Black Hills Bride (9 page)

She absorbed everything, her expression as bright as the morning star. He’d never seen anyone who took such joy in living, or who worked so hard to get things right.

As she slid down from the horse, he grasped her hips for support, marveling that his hands spanned the entire width of her waist. She was so tiny, yet so strong on the inside. He’d never met a woman like her.

“I can’t believe I’m riding him already,” she said excitedly.

“We’ll put a bridle on him tomorrow and see how he does.”

She whipped around, surprised. “You’re not obligated to help me out with Victory. I know you’re really busy with the stable and all. I appreciate what you’ve already done, Erik, but taking care of my personal concerns isn’t part of your contract.”

He stiffened. Was she trying to tell him she didn’t want his help? Or was she afraid of being kissed again? He wasn’t all that certain he could keep from kissing her.

But she was being stubborn.

And it wasn’t the first time. Couldn’t the woman see he was doing her a favor?

“I won’t…” he began, then broke off, determined to start over. “You’re going to need help,” he ground out, feeling obligated to state the obvious, and ignoring the rest.

Erik’s words were like sandpaper to Dixie, who immediately bristled against the pressure. She didn’t want to depend on anyone, least of all this strong, silent cowboy who kept coming to her rescue. When Erik kissed her, fireworks exploded within her. And it scared her to death. She’d never before experienced anything remotely close to what she felt in Erik’s arms—not even with Abel.

Was this the way it was supposed to be between a man and a woman?

No. Not between her and Erik.

Why couldn’t he just leave her and her horse alone?

She glared at him for a full minute, then blew out a breath and looked away. “You’re right, of course.”

He had no idea how painful it was to admit she needed his help. Especially now, when everything had changed between them, whether Erik knew it or not. But she didn’t even know how to ride well, never mind how to train a green broke yearling.

And despite her relative ignorance where horses were concerned, she was certain the progress Erik had made with Victory this afternoon went above and beyond usual expectations. She certainly hadn’t expected to be able to ride him so soon.

Her lack of knowledge plagued her. She wasn’t even sure she could bridle him, though she’d paid careful attention in her reading to that very thing, had even drawn pictures to illustrate the practice.

But if there was one thing she’d learned from her time in South Dakota, it was that all the reading and education in the world didn’t help much when confronted by the real McCoy, which happened every time she turned around, up to and including Victory, the green broke gelding.

She had a double major in missions and outdoor recreation, and it hadn’t helped her one bit so far. She couldn’t even put up her own tent, never mind pick a horse she could ride. And while she didn’t regret her heartfelt purchase, she knew Victory was more than she could presently handle on her own.

It galled her, but she needed Erik.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his voice gruff. “We can meet here every afternoon for an hour, if you want.” He reached for a bristle brush and began grooming Victory.

“Am I really going to be able to ride him?” she asked softly, holding her breath in anticipation of his answer, knowing he would tell her the truth even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

He glanced up, then returned his gaze to his work. “Yep.”

She was silent for a moment, observing the man with the horse, marveling at how gifted he was. She laid a hand on his forearm, stopping the motion of the brush. The touch was like a live wire of electricity between them. He stared at her hand on his arm, his jaw tensing.

“Erik?” she scratched out when she could speak.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for helping me learn to ride.”

She whirled on the toes of her boots and marched back toward the main lodge, escaping, thinking to go anywhere but where Erik was.

She knew him well enough to know he didn’t like to be thanked for anything, proud man that he was.

Her heart clenched. It hurt too much to see him turn away from her again. And that’s exactly what she knew he would do, if given the opportunity. Just like Abel, and everyone else in her life. She ran people off like a virus.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell her she made him nervous, especially when she said things he didn’t want to hear. Like how special he was, and how blessed she was to have him working for her.

How God was moving in her life. And how He would work in Erik’s life, as well. She prayed every day God would soften Erik’s hard heart and take away his resentment and anger, as only God could.

