Wrangling the Cowboy's Heart Page 9

  Finn couldn’t let that lie. He moved his horse right beside her, touching her arm, catching her attention. “God always seeks us, Jodie. Always.”

  He worried he might have been presumptuous, but she didn’t move away from him. Finn shifted his hand to her shoulder, anchoring her, reassuring her.

  As Jodie looked over the valley he felt her shoulders lower, as if she was letting herself take in what he was saying. “Being here makes me believe in Him,” she said. “I feel peaceful here.”

  “God does reveal Himself in nature, as well as through His word.”

  Jodie’s gaze drifted toward Finn, her expression puzzled now. “I never heard that before.”

  “It’s what Vic’s father used to say. Once in a while Vic, Dean and I would stay home from church, pack a lunch, saddle up the horses and go riding for the day. Vic’s mom would be upset about it, but his dad said that there are times a man needs to see God’s general revelation in nature. We would stop somewhere, eat our lunch, talk and pray.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “It was. I was always so thankful for the Moore family,” he said.

  “You were fortunate to have them in your life. It sounds like their home was a haven for you.”

  Her choice of words made him wonder what her family life had been like, both here and in Knoxville.

  “It was. They anchored me when my own life was so untethered. They showed me how family works.”

  Right now, he realized he had to remind himself what to look for in his own family. A Christian woman strong in her faith. A stable woman who valued home.

  Denise had been that person for him, he thought. Then he glanced at Jodie, unable to deny the appeal she still held for him.

  Was he being blind? Did his loneliness skew his perspective?

  Did he dare risk his heart to find out?

  Chapter Eight

  Jodie sat down at the piano, spread the sheet music out in front of her and let the silence of the church surround her.

  The building was empty. Yesterday, Sunday, it had been filled with people. In spite of her conversation with Finn up on the mountain on Saturday and his encouragement to attend church on Sunday, she’d stayed away.

  Finn meant well, but she didn’t need another reminder of how sinful she was. When she and her sisters had stayed at the ranch, church attendance had always been mandatory. As was the follow-up at the ranch, when their father went over the salient points of the sermon, hammering home to each of his girls the blackness of her heart and how she needed to repent.

  Which only made Jodie all the more determined to show him exactly how black her heart was.

  Closing her eyes, she banished the memories. Not for the first time she wished she could have confronted her father before he died. Asked him why he was so hard on her. She guessed some of it had to do with the day she’d seen her parents fight. Each summer she returned to Montana she had thrown that in his face, which made him angry with her, which made her rebel against him. But she also knew there was another reason he never saw fit to tell her.

  Yet asking for that meeting was like wishing on rainbows, something she and her sisters often did when they were young. Wishing their mother was still alive. Wishing they could live together here on the Rocking M Ranch.

  Later, wishing had turned into praying. Praying she could figure out what drove her and her father’s off-kilter relationship. Praying she could understand him.

  But it had all seemed futile.

  She started playing, chasing away her memories with the sound of music. Mandie’s first song was happy, cheerful and bright, and as Jodie played it, she smiled. She needed this happy song, this celebration of life. The verses spoke of a young girl playing in a sandbox, a mother with a baby, a man tossing a baseball with his son. A young couple drinking coffee. All connected by a chorus reminding people that our happiest moments could be found in our simplest enjoyments. It was a basic song filling a basic need.

  Jodie ran through it a few times, finding her way through it, then set the piece aside and spread out the sheet music for the next one. She glanced over the words, then felt her heart slip. The song spoke of fitting in. Stumbling toward mercy and grace, making mistakes along the way, but always, always moving toward the offer of salvation.

  The same things Finn had spoken of. The words that had created an ache and a yearning she couldn’t rid herself of.

  Jodie clenched her hands in her lap, tamping down her visceral reaction to the lyrics. She blamed it on Finn and how he had drawn out her confessions the other day. She hadn’t intended to tell him any of that. It was as if, as she had accused him, he had been using the same patient tactics with her that he had with Roany.

  And once again she wondered why he bothered. Why he cared what had happened that long-ago day. He had clearly moved on.

  She pushed the thoughts aside. Telling him what she had was a mistake. Telling him more would only be a repeat of her conversations with her grandmother about staying away from the ranch, giving her sisters vague hints about the harshness of her father’s discipline. They listened, but the skepticism on their faces showed they didn’t believe her.

  Finn had even less reason to believe, given his wonderful relationship with her father. She had to keep her distance from him.

  Yet, as her fingers picked out the tune of the song, she felt again the warmth of Finn’s hand on hers. How good it had felt to have someone offer her some connection. Some comfort.

  She let the music wash over her, the mournful notes, the words about loss and seeking drawing out emotions she still struggled with. The loss of her dreams. The tangle of her life afterward. How she’d thought she had found a place with Lane, only to have him snatch it away.

  She came to the chorus about God’s grace offered free, but costing so much.

  Her father always attached so many conditions on everything he did for them. Even the will, his last act, had been to bend them to his wishes.

