my aunt is okay with drums and guitars in church.”

  Finn caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Your aunt is cooler than you realize.”

  “Clearly,” Jodie said, adding a grin. Then she joined in the singing, her voice tentative at first, but then as she caught the tune, clear and melodious.

  Finn watched her, hope whispering in his heart.

  They sat down and the pastor invited them to open their Bibles to Psalm 32.

  “‘Therefore let all the faithful pray to You while You may be found, surely the rising of the mighty waters will not reach them. You are my hiding place, You will protect me from trouble...’” These words were familiar to Finn. He’d clung to them when he was alone, waiting yet again for his mother to come home. Words he’d wrapped himself in after Denise’s death. He prayed regularly that God would be his hiding place and protection.

  Because the reality was his mother was never around. Always gone. And Keith had become his protection.

  Finn wondered if Jodie would ever understand what his life had been like. In spite of the difficulties she’d had, there had always been someone around for her. Either her grandmother or her father.

  It wasn’t until Keith had come into his life that Finn had felt the same sense of being taken care of that he had before his father died.

  As he glanced at Jodie, he prayed that she, too, would come to know that the Lord’s unfailing love would surround her, as well. That she could think of positive things about her father.

  Then he felt her slip her hand into his and he squeezed lightly.

  She was here, with him, in church.

  It was a start. He just had to pray that she wouldn’t hurt him.

  Because the reality was he was growing more and more attached to her. The idea both excited and frightened him at the same time.

  She had let him down once before, had let her father down.

  Would she do it again?

  Chapter Twelve

  All the way from church to Finn’s place, Jodie couldn’t get the pastor’s message out of her mind.

  The peace and protection that God offered. The opportunity to start over. The pastor spoke of God’s love as being unconditional. This was a surprise to her.

  Her father had preached about a God who required much and was satisfied only when people were obedient.

  Jodie had a hard time melding the two visions of God in her mind, and yet as the pastor spoke she’d felt a softening of her soul. She felt the possibility of a relationship with the God that Pastor Dykstra seemed to know.

  She followed Finn’s truck as he turned down a tree-lined drive that curved, then opened up into a large open space.

  Jodie parked her car and got out, feeling a sense of homecoming as she looked around.

  The place Finn called home seemed to welcome her in a way her father’s ranch never had. A small log house was tucked against a grouping of trees, and peonies filled the flower beds flanking the porch, sending their spicy fragrance over the yard. The sidewalk leading up to the house was made of rich red paving stones framed with green moss.

  This place felt like home.

  Finn walked over to her, smiling with pleasure, seemingly happy she was here.

  “So. What do you think?” he asked, pride in his voice.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said as he joined her. “I can’t believe you haven’t already bought it.”

  “I will. Once I have enough money.”

  “How much is enough?” Jodie asked.

  “Well, to quote J. D. Rockefeller, ‘just a little bit more,’” Finn said. “I don’t want to end up being mortgage poor. Living hand-to-mouth.”

  “Did you have this place when you were engaged to Denise?”

  “I did, but we had a plan. We were both going to save up until I could put enough money down so that our debt load wouldn’t be too high.”

  “I wouldn’t wait too long.” Jodie looked around the yard again, letting the peace and hominess fill her. “Someone else might come and snatch this place up while you’re lining up your waterfowl.”

  “Maybe,” Finn said. “I want to make sure that I don’t extend myself too far. Don’t want to take unnecessary chances. I’ve lived enough with that kind of mess. I have to be responsible.”

  “Always good things to be, but sometimes you have to go for the things you want,” Jodie said, giving him a quick smile. “Take a risk.”

  He bent over and kissed her. “I’m not much of a risk taker.”

  “You took a risk sitting with me in church,” Jodie said, forcing a laugh to cover the frustration she felt thinking of Amy sitting down the pew from her, emitting waves of disapproval.

  “I made a choice to sit with you in church,” Finn said, his voice serious.

  Jodie’s thoughts ticked back to the hugs she’d gotten from Keira, Heather and their mother after the service. The smiles from Monty and the welcome she got from Alan, the local mechanic she saw whenever she had to bring her dad’s truck in.

  But she didn’t imagine the surprised looks she saw on other faces or the condemnation on Amy’s. Whenever thoughts of staying in Montana strayed into Jodie’s mind, it was the unspoken censure of some of the townspeople that seemed to counterbalance the others.

  “Do you want to see the rest of the place?” Finn asked, inclining his head to the yard beyond the house.

  She heard the pride in his voice and nodded. “I’d love to.”

  He took her by the hand, and like two schoolkids they walked through an opening in the trees. “That’s the riding arena I fixed up last year.” Finn pointed out a large barn painted red. Two sliding doors were open, giving Jodie a glimpse inside. Metal panels were stacked along one wall and straw bales beyond that.

