Black Hills Bride (14 page)

“What does it look like?” she spat back, yanking her arm from his grasp. “Doing what you—what
everyone
—has wanted me to do since the day I got here.”

She pinned him with a glare, anchoring her roiling emotions. A solitary tear escaped down her cheek and she dashed it away.

“I’m leaving.”

D
ixie was serious.

Erik had seen her doubt herself a hundred times, and a hundred times he’d watched her pull herself up by her bootstraps, bolstered by her faith in God.

This time was different. He saw it in her eyes. She was going to leave.

Unless he stopped her.

“It was signed with a Bar N,” he said, his voice low and even as if speaking to a spooked pony.

She swung on him, her aqua blue eyes flashing with hurt and anger. “What?”

“The note was signed,” he repeated patiently.

“Bar N. John Needleson’s brand.”

He narrowed his eyes on her, anticipating her reaction. “Exactly.”

“John Needleson started this fire.” She didn’t sound surprised, only weary and world-worn.

“And slashed your tires.”

She dropped her gaze, then turned slowly back to her suitcase. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly with her shallow breathing. He wanted to reach out to her, comfort her, reassure her.

Instead, he jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. She didn’t want his help.

“It doesn’t make any difference,” she said in a low monotone, her voice hollow.

“It makes
every
difference,” Erik retorted darkly, glad his hands were in his pockets so he couldn’t slam his fist into a wall in frustration.

“No.”

“I’ll see to Needleson myself,” he vowed. Fury flared, lightning-hot and surging through his chest.

John Needleson put Dixie in danger. John Needleson was running her off her own land.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Dixie stopped her edgy motion of packing and turned on Erik, gently laying her hands on his elbows as she looked up into his face. The scent of peaches emanated from her hair.

It was a dumb thing to notice at a time like this. But he couldn’t help it, with her standing so close to him. What was a man to do?

He took a deep breath, trying to stabilize his suddenly jumpy nerves. He looked down at her tanned, no longer so peaches-and-cream complexion and those big aqua eyes staring back up at him, and knew he couldn’t let her leave.

Dixie slid her hands from his elbows to his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles mounting. Anger shot like sparks from his eyes. She was shaking inside from rage, but knew she wouldn’t act on it.

Erik, she wasn’t so sure of.

“Why did He do this to you?” he growled, placing his hands over hers.

“John Needleson?”

“God.”

He moved her arms around his neck and slipped his around her waist, pulling her tight. The smell of soap and leather was a soothing balm to Dixie, who burrowed farther into the softness of his shirt, such a contrast to the rock-hard muscle of the man underneath.

It was soothing, though his words were not. “What have you done to deserve this?”

“God didn’t do this to me.” She laughed shakily. “He’s not some big old guy hanging out in heaven getting His kicks making us tiny little humans squirm.”

He made a sound in his throat that could have been a chuckle. Dixie leaned back to see his face. He looked as broody as ever.

“How do you know?” He tipped his forehead down until it was touching hers, his gaze serious. His breath was warm and sweet on her cheek, smelling lightly of cinnamon. “How do you even know He’s there at all?”

“I know,” she affirmed. “Here.” She placed her hand over his heart.

“And here.” She touched his temple. “I believe what the Bible says about who God is, and that’s a loving Father.”

Brushing the back of his hand across her cheek, she tucked her head into his chest. Silently he stroked her hair. His breathing was regular and even, soothing in its rhythm.

“He sent His Son to die on a cross for our sins, Erik. He couldn’t possibly ask me to do anything more difficult than that.”

He went as still as stone, not even breathing, and she was afraid she’d said too much. She didn’t want to bully him into the Kingdom of God. She just wanted him to know it was there when he was ready to seek it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, pushing away from him.

Being held by cold steel beams wasn’t as comforting as the soft warmth Erik had provided earlier. “I won’t leave. I promise.”

He swung around, grabbed his hat from the bed and clamped it on his head. His lips were sealed in a firm, straight line, and his eyes were dark with anger.

Without a word to her, or even acknowledging she was there, Erik stalked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Was he still so angry with God? Or was John Needleson going to bear the brunt of his resentment?

She wasn’t about to wait and see.

Erik knew he was being rude, but he had to escape the confines of her small studio. It smothered him, all of it.

The faint, tantalizing scent of peaches that lingered wherever Dixie was. The way she’d made her room a home, with little feminine touches his own mobile—he wouldn’t even go so far as to call it a
home
—lacked completely.

And most of all her words of faith.

He was angry.

Terribly, violently angry. It pulsed through him, wild and hot. He wanted to punch a tree. He wanted to wring John Needleson’s neck with his own bare hands.

And all the while, the lingering, empty ache in his chest grew larger and larger. He had the peculiar sense he was being pursued. Not by a human being, but by God Himself.

