Reclaimed (20 page)

It was a hard reality to chew on. Suzanna adored her father. He was her refuge from her volatile mother. He was her inspiration; they shared a common passion, a common dream.

And he became her greatest disappointment.

“Your father wasn’t an angry man.” Paul stepped beside her, his voice drawing her back to the present. “The man I knew was friendly and content. He was at peace.”

Was that supposed to help? Suzanna crossed her arms, the muscles in her back growing rigid. But Paul was right. She’d seen it herself, and it made her angry. How could he not be mad? And worse, whenever they talked, Daddy spoke of being made new. He said God could make her new.

Was that the grand design? God would allow the disasters that shredded her world so her father could be made new? So that made her what? Collateral damage?

Awesome. She felt so much better.

Paul sighed, pushing his hands deeper into the denim. True to form, he was always saying the wrong thing.

Shouldn’t it be a comfort to know your father didn’t die in anger? That his life, his heart had been reconciled to God?

He had nothing further to say. All he had were those worn-out adages, but no matter how true they were, speaking them to Suzanna wouldn’t help. She was set in her misery.

Paul’s heart clenched. What an awful way to live. It’d be like waking up every morning with terrible pain throbbing through your body.
Depression hurts.
The med commercial wasn’t lying, but surely there must be some way to break free, to heal.

Words reverberated in his head, his mother’s tearful voice giving life to the memory.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit.

Mother had whispered the Psalm even while sobs tore at her efforts after Dad suffered his first stroke. They’d gathered in the emergency room, shaken by his fall and not knowing if he were yet alive. Not waiting for Pastor Ron, as others might, Mother grasped the hands of her grown children and led them to their knees. She’d always been one to pray Scripture, and her memory did not fail in the moment of crisis.

Suzanna shuffled her feet and then started around him. Without forethought, Paul stretched his arm, catching her by the shoulders. She pushed against him  for only a moment before her body sagged.

Fight or flight. Until there is trust. Anxiety released his heart as relief expanded in his chest. She seemed content to remain, though her stoic expression kept him from pulling her close.

Paul tipped his head to speak softly near her shoulder. “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds… His understanding has no limit.”

Her body tensed again. Suzanna stared straight ahead.

Oh, how deep was that wound? Deep enough she wouldn’t allow herself to feel it anymore. Deep enough to let anger cover the top.

Paul dropped his hold, and Suzanna marched up the hill. He followed her with only his eyes, and when she reached the crest, he turned to make his way back down to the bank.

Is anyone of you in trouble? Pray.

Paul didn’t know what else to do.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Have you ever pulled a trailer?” Paul’s voice rang out from behind the stock trailer where he latched the door after he’d loaded both of his horses. Two rigs had pulled out thirty minutes before, hauling cattle to the Cottonwood County Sale Barn.

Suzanna had tried to make herself useful while Paul had finished up the job. She followed Andrea into the house, collecting trash bags and wiping counters. Andrea had gone into the lone bedroom and stripped the sheets, but helping with such a chore felt too intimate for a friend. A handsome male friend.

What kind of friend was he? Paul poked into the deepest parts of her heart, stirring emotions Suzanna found she couldn’t control. He made her angry by doing it, and yet she feared he’d retreat even as she pushed him away. She’d resigned herself to loneliness. Why, then, did she yearn for his presence, his concern?

“Pickle?” Paul popped a fist against the truck, grinning when she snapped to attention. “Yeah, you. Have you ever pulled a trailer?”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head. How could he go from the way-too-deep conversation they’d shared an hour ago to this playful rogue without really changing at all?

Paul leaned against Andrea’s vehicle. “Today’s a good day to try, don’t you think?”

“To drive that?” She pointed to his Ford parked parallel to Andrea’s.

Paul nodded, still smiling.

“Bad idea.”

He pushed off the truck. “Why?”

“I can’t even back a passenger car without hitting something.”

He chuckled.

“Not kidding. Check my record… or the little Honda I have parked in the garage. Trust me, you don’t want me behind the wheel.”