  It was connected to a fenced-in paddock, and beside that lay the round pen. Everything was excruciatingly neat and tidy and well kept.

  As they neared the paddock Jodie heard a whinny and saw out in the pasture a group of horses, heads up, watching them.

  “Are those yours?” She walked toward the wooden rail fence, watching as the boldest one warily approached this stranger to her domain. Jodie guessed the leader was a female. They usually were.

  “The palomino is a potential barrel racer I’m training for a woman in Great Falls. Heather Bannister—sorry, Heather Argall—has been helping me train the horse. The bay is mine. Buffy. She’s one of my broodmares. Purebred quarter horse. Her first colt is the one right beside her. Her second colt is likely out in the field yet.”

  “So how many horses do you have?”

  “I’ve got fifteen of my own and six that I’m working on for other people.”

  “No wonder you wouldn’t take mine,” Jodie said, leaning on the fence, reaching out to Buffy, who cautiously approached them. “How do you find the time to work with them, do your farrier work and keep Saddlebank safe?”

  “I do what I can when I can. And lately, well, there’s this
girl that’s been a major distraction to me.”

  Jodie felt the tickle of a blade of grass on her cheek and slanted Finn a grin. “You should learn to apply yourself.”

  He ran the grass down her cheek again, then turned to his horse, which was now nudging his shoulder. “Personal space, Buffy,” he warned, lifting a hand.

  The mare stopped, then took a step back. Finn waited a moment, then made a kissing sound and Buffy moved cautiously toward him.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, stroking her head.

  “You’re always training them, aren’t you?” Jodie asked.

  “Always.”

  “It’s the deputy in you, I think,” she said with a light laugh. “You like law and order, which you then apply to your horse training.”

  “Or it could be the horse trainer in me that likes law and order, which translates well into being a deputy.”

  Buffy’s colt joined them at the fence and Jodie stroked her nose, tickling it with her fingers to see if she would lift her lip.

  “Do you like it? Being a deputy?” she asked. Even though her father didn’t have to work—he could have lived off the ranch if he’d managed it himself—he’d spent more of his days in his sheriff’s car than on a horse. Whenever he got ready for a shift, he’d looked eager to go as he strapped on his belt, checked his pistol. Every time he did, it was as if he transformed in front of her.

  “I do. But for me it’s a means to an end. This is where I want to be.”

  Jodie felt another small resistance to Finn ease away. And behind it, an equal note of panic.

  Spending time with him, being around him, was getting too easy. He was taking up a space in her heart she had told herself was closed for good. Lane’s disbelief in her had hurt more than she cared to admit. It was too similar to her father’s. She wasn’t sure she wanted to make herself that vulnerable ever again.

  “My dad would be disappointed to hear that,” she said. “He lived to be a sheriff. I’m sure quitting the force was hard for him.”

  “I think he felt as though he’d lost his purpose when that happened.” Finn took her hand, tracing the scar on the back, his expression serious.

  Jodie had to fight her impulse to pull her arm back.

  “You always have this bitter edge in your voice when you talk about your father.” Finn spoke quietly, but she sensed an indistinct edge to his voice. “He might not have been the best person, and I don’t know precisely what happened between you two, but he often lamented the fact that you didn’t speak to him or come to visit. I know it hurt him, but maybe forgiving him would help.”

  The words were almost laughable. There was no vague interpretation of what her father had done to her. He’d hit her. Often.

  But how could she tell Finn? Would he believe her?

  Jodie remembered the first time her father had struck her. Her sisters were visiting their cousins at the Bannister ranch. Keith had come home from work grumpy, tired. It had been a bad day. She had made a smart remark to him when he’d asked her why supper wasn’t ready.

  He had swung around, fury in his eyes, and struck her on the shoulder.

  Her sisters had questioned her version of events, as did her aunt when Jodie tried to tell her. When she’d tried to tell them a second time and they still hadn’t believe her, she was so angry she’d known she needn’t bother again.

  And then there was Lane.

  Too easily she recalled the look of condescension on his face when she’d tried to explain to him what had really happened. Not only did he not believe her, he then piled pain on top of disbelief. He’d told her that it was time they broke up. That she wasn’t the person he was looking for. That she wasn’t good enough.

  She couldn’t bear it if Finn were to have the same reaction.

  She glanced down at her hand. The scar that she looked at every time she played piano was barely visible now, but it was still a reminder of the secret attached to it.

  “Have you forgiven your mother?” Jodie seemed to throw the words at him, daring him to pick them up.

  Finn’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he shrugged. “I’ve had to find ways to forgive my mother each time she comes back into my life. It may take some time, but I have to let go of my bitterness or it will take over.”