How could this be?

He squeezed his eyes shut. Up until recently, he hadn’t believed there was a God. And then he’d started reading that little New Testament, and the words had come alive in his heart.

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

He staggered through the trees, away from the compound. Toward his own land, where he was certain he could be alone.

It was ironic at a time like this, that he was running away in order to be alone, when he’d never felt more achingly alone—
lonely
—in his entire life.

Dixie’s threat to leave just about undid him. He should be following up on his words and paying John Needleson a visit. But he knew he wouldn’t. Not now, with anger and hate boiling over like lava, melting everything in its path.

At last he fell to his knees on a bed of pine needles just out of sight of his mobile.

“Oh, God.” It was all he could think of to say. Emotions poured from his heart, all the hate and bitterness he’d stored up over the years. He didn’t know what to do with emotion.

Feeling anything at all was foreign to him, at least until Dixie had come into his life with her strong-willed faith, uncorking the dam of emotions he’d tried so hard to keep hidden over the years. He could no more stop the whirling tempest of emotions consuming him than he could stop the tears from streaming down his face.

Dixie had opened his heart to the truth. She’d found a soft spot in his heart of stone. And Dixie’s God—the God of the Bible—had whittled His way through.

“I’m sorry, God,” he said aloud, not caring if someone overheard him. He felt as if the world had closed up for this one moment between him and God.

“I’m sorry for blaming You when my mother died. I’m sorry for not trusting You when You brought Dixie into my life.”

He pounded his fists into the ground. “Help me to make things right. With You. And with her.”

Swiping the tears from his eyes, he yanked the tiny New Testament from his breast pocket. He wanted to find that verse about the Word of God and read it again and again. Instead, he cracked the Bible open to the first page, and found there a dedication written in Dixie’s stylish flair.

“The Lord be with you.”

It was a short message, but enough to rock his world. He leaned his fists against the rough ground and held on for dear life. Waiting for he didn’t know what.

God’s spirit moved slowly and quietly as he sat bowed and broken under the tree, replacing hate and anger with love and peace.

And sheer, utter joy.

He felt as if someone had physically lifted a thousand-pound weight from his shoulders, and he almost wanted to sing, if he wasn’t tone-deaf. He couldn’t ever remember feeling so light and free. A verse from his childhood flew into his mind as if on wings.

Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.

Finally he knew for certain, and wondered dazedly how he could have missed it all this time. Finally he understood the faith Dixie shared with him just by her life and example.

Had his father grown to understand this incomprehensible, yet amazingly simple truth? Is that why he’d left his ranch to the church and not to his son?

Was his father at peace now, by his mother’s side in heaven?

Excitement coursed through him, and he laughed out loud. Joy as he’d never imagined pumped through his veins like adrenaline.

He wanted Dixie to be the first to know what had happened to this hardened cowboy’s stone-cold heart.

It was alive and warm with the love of God.

D
ixie waited a full fifteen minutes before asking for Victory to be brought around. She’d thought about taking her truck, but decided a straight shot through the trees would be faster.

Erik was on his way to see John Needleson, and she had to get there first. Or at least at the same time, which was all she could hope for.

She still didn’t know why John—if it was John—had started that fire. But if he was angry with her for some reason, it sure wouldn’t help to have Erik go running to her defense.

He was certainly angry enough to pick a fight. And if John Needleson was indeed the man behind the vandalism, he’d be ripe for the picking. Erik could be hurt.

She pushed Victory harder, galloping over the rolling hills, ducking beneath low branches and gritting her teeth against the rough ride. Erik wasn’t going to get hurt trying to do her a favor.

She didn’t need his help. She’d confront Needleson on her own if she had to.

She crossed onto his land and headed in the general direction of his ranch house and stable. She hoped she wouldn’t pass right by it without seeing it through the trees. Her heart pounded with the same rhythm as Victory’s hooves upon the turf.

“Mr. Needleson,” she called when she spotted the ranch house. “Mr. Needleson!”

Slipping off her horse, she scanned the area but saw no sign of Erik’s truck. Had he already been there and gone?

To her relief, John answered her desperate knock almost right away. She looked him over with a critical eye.

He didn’t appear to have been in a fight. It was only then that she let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

“What do
you
want?” he demanded, scowling.

He looked like he might slam the door in her face, so she put her hand on the frame to deter him. Her breath came in fast, uneven gasps, and she gulped for air to soothe her stinging lungs.

“I want to know if you set fire to my hay,” she said between breaths.

“What?” he roared, opening the door wide.

She cringed. If John
was
the vandal, coming here and accusing him of it to his face probably wasn’t the best idea in the world, though it was a little late to figure that out now.

