* * *
June passed into July, and Clint remained officially single. The waiting and wondering were sheer torture.
The fourth of July celebration at the neighbor's ranch had come and gone. Like always, Clint had been overrun by the local unattached women. One in particular—the petite blonde. Still, no announcement.
Then came the pre-round-up ranch frenzy, and Jessica welcomed the frantic workload. Anything to steer her thoughts in a more positive direction. The cowboys wolfed their dinners, listened to Uncle Roy's pep talk, and turned in early. All except Johnnie and three others who waited for Clint and any last minute changes he would make to their plans.
Jessica tried to keep the clinking of washed dishes to a minimum, but her hands shook so.
Darn nerves. She prayed hiccups wouldn't ensue. It had been days since she'd seen Clint, busy as he was bringing stragglers in from the high country. She slung a damp dishtowel over her shoulder and decided to stack silverware in the drawer. At least she wouldn't break anything if her fingers fumbled any worse.
The screen door squeaked open and slammed closed. Jessica froze, staring at the spoon in her hand. Heavy boots clunked over the hardwood floor. She forced her gaze up. Her heart leapt as if in call to him. Clint stood near, with feet shoulder-width apart, like he was ready to single-handedly take on the world. But no, that was all wrong. He was grimy from head to toe, his head hung heavy, and he swayed a little in the kitchen's entryway. Dead on his feet before round-up even began.
Jessica ached inside. What she would give to take his head in her lap and stroke his hair until he closed his eyes and slept a dreamless sleep . . .
His eyes met hers. "Jessie."
She blinked, vaguely aware she was stroking something in her hand. She glanced down.
Spoon. She was caressing a stupid spoon. She dropped it in the drawer and planted a smile on her face. She tried to appear unflustered. "Clint. You're tired. Can I get you some coffee?"
"Sure." He stared for several more heartbeats, then shuffled away to join the men at the table.
While the others listened to Clint's plans, Jessica kept their coffee mugs filled. As she'd done with the others, she braced a hand to Clint's sturdy shoulder and leaned in to fill his cup. He turned his head toward her, slid his eyelids closed. His nostrils flared with a quiet intake of breath. The men were busy talking so they hadn't noticed. But she had. When his eyes re-opened, a softness was there. Then it was gone. Leashed.
"Would—" She moistened her lips. "Would you like some food? I could heat up something, or bring you a piece of apple pie? The others have eaten."
One side of his mouth tilted up. "Some of your apple pie?"
"Yes."
"Then, yeah, I'll have that. Thanks." He rubbed his forehead and refocused. "Johnnie, the butanes will need to go with you in the morning. . ."
Clint's voice droned on, but Jessica didn't catch a word as she returned to the kitchen to prepare Clint's dessert.
An hour passed before anyone rose, and one by one bid her goodnight. She watched Clint grab his hat, snug it to his brow, and disappear from view.
Johnnie was the last to head to the door. But before he went out, he rocked back and caught Jessica's eye. "Jess, would you like to come to a round-up? I'm in charge of the one closest to the ranch house. You're welcome to watch if you'd like."
A burst of joy shot through her, but immediately drifted away. Why hadn't Clint mentioned her going? Would she see him there? "I would love to."
He grinned. "Knew you would. I'll be going out at sunrise. You can come later. It's the corral to the east. I'll saddle the little mare and leave her for you."
"Thanks."
He pulled at the tip of his hat. "Night, Jess. See you tomorrow." He let himself out the back door.
Lord, what do you want me to do about that sweet man? My heart bends hard toward Clint, but if you've sent me here for Johnnie . . .