“I have insurance.” He snagged her elbow and pulled her alongside his easy stride. “Just don’t kill my horses. I kind of like them.”

He opened the driver’s side and stepped out of the way. Suzanna looked at the steering wheel and then at Paul, her bottom lip going under her teeth. He tilted his head, nodded a silent “hop in,” and charmed her with a smile. Suzanna searched the drive for Andrea, who had just finished herding her children into her own truck.

“Paul’s a good teacher, Suz.” Andrea rounded the nose of her vehicle. “You’ll be fine.”

Was this a conspiracy? Andrea hopped into her seat and brought the engine to life. There wasn’t an out.

Suzanna set a boot on the running board and pulled herself up. “You might regret this.”

Paul chuckled. “I doubt it.”

The words were low, almost under his breath, but Suzanna caught them. Warmth bloomed in her chest and spread throughout her core before she could extinguish it with the reality of who she was… and was not.

Paul hopped into the cab and pulled the passenger door shut in one motion. “Okay. So first, turn the key; that starts the engine.”

Suzanna caught his ornery grin out of the corner of her eye. “Who’s the pickle?”

His shoulders shook with laughter.

“I could be done.” She started the truck and squared her gaze on him, hiking her eyebrows.

He cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. Wiping the mischief from his face, he snapped his seatbelt in place. “Okay, I’m serious now. So, just pull out behind Dre, and we’ll take it as it comes.”

“Take what?”

“The lessons.” He pointed to the right-hand turn out of the drive. “Starting with that. You’re pulling a fifth-wheel hitch, so you’ve got to take the turns a little wide. The wheels of the trailer will cut a narrower path than the pickup’s, so take that into account. You don’t want to dump the horses in the ditch.”

Suzanna stared at him, the engine rumbling. “Paul, seriously, I’ll be okay if we skip this.”

“Are you going to run cattle on that pretty little acreage of yours?”

She shrugged. “A couple, maybe. I was thinking about it, but—”

“Then you need to know how to do this. It’s not a big deal, Suz. Just takes practice.”

Paul kept his stare on her. Were his eyes always so blue, always so intense? She dropped her attention but not before her heart gave a little kick.

Not good. So not good. She needed Paul as a neighbor and a friend. She’d promised herself she would smother this attraction and keep it platonic. But every time he zeroed an open gaze on her, things tickled inside. Things she’d determined to keep dull and hidden.

She was determined still. Love had left her. Seemed like another lifetime ago, and she’d been a different girl. She couldn’t be that girl again. Love had let her bleed to death.

Just remember that, Suzanna. Remember how searing it is to say good-bye. Remember the emptiness of sleeping next to a empty spot where your husband was supposed to lie. Remember… pain always follows. Always.

“Anytime you’re ready.” Paul reached across the cab and shifted the truck into
drive
. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were still warm and deep.

Was he trying to keep it light?

Imagination gone stupid. He didn’t have to
try
to keep it light. She’d gone into the abyss of introspection on her own. Paul was the kind of man who made everyone feel special. Suzanna had no business making assumptions that would lead to expectations.

What was that saying? “Expectation is the root of all heartache.”
So true. Leave it lay, if you don’t care, it won’t hurt.

“Suz, the way this works is the tires have to start rolling, and then the whole rig moves.”

What? Suzanna regained sensibility, discovering her hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. Andrea’s vehicle was nowhere in sight, and amusement animated Paul’s mouth. How long had she checked out?

Enough. She pressed the accelerator, and the engine revved. Tires spun against gravel, and she and Paul both jerked forward.

“Easy, cowgirl.” Paul grabbed the handhold above the door. “This kind of setup doesn’t peel out.”

Sheesh. This was such a mistake. Suzanna glanced at Paul as the rig finally started moving.

The laughter left his expression. “Do you want to talk?”

Another switch.
How does he do that?
“About what?”

“Whatever. You have thought lines.”

Suzanna wrinkled her forehead. “I have what?”

“Thought lines. Creases in your forehead. You get them when you’re thoughtful.”

“Is this a universal phenomenon?”