She knew he suffered from some deep internal wounds, but of course he wouldn’t talk about it. God would have to change his heart, for Dixie failed at every attempt.

As the days went by, her prayers were becoming more intense. It was certainly a life-or-death matter, and not only for Erik. Dixie’s heart was dangling from his sleeve, and that was a very dangerous place to be.

E
rik groomed and fed Vic and placed him in his stall, fighting off his thoughts as he did his work. But he could only ignore his nagging mind for so long. He had to get away from this place before he shattered like a fist through glass.

He saddled a black mare named Jazz and headed for the hills, toward the stream that ran through the acreage. Maybe in the quiet of the mountains, he’d find his peace. And maybe, just maybe, answer the interminable question nagging him.

What was he going to do about Dixie?

He couldn’t let things go on the way they were, yet he hadn’t the slightest idea how to change circumstances so they would work out.

In truth, he didn’t really know
what
he wanted, only that he was miserable.

He was attracted to Dixie. Why hadn’t he seen that before, he wondered, finding a cool spot by the stream to tether his horse. The insight didn’t come easily or willingly. He’d give anything
not
to feel anything for the crazy, stubborn woman.

But he was too analytical to ignore the facts. And the facts pointed to one thing—he was falling head over snakeskin boots in love with Dixie Sullivan.

No matter how he swore off women, or how often the imp on his shoulder reminded him of the dangers loving a woman presented, it had happened. Despite his convictions, despite his resolve.

Was God in this somewhere?

The question badgered him persistently for the next half hour as he sat along the bank of the stream and tossed gravel into the water. A man couldn’t truly love Dixie without God playing into the picture somewhere.

Her faith could move mountains. God was the center of her life. How often had he seen her resting in the shade of a tree, reading her worn and tattered Bible?

She talked about God like He was some kind of personal friend or something, not this monstrous, omniscient entity a million miles away in heaven as Erik imagined Him to be.

He moved his hand to cover the pocket of his Western shirt, reaching for the reassurance of the small, rectangular object lodged between the fabric and his skin.

Dixie had presented him with the small New Testament and Psalms the first day he worked for her. He knew he hadn’t been singled out, that it hadn’t been a gift just for him, but then again, if it were, would he have accepted it?

Probably not. And probably Dixie would have known that.

As it was, she gave the same small, maroon leather Bible to each and every one of her staff. He kept his copy on him wherever he went, tucked away in his pocket, next to his heart.

He coughed as his throat tightened around his breath. He was going lame in the head. His brothers would tease him to no end about this suddenly sentimental, romantic tendency of his.

He’d never actually cracked the book and read it, though he knew Dixie hoped he would. She called the Bible
God’s Word,
and spoke of it as if it was truly a letter from God to man.

He didn’t want to admit it, but the Bible intimidated him. Who was
he
to read a book written by God through His prophets? Erik wasn’t even a believer.

He ought to toss it in the trash and be done with it, yet he couldn’t.

Crazy, was what it was. Insane.

But it felt somehow right to keep the Bible in his pocket, a part of Dixie to carry around with him while he did his work.

Now, in the quiet of the meadow with nothing but the gurgle of the stream as background music, he pulled the small maroon book from his pocket and held it in his palm, reflecting on its light weight compared to the heaviness in his heart.

How did a man read the Bible, anyway?

Just open up to page one and dive in? Or was there some secret formula Christians used to know where to read? He knew the chapters and verses were marked with numbers.

Where was he supposed to start?

Dixie would know, but he wasn’t about to ask her. Just like she’d know how to talk to God. But maybe you had to be one of God’s special friends to have that privilege. Erik certainly hadn’t earned that.

He pulled in a deep breath and blew it out again in a rush. “Okay, Lord. If You’re there, You’re gonna need to help me.”