But she hadn’t expected to be confronting him on her own.
Where was Erik?

John looked as if he would spontaneously combust within moments. His face grew increasingly red and creased with angry wrinkles.

“Could I come in?” she suggested, her voice squeaking with tension.

“For what, a cup of coffee?” he retorted.

She shrugged. “I’d rather not talk out here.”

“Talk?” He glared at her from under the shelf of his thick gray eyebrows.

She looked away, over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. May I come in?”

“It don’t matter.” He turned and walked back into his ranch-level redbrick house, leaving the door open for her to follow.

Didn’t matter that she came in, or didn’t matter that she’d accused him of starting that fire, she wondered.

She followed him into the kitchen and watched with increased discomfort as he turned a chair around backward and straddled it, leaning on his forearms.

He didn’t gesture for her to sit, so she remained standing awkwardly in the center of the breakfast nook.

“Why are you here?”

Because I thought Erik would be,
she thought. “I’ve been having some trouble with vandalism at my retreat center,” she said aloud.

“That so?”

“Yes. And it’s come to my attention that you might have a reason to have carried out those attacks on my property.”

“How’s that?”

She shook her head. He wasn’t giving an inch, neither in word or expression. “I don’t know, John. I was hoping you’d tell me.”

He snorted. “Not much to tell.”

“Then you didn’t start that fire?”

He stood up so fast, the chair he was sitting on crashed over underneath him.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat as she saw the guilty truth in his gaze. “You did start the fire.”

He turned toward the window and crossed his arms over his ample chest with a noncommittal grunt.

“Why, John?” she asked quietly, when it was apparent he wasn’t going to take out a shotgun. He looked old, tired. Angry and bitter, but not violent. She just didn’t sense it in him.

Yet, he’d all but admitted he was responsible for her property damage.

“You don’t belong here,” he said at last, his voice rough and gravelly.

“So you said. In the notes you left with the bowie knives.”

He actually had the grace to cringe. “Yeah, well…”

“I’m no threat to you. Rockhaven won’t be any bother. We’ll be the best neighbors you’ve ever had.”

He whirled around and caught her gaze. “I don’t want neighbors.”

She swallowed, but her throat was dry. “I—I had hoped we could be friends,” she stammered, then went silent, thinking about his words. Finally she looked up and met his gaze. “What is it you do want? Besides me leaving, I mean,” she asked softly.

“Your land.”

There it was, out in the open, thought Dixie, not sure whether to be worried or relieved. John turned back toward the window, apparently finished with his part of the conversation.

But Dixie couldn’t leave it at that. “If you wanted my land, why didn’t you just buy it when it was up for sale? I know several others looked at it before I picked it up.”

He leaned his knuckles on the sill. “I did. But I wasn’t offering cash.”

“Oh.” What could she say to that? She could see the tension straining his shoulders, the anger etching deep lines on his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Don’t matter.”

“Obviously it does, John, if you feel the need to threaten me.”

“Don’t matter. You didn’t leave.” He turned and picked up the chair, resuming his seat, straddling it backward.

“No, I didn’t.” She cleared her throat and looked away. “And I’m not going to leave. I feel called by God to start this retreat. I hope I can minister to people here.”

“Don’t bring God into this.”

Shaken, she took a mental step backward. Apparently there was more to his anger than just the sale of the land. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Leaning on his elbows, he pressed his knuckles against his forehead. “Cathy would have loved your retreat.”

Dixie’s heart jumped with hope. “She was a Christian?”

“Yeah.”

Without thinking, she stood and went to John’s side, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’s in heaven, John.”

Tension flared through his shoulders as he bowed his head. But he didn’t turn away from her compassion, just quietly accepted it.

“I know,” he said at last. He stood and shook her hand from his shoulder.

He took a deep, raspy breath. Dixie was afraid he might cry.

Instead, he darted forward and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “That don’t change nothing.”

Dixie froze at his touch, though his fingers were digging into her skin. He was angry, she sensed, but he wouldn’t hurt her.

She met his gaze, willing her own to be calm and reassuring. Was it her imagination, or did the hardness in his eyes soften just a little?

“You’re welcome to come visit me at the grand opening this weekend,” she said, conscious of how shaky her voice sounded. “I hope you’ll come.”

His fingers loosened their grip even as his breathing evened out.

He was responding to kindness. There was a good man underneath all that gruff. She just had to reach him.

Relief washed through her.

Thank you, Jesus.
Everything would work out in the end.

She was about to tell John so when a deep, angry voice interrupted from the door.

“Get your hands off her, you jerk.”

Dixie yanked herself out of John’s grasp and whirled on Erik. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“I could say the same,” she snapped, frustrated beyond belief. She’d come here to rescue him, and instead had found John Needleson waiting and no sign of Erik anywhere.