“I don’t know. I just know you.”

There it was again. A warm breath of life trying to arouse something she’d prefer stay dead.

“No you don’t, and I don’t have anything to talk about.” She eased the truck into a wide turn onto the road.

She could feel his eyes beckoning, but she kept her focus on the dirt road.

Remember how much it hurts… and don’t let it happen again.

Paul leaned against the backrest, exhausted, and yet his brain still worked. Too much. His head ached the way it did when he put pencil to paper to run figures. Math really wasn’t his strength.

Neither were women.

He closed his eyes as the end of the afternoon replayed.

“You know what I think?” Dre had helped him load the horses after they’d sent the kids with Suzanna to pack up.

Paul shrugged. It’d been a good day. He’d been excited when Dre had suggested they come down for the last day of loading. It had worked out well.

“I think you done got bit.” She hung her arm over the fence and stared straight at him.

Huh? Paul looked his arms over, which were safely covered in flannel. His hand brushed over his neck, checking for welts.

Dre’s laugh settled in the small valley. Her merry eyes danced with delight as she shook her head. Her booted foot slid off the rail, and she pulled away from the fencing.

Paul stared at her back as she moved toward the rise. She didn’t mean…?

“Hey, Dre.” He called, and she turned back.

Her hands rested on her hips, her smile wide as the high plains.

Paul sailed over the fence and set his stride toward her. “What are you saying?”

He knew good and well, even though Dre hadn’t answered him with anything more than a twitch of her amused brow.

And she was right.

The realization should have sent spirals of pleasure through him, not fissures of concern. Yet, pondering the truth while sitting next to the woman who had captivated his attention left him anxious.

Not the nervousness of a boy hoping the girl would say yes. He couldn’t even ask at this point. Something was not right with Suzanna. She struggled with something serious and troubling. He needed to know what it was, but she refused to open up again.

The hum of the tires against asphalt had long since settled in the cab. In the hour they’d traveled together, she’d said only five words—all in response to his instructions—
okay
,
turn here?
and
this one?
He could have tried harder, but a guy can get shot down only so many times in one day.

And that day was about done.

“Suz, do you mind if we stop at the sale barn? I need to take care of some last-minute stuff with Rodney.”

“Sure.” She bobbed her head. “It’s the first building when you come into town, right?”

“Right.”

Now
they had a conversation. Super. What if he offered to buy her dinner? Paul examined her as she leaned over the steering wheel. Even focused on the road, she looked like a lost puppy  begging to be cared for. Yet, every time she was offered a compassionate hand, she snarled and bared her teeth.

He
would
fall for a wounded pitbull. Thirty-seven years on his own, and his heart went for this one. Why couldn’t he ever, in his life, pick an easy path? Clear cut, no bumps, smooth sailing the whole way. Nope. Not this headstrong cowboy. Nothing about a relationship of any variety with Suzanna Wilton would be easy. To start off with, how did he begin? Suzanna kept herself locked away in a fortress, guarded by anger and fed on pain. How did a guy scale that?

Susanna sat up and glanced at him.

Caught. Staring right at her.

She scowled. “What?”

Paul pressed his lips together. What if he told her what he was thinking?

She’d freak out, clam up, and probably walk home. Or make him hitch a ride. Yeah. That was probably closer to the truth. The woman had a temper.

Hmm… was that an attractive quality? Paul pushed a hand over his hair and rubbed his forehead. No more thinking today.

“Paul, are you okay?”

Concern crinkled the skin around her eyes, drawing attention to the blue pools. Oh boy. That about summed her up. One minute she was snappy and about as inviting as a porcupine, and then, after two breaths she could puddle his heart with a tender look and a kind word.

Complicated. That was what she was. Layers of confusing, intriguing, angering, mesmerizing complexity. Which was why, of course, he liked her. Easy reads were boring. And usually fake.

“I’m fine. Just a little headache.” He met those cool sapphires, and his breath caught when she held the connection. His fingers twitched, longing to brush her skin. A fear of hitchhiking, however, kept him sensible. “Thanks for asking, Pickle.”