  Jodie let her hands continue to play, improvising now. She looked around the church, spotting the cross in the alcove at the front. Behind it were twenty-seven tiles up, twenty across, two of them water stained. When she was younger, she’d sat in their usual pew, counting tiles on the ceiling and the wall, the voice of the minister washing over her in an endless litany of words. Then as she got older, as she’d begun wondering how the world worked and why things happened the way they did, she began seeking. Actually listening at the youth meetings. It was there she’d discovered the notion of grace and forgiveness. Words she never heard at home.

  Her hands slowed their playing as memories of those happier times brought up tears she had kept back for so long.

  * * *

  Was she crying?

  Finn stood quietly at the back of the church, his eyes on the solitary figure playing the piano, her face raised to the ceiling, glistening tracks of moisture on her cheeks.

  He recognized the song, one about loss and mistakes, and he wondered if Jodie was grieving some of the losses she had suffered. The losses she had revealed to him yesterday.

  He exhaled, still trying to adjust his own thinking. He had to be careful. Jodie’s life had too many red flags.

  Her very presence at the piano was a reminder of the deal they had made. All part of her plan to leave.

  And yet he couldn’t eradicate that moment of connection they’d shared the other day. When he touched her, awareness hummed between them.

  Finn straightened his shoulders and walked down the aisle toward her. He knew the instant Jodie saw him. She stopped midbar, looked over at him, then turned back to the piano, wiping her cheeks with her hands.

  “Sounds beautiful,” he said, pulling out his measuring tape as he walked to the front. He had come to help Brooke Dillon plan the decorations for the concert. The
fact that Brooke owned a hair salon seemed to qualify her, in Amy Bernstein’s eyes, as someone well qualified to decorate.

  “Thank you,” Jodie replied, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.

  When he went to church yesterday, he had half hoped she would be there, too, but he hadn’t seen her. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him.

  “Has Brooke come yet?” he asked.

  “I saw her briefly at the Grill and Chill before I came here. She was talking to George.”

  “I thought she didn’t want to see him again.” Brooke’s crush on George Bamford was no secret, but last Finn had heard, she’d declared she was over him.

  Not so much.

  “They seemed quite animated and Brooke seemed pretty happy.” Jodie shuffled the sheet music and looked as if she was about to get up.

  “Don’t leave on account of me,” Finn said.

  “If Brooke is coming, I should go.”

  “No. Stay. She’s just coming to talk decorations with me. I like hearing you play. You’ve got such a gift for it.”

  Jodie flushed at his praise, then with a shrug set out the music again, ran through a couple scales and started playing the next song. This one was more lively, a version of a popular worship song. Finn remembered his mother playing it in what she called her “religious” stage.

  Finn had liked that stage. She had been more peaceful, more at ease with herself. Less absent and isolated. Of course, it hadn’t lasted long, and soon she was heading to other places, chasing her elusive dream.

  He watched Jodie play, watched her fall into the music. He drifted closer, drawn by the smile on her face.

  “I like the words of this one,” he said, coming to stand beside her.

  “I’ve never heard it before.” Jodie hit a wrong note, then stopped.

  She looked up at him, their eyes meeting, awareness once again arcing between them.

  “You’re making me nervous,” she whispered, starting to play once more.

  His breath caught in his chest as he thought of that moment they had shared on Saturday up on the mountain. He knew he should move away from her. But he couldn’t forget the sorrow he had just seen on her face, the unspoken pain he had heard in her voice the other day.

  He sat on the bench beside her, the melody pulling out better memories, and before he realized what he was doing, he was picking out an alternate tune on the higher keys with his right hand, flowing into what she played.

  Without missing a beat, she shifted her own hands down an octave, maintaining the rhythm. The music wove in and out, each of them improvising as they went.

  Finn felt the tightness in his chest loosen. A loneliness that had been his steady companion since Denise died eased away.

  He pushed aside the constant analyzing and let the music flow. Let himself enjoy being with this very talented woman.

  They came to the end of the song. Jodie added a few bars to finish it off, then lowered her hands as the last notes faded into silence.

  They sat a moment, joined by the experience.

  “You play better than I expected,” she finally said, her genuine smile bringing out his own.

  “I think that’s a compliment.”

  “Sorry. I’ll amend that. You play very well.”

  “Not as good as my mother, but I can hold my own. She taught me until I got into my too-cool-to-play-piano stage and stopped.”

  Jodie laughed as she went to gather the papers, just as he was about to do the same. The sheets of music spilled onto the steps of the stage the piano sat on. Finn jumped off the bench, bending over to grab them at the same time she did, and their heads cracked together.

  Jodie sucked in a pained breath and Finn’s forehead throbbed. They both sat back on the steps looking at each other with a dazed expression.

  “That was awkward,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  Then Finn noticed a trickle of blood running down her temple. “You’re hurt,” he said, catching her by her arms, steadying her.