He rifled through the pages, then turned to
Matthew 1:1
and started reading. He wasn’t a fast reader, but he had nowhere to be and no one expecting him, so he didn’t feel rushed.

He read of Jesus’s birth, how as a boy He remained in the temple with His parents frantic to find Him, how He grew in stature and wisdom with both God and man.

He got as far as the devil tempting Jesus before it really began to sink in. Jesus hadn’t eaten in forty days. He must have been weak, famished. Yet when Satan reminded Jesus of His ability to make bread from stones, His answer struck Erik right between the eyes.

Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.

Was that why Dixie insisted on giving each staff member a Bible? Because she knew they weren’t living a full life without God?

Lightning quick, he snapped his own little New Testament shut and tucked it back in his pocket, almost as if it were hot to the touch.

He’d never needed God’s Word before. Why should he need it now?

But he couldn’t stop thinking of the passage, thinking about the gap in his life. Food, water, clothing—who better than Erik knew it wasn’t enough, no matter how he fooled himself? Deep in his heart, he knew even his own herd of horses wouldn’t make him feel complete.

He needed love.

Was that why he was so drawn to Dixie? Because she offered not only the love of a beautiful woman, but the love of God?

He grabbed the largest rock in his reach and threw it with all his might, missing the river and making a cloud of dust on the opposite bank. Anger and pain roiled through the empty places in his heart.

What right did he have to ask for God’s love? It wasn’t only that he hadn’t believed, for deep in his heart he’d always known there was a God. The creation of the horse alone was too exquisite to have been mere chance.

But he’d turned from that God, thrown blame on that God. Hated Him for taking away his mother, and by that, his father.

How could God forgive him?

It was too wide a gap to bridge, even for Dixie’s all-loving God.

And Dixie?

Dixie thought of him as the big lug of a cowboy who more often got in her way as not. How many times did she remind him not to run things for her, or accuse him of trying to overprotect her?

How many times had he seen anger sparkling in those pools of aqua-blue?

As if that weren’t enough, there was Abel to contend with. Her ex-fiancé, the near-perfect missionary man strong enough to give up Dixie’s love to do God’s will.

Abel, a man nearly elevated to sainthood, at least in Dixie’s eyes. Even though he’d left her in the lurch.

Abel, who never thought of himself, but only the God he served and the people under his care.

Abel, who had won Dixie’s heart with his kind ways and fancy words.

Erik didn’t want to think about Abel, but he couldn’t help but compare. He realized the emotion he’d been feeling when she spoke of another man, a man who’d broken her heart and left no room for another.

Jealousy.

Pure, unadulterated jealousy.

It didn’t make a bit of difference in the long run, except to make him more miserable than he already was.

Erik knew he wasn’t ever going to be the right man for Dixie Sullivan, not if he worked at it until he was a thousand years old.

She needed a man with a strong faith in God. A man who didn’t bring with him the baggage of a miserable past. A man who could love Dixie the way she deserved to be loved.

A man like Abel Kincaid.

Besides, Erik thought, she didn’t even like him.

Tolerated him, perhaps. Maybe even considered him a friend, given the amount of time they spent with each other.

His throat continued to strangle him. He didn’t want friendship. Not anymore.

But when he tried to move forward, make their relationship more, she’d backed off. What was a cowboy to do?

He already knew the consequences of this self-examination, this discovery—maybe more an admission than a discovery—of his feelings for Dixie.

If he’d been tongue-tied around her before, he knew it was going to be at least doubly as bad now. Every time she looked at him with anger or hurt in her eyes, the pain was going to pierce his chest twice as hard.

The smell of peaches was going to have him fainting like a little old lady.

He mounted Jazz and galloped through the meadow, hoping the wind would take the edge off the pain searing his heart.

There was nothing he could do about his love for Dixie, except be there when she needed him, and protect her from those who would hurt her, as Ellis had done. He would be her right-hand man even when she insisted she didn’t need one.

It was the least he could do. And the most.