Finding Stefanie by Susan May Warren Page A

Billings.
    He’d already told the contractor to bring in his house, which he’d ordered months ago when he’d closed on the property. A log home on a truck. He’d always wanted a log home, but knowing the cost of wood in Montana, he’d opted for a system used to truck in the wood. He’d picked out a spot on the hill above John’s house, and he had planned to use the old house as a visitor/reception center. Maybe he could have barbecues, invite all the local youths instead.
    He let his mouth slide up on one side. This wasn’t Dallas. He didn’t have to panic about being overrun by delinquents in Phillips.In fact, once he placed a call to the Social Services office in Billings, he’d probably never see the kid again.
    He should assume, then, that he wouldn’t see Stefanie Noble either, based on her overprotective reaction last night. Did she always have such a soft spot for troublemakers?
    Oh yeah, he’d forgotten about her brother Rafe. Maybe with him headed on the straight and narrow, she needed a new project.
    Pulling out his cell phone again, Lincoln walked up the hill, checking the signal. He allowed himself to rest a couple of times, and by the time he reached the top, he had full reception. But before he called his agent, he stood for just a moment and breathed.
    The crisp air in Montana always smelled of freedom. Of wide-open spaces, grasses, and flowers, of animals and the wind off the western mountains, and today a tinge of smoke from last night’s inferno. Healing air seeped into his lungs, filled them, and he let out the slightest breath, then inhaled deep . . . deeper . . . holding it.
    Letting it fill his lungs, his hollow places.
    From this vantage point, he could make out the hazy purple of the Bighorns in the west, the rolling green hills cut away as if with a giant spoon, leaving ragged ravines and drying streambeds littered with boulders.
    As if resenting his moment of quiet, the phone rang in his hand. He looked at the display. Elise.
    Yippee.
    He opened it, already pursing his lips. “Elise.”
    “Oh, Linc, where did you run to? We had the most rockin’ party last night—I totally missed you.”
    “Thanks. But I’m involved in a project right now, and I have to focus all my attention on it.”
    “Oh, I love projects! Are you writing a screenplay? Let me help. I’ve always wanted to write a film. Please. Besides, I miss you.”
    “No . . . no. This is something I have to do by myself.” Not including the demolition team and a cleanup crew and a team of builders, due to arrive later this week with Delia. If Elise showed up, he’d have a three-ring circus—caterers, builders, press . . . and an illness that wouldn’t stay quiet for long.
    But making Elise angry wouldn’t do him any favors either. She had a way of landing in the tabloids and dragging everyone else with her. “Listen, I miss you too. But you . . . you need to move on.”
    He heard silence at the other end, could see Elise’s pretty face tighten in a scowl.
    “I’ll call you . . . when . . . I’m finished with my project.” Now he was the one making a face, but he still had the acting chops to add earnestness to his voice. “I promise.”
    Elise gave a deep sigh, one she should have reserved for the set. “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” She hung up.
    Yeah, sure. She’d pine away for him while shopping on the Sunset Strip and eating dinner at Spago and hanging out with her A-list cronies. It would be tough.
    Lincoln fielded a call from his agent. He’d been through five agents since Dex had cast him for his first two-bit gig. This latest guy had been in the industry for thirty years and promised to help him transition from action flicks to drama, but so far, he’d only racked up an expense sheet of dinners with directors and producers. As usual, his agent had a lineup of action scripts for Lincoln’s consideration.
    Lincoln turned him down, then scrolled through his voice mail. His contractor had