  His words underlined what the pastor had preached about this morning when he’d talked about the bonds of bitterness and how they could cling and dominate one’s life. How God offered freedom from those bonds.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  “And I’ll be praying for you,” Finn murmured. Then he frowned at her. “Why are you smiling?”

  She caught the hurt in his voice. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just thinking how nice it is to be in someone’s prayers. That hasn’t happened for a long time.”

  “I think your father prayed for you,” Finn suggested.

  Jodie heard the unspoken plea in his voice and behind that the affection he held for her father. It created a disconnect she couldn’t acknowledge.

  “That’s nice to know,” she managed to answer.

  For now she had to leave it be. She wasn’t sure where she and Finn were going, though that thought held less uncertainty each moment she spent with him. He was becoming important to her and was making her think of changing her plans.

  Finn opened the door of the house and Jodie stepped inside, her eyes adjusting from the bright spring sun to the darker interior.

  Homey was the first word that came to mind. Homey and masculine and incredibly tidy. To her left, heavy leather couches flanked a stone fireplace, fleece-lined throws lying neatly folded over their backs. To her right lay the kitchen, with wooden cupboards and granite countertops, a gleaming sink and taps. A large island with a butcher-block top. A set of knives sitting precisely beside a cutting board.

  A bay window in the dining room overlooked a small pond, the rustic table and chairs in front of it appearing handmade.

  “Don’t tell me that, on top of deputying and training and tidying, you also make chairs?” she teased as she walked over to them, running her finger over their backs.

  “No. I bought those at a fund-raiser the church held last fall. Dean, Vic’s little brother, made them. He’s a carpenter and making chairs was a type of therapy for him after his rodeo accident.”

  “Is Dean the person the minister prayed for this morning?”

  “Yes. He’s been struggling. Trying to move on from the past.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “You thinking about the pastor’s sermon?” Finn asked, unerringly catching what she meant.

  She hesitated, not sure how to articulate her scattered thoughts. His comments reminded her of other times when she was in church, when she could feel a hint of God’s presence. Like an echo of a piece of music she could barely hear.

  “I like how he said that every day was new and fresh,” she said. “An opportunity to start over. How God comes to us each day with the same patient offer.”

  Come to Me all you who labor and I will give you rest.

  The words had resonated in her mind. Whenever she had been in church with her father, his presence had loomed so large that it had become hard to hear the invitation she had heard this morning.

  Returning here to Saddlebank felt like a step backward. Back to a time she had been outrunning.

  And yet sitting in church today, she’d heard once again that gentle encouragement. Maybe because her father wasn’t sitting beside her—a constant reminder of how unworthy she was to respond to that gentle call.

  “I’m glad you came,” Finn said, staying where he was by the dining room table.

  “I’m glad, too,” she said. “I felt as if I was being offered something I need.”

  “And what is that?” he asked.r />
  “Acceptance. Rest.”

  The puzzlement on his face showed that he would like to hear more, but she didn’t know if she was ready to talk about her desire to be someone else. She wasn’t sure what shape that should take.

  Instead, she walked over to the fireplace and the mantel with pictures arranged on it. Jodie recognized Finn’s mother in the first one. Christie Hicks stood in a field of flowers, her hair loose, her bright dress swirling away from her in a blur of color as she spun around, head lifted to the sky. She looked like a throwback to the sixties. “When was this one taken?” Jodie asked, tilting it toward Finn.

  “About six years ago. She had been doing well that year.”

  Jodie heard the sorrow in his voice and turned back to him. “We talked about my father yesterday, but I’m sure you had your own struggles with your mother.”

  Finn nodded, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted apart. Like a deputy.

  “The hardest part of dealing with my mother was feeling as though I didn’t matter to her. I know much of her difficulties had to do with my father’s death.” He gave Jodie a rueful smile that looked much like the one on Christie’s face in the picture. “She wasn’t dependable, and that’s hard when you’re the only one in the house.”

  Beside the picture of his mother was a studio photo of a young woman, blonde, beautiful and slender, smiling at the camera, poised and elegant.

  “Is this Denise?” Jodie asked, lifting it to look closer. The woman’s blue eyes gazing back at her seemed kind and gentle.

  “Yes it is.” Finn’s voice held a note of reverence, and Jodie could see why as she looked at the next image. Denise smiling an infectious smile, wearing scrubs, leaning close to a young boy in a hospital bed. The child’s head was tilted toward her, his hand clutched hers, hope in his expression. “You said she was a nurse?” Jodie asked.

  “She was in her last year of training when...when she died.”

  The little boy looked as though he would walk through fire for the woman standing beside him.