  “I think I just broke open the cut I got when Roany dumped me,” she said, touching her forehead.

  He caught her hands. “Just leave it. Do you have any tissues?”

  “In my purse. Beside the bench.”

  He grabbed her purse and handed it to her. She pulled out a package of tissues and fumbled with it, the blood now dripping down her cheek.

  He tugged the package from her hands, yanked out a tissue and pressed it against her head. “I’ll go get a cloth from the kitchen,” he said.

  “No. It’s okay. Don’t bother.”

  He hesitated, but the blood flow was easing up. He pulled another tissue free and, brushing her hands aside, gently dabbed at the cut. “That should probably have had a stitch or two,” he murmured, leaning closer to look.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  She spoke quietly, their faces now inches away from each other. He felt his breath quicken when her thickly lashed eyelids lowered, then lifted again.

  His breath stilled and it was as if time itself slowed.

  He rested his hand on her shoulder, his other still holding the tissue to her forehead. As he suppressed the voices warning him to be careful, to watch what he was doing, he lowered his head to hers.

  Jodie moved closer at the same time, their lips meeting halfway.

  Finn slipped his hands around her back, nestling her against him. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, to her other temple, then rested his chin on his hair. Cradling her against his shoulder, he let out his breath in a sigh that released all the stress of the past few months.

  This felt right. This felt good.

  That warning voice in the back of his head reminded him she was leaving. That he didn’t need this complication in his life.

  That he couldn’t trust his emotions.

  He kissed her again, stilling the voice. Allowing himself this moment with her.

  Chapter Nine

  Jodie closed her eyes, her arms wrapped around Finn, his strength and support a brief moment of refuge.

  How long had it been since she could let someone else be strong for her?

  All these years she’d been running around, trying to find what she had found here.

  She drew in a deep breath, as if centering herself, finding her balance in this new place.

  Finn brushed his hand over her hair, his movements soothing.

  She didn’t want this moment to end. As soon as she pulled away, life would come crashing back, and with it, the reality of their situation. She and Lauren were selling the ranch and she was leaving.

  Why?

  The single word spiraled up through her objections and plans.

  She lifted her head, looking into Finn’s eyes as if trying to find a reason there.

  He smiled at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and started to say something when a voice broke into the moment.

  “Finn Hicks. Are you here?”

  Brooke Dillon. Jodie pulled back, shifting sideways on the stage away from Finn, hurriedly looking around for something to do. She saw the papers still lying on the steps beside her and gathered them up, her hands shaking.

  She should have left ten minutes ago. She didn’t want to see Brooke, or anyone else, for that matter. Not so soon after kissing Finn.

  “At the front of the church,” he called out.

  Finn got up, reaching out to help her to her feet, but Jodie didn’t dare touch him. She didn’t trust her own feelings right now. She clutched her papers and stood on her own.

  “There you are.” Brooke hurried up the aisle. The young woman’s cheeks were flushed and a bobby pin clung to the end of a blond curl that Jodie suspected was supposed to be anchored to her head. This was a sharp contrast to the fitted blazer and
white shirt she wore over tailored slacks.

  From the way Brooke’s eyes glowed as she got closer, and the faint smear of her red lipstick, Jodie guessed she wasn’t the only one dallying.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Brooke said breathlessly, pushing back the wayward curl. “I was just at the Grill and Chill. Talking to George.” She stopped, her eyes flicking from Finn to Jodie. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

  Jodie flushed and kept her attention on the sheet music she was straightening. She wanted to leave now. Other than her brief glimpse of Brooke at the diner, the last time she had spoken with her was two weeks after she’d missed her date with Finn and her audition. A couple days before she’d had to leave for Knoxville. Jodie had been hanging out with Jaden at the gazebo in Mercy Park. Brooke had come along and they had poked fun at her, teasing her about her unrequited crush on some young man whom Jodie couldn’t even remember. Jodie knew she had been horrible and had tried to find Brooke to apologize, but Brooke and her family had left town for their summer vacation.

  Though she wasn’t the type to hold grudges, she would surely remember Jodie’s behavior that awful summer.

  “Not at all,” Finn said, plucking a stray bobby pin out of Brooke’s hair. “Not the best advertisement for a hairdresser,” he teased as he handed it to her. “So what were you up to at the Grill and Chill?”

  Best defense is a good offense, Jodie thought, unable to hide her smile at Finn’s deflection.

  “Well...I just...” She paused, then shook her finger at him. “None of your business.”

  “But I’m guessing it was George’s?”

  “This has nothing to do with George,” she said, though from what Jodie had heard it had everything to do with him. She turned to her. “Hello, Jodie. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man.”

  “So I understand.”

  Brooke’s eyes narrowed and Jodie sensed she’d said the wrong thing.

  “I know he was sorry he didn’t see much of you,” Brooke added. Jodie wasn’t sure she imagined the imperceptible censure in her voice. Looked as if most of the people of Saddlebank were on her father’s side.