And just when she thought she might be making some small progress toward making John a friend, Erik showed up and blew everything sky-high with the first words out of his mouth. Sure, the fire could have been bad, but it wasn’t, and Dixie was ready to turn the other cheek. Or at least she had been until Erik burst in on the scene.

It just figured.

Her gaze darted to John, but he’d already closed up. She grieved over the gain she’d once again lost. Two steps backward, even, when Erik strode forward and grabbed John by the collar.

Without a word, he pulled John up until he was eye level, nearly off the floor.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, trying to intervene, but neither man appeared to hear her. They were locked in a battle of wills, each refusing to break eye contact.

Dixie sighed loudly and huffed away from them. If there was going to be violence, she wasn’t going to be here to see it. “If you
boys
will excuse me, I have work to do.”

When Erik heard Dixie make her exit, he slammed John back against the wall and leaned on his forearm to pin the man there. “If I ever see you touch Dixie again…”

He left the threat dangling, not even waiting to see John’s reaction. He had a woman to catch.

He stalked out of the house as fast as his boots would let him, but Victory was already gone by the time he got outside.

Fortunately for him, though he wasn’t certain she would think so, he’d ridden over on horseback, as well. He had Jazz pointed and trotting in the right direction before he was even mounted.

He urged her forward, desperate to catch up with Dixie. A variety of emotions swirled through his chest. Galloping through the grass, he let himself feel, and examine what he felt.

How could he get angry again so soon after finding peace?

But when he’d gone to tell Dixie of his faith, he’d discovered her missing. And Vic was gone.

He was a cowboy and not a mathematician, but it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He didn’t like the answer he came up with.

Dixie had gone to confront John Needleson.

Taking the bull by the horns, just as she always did. He was almost as angry at himself for not realizing earlier what she would do, as he was at her for putting herself in such danger.

They didn’t even know yet what the real threat was, though he was certain John Needleson was behind it. And petite Dixie Sullivan had gone to face him down on her own.

Didn’t the woman ever think things through? Didn’t she realize she could be hurt?

His breath gathered in his throat as he spotted Dixie and Vic through a break in the thick wood. She was trotting slowly as if enjoying the scenery. As if she hadn’t a care in the world.

As if he hadn’t broken in at the last moment, before John Needleson had harmed her.

He slowed to a trot as he overtook her, grabbing Victory by the bridle.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Let go of my horse.”

“No.”

Dixie tried in vain to pull Victory from his grasp, but he held tight, holding the horse more with the calm words he spoke to the gelding than by the hand gripping his halter.

With a frustrated huff of breath, she threw the reins down and dismounted. “Fine, then, I’ll walk.”

Erik was off Jazz in record time, pulling both horses’ reins over their heads so he could lead them.

“Dixie,” he called to her receding figure, but she didn’t slow her pace.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath.

She whirled and marched back in his direction. “I heard that.”

He shrugged. Couldn’t fault a man for telling the truth.

“Oh, so
I’m
stubborn, now.”

So she was getting the hint. Took her long enough. He shrugged again.

“Takes one to know one,” she retorted.

He couldn’t help it—he had to smile.

“Don’t you laugh at me, you big…big…
cowboy,
” she exclaimed, making it sound like an insult. When he pulled her toward him, she playfully pounded his chest with her closed fists.

He quickly sobered. “Dixie, you could have been hurt. That’s nothing to laugh about.”

“I was fine.”

“You’re always fine, aren’t you?” he barked back.

“It’s none of your business.
I’m
none of your business,” she said as she marched away.

She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d stuck him through with a bull’s horn. When would she figure out she
was
his business, not only as her foreman, but because he cared for her?

How did a man who’d never been good with words tell a woman he loved her? That he wanted to spend his life serving God with her right here in the beautiful South Dakota mountains?

That he was scared out of his wits when he thought she might be putting herself in danger?

And who was he to say if she wanted to hear any of it in the first place?

He darted a glance at her. She was still hiking at the same quick pace, unwilling to slow down to speak with him. Her jaw was set and her eyes were flashing.

He’d never been very good at speaking. But maybe speaking wasn’t what was required here. What was a man to do with a stubborn woman who wouldn’t listen to reason?

He dropped the horses’ reins, knowing they wouldn’t wander far with all the good meadow grass underneath them, and reached for Dixie before she could grasp a hint of his intentions.

He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms securely around her waist. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered again before sealing her lips with his.

She tensed for a moment, and he was afraid she’d pull away. He knew he’d let her go if she did.

But she surprised him, after that initial shock of contact. She reached up and framed his face with her hands, kissing him back so fiercely he was no longer sure who controlled the moment.

It didn’t matter.