Ride With Me (A Quaking Heart Novel - Book One)

  Chapter 9

  Jessica's nerves crackled at the thought of riding again with Clint. But when she looked at Johnnie, all she could see were taut features and a bent-knee stance. Like Johnnie had just taken a blow.

  She turned back. "Look, Clint—"

  Johnnie waved her off. "It's okay, Jess. Go with Clint." He whipped about and strode off. Jessica stared at his retreating back.

  "Let's get you back," Clint said curtly. "You'll need time to clean up before you're pressed into duty for the big feast."

  With one hand he gripped the top slat and vaulted over the fence with practiced grace. How does he do that after such a long day? He took her by an elbow and led her to his horse. "Ready?"

  She tried to speak but could only nod.

  She planted a boot in the stirrup and hesitated, wondering if her rapidly flagging knees would have the strength. Before she could glance over a shoulder at Clint, his hands were on her rear. He gave her a swift but forceful shove, and nearly sent her over the saddle. He caught and righted her. Once she was seated, he lifted his big body up behind her. His arms encircled her to capture the reins and turn them toward home.

  Now alone on the trail, Clint slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her snug against him, as if they made this ride together every day. He lifted her hat and plopped it onto the saddle horn, freeing wisps of hair to fly about in the warm afternoon breeze. She pushed them back from her damp forehead. He leaned in, his chest pressed into her back. His warm breath delighted her ear, sending a shudder down her spine. "How do you manage to smell so good after being out here all day? Forgive how I must smell."

  His smell of working male, dirt, and leather was familiar, pleasing, even though he'd been in the relentless heat like everyone else. Curious, since he'd also been the only cowboy who hadn't shed his shirt at some time during the round-up.

  Their progress toward camp seemed uncommonly slow. Jessica was thankful for that. She whiffed the pines and heard the stream's melody at a distance. She enjoyed every breathtaking minute with the man she'd come to admire in so many ways. A man who'd wrapped her heart up in a tidy little package to do with as he pleased. And therein lay the problem. What he decided to do with it would affect the rest of her life.

  "It seemed you were enjoying yourself today, Jessie. Were you?" Clint asked, jolting her out of her reverie.

  Jessica turned her face slightly so he'd be able to hear her. Strands of her hair brushed against his chin, tangling up in his stubble. He didn't remove it. Instead she heard him inhale and felt him tighten his hold at her waist. In that instant she couldn't draw a full breath, and not from his hold. She waited a beat trying to gather the breath needed to speak. "I loved it. I want to help next time."

  He remained quiet. She wondered if he didn't like her request or hadn't heard her. Finally she had to ask, "Are you still back there?"

  "Oh yeah." His voice rumbled low. "I'm here." He spread his fingers open on her flat stomach and . . . moved them? Heat crept up her neck and throat. Soon a rush of blood infused her ears and set them tingling. Her heart began to pound in earnest.

  He lifted his Stetson and held it atop his thigh. An instant later hot breath touched the nape of her neck, then the scratch of stubble. She stiffened in surprise.

  "Easy now," he murmured against her neck.

  It's okay, it's okay. He wasn't actually kissing her skin, as such. He was just rubbing his cheek—and breath—along it. Smelling what was left of her fragrance was all. But then that theory was obliterated when the wet warmth of his mouth slid along where his breath had been, and her mind almost couldn't register the shock of it. All on its own, her head dropped to the side. What was she doing? Giving him better access? A moan of delight escaped her before she could stop it. He groaned in answer.

  Why is he doing this? With me? When had she become one of his women? And why, since he could choose anyone he wanted?

  Yet, she didn't want it to stop. He'd managed to snatch away the reins of her good sense and now had full control. So much so that she feared, were they somewhere other than on a horse, she would be sorely tempted to give away her long guarded virtue. The gelding sidestepped just then, startling her. She sat up straighter and tried to steady her breathing. The touch of his lips started again, at the crook where her neck met her shoulder. Why? To put another notch in his belt?

  The ranch house appeared as a shimmering black shadow in the distance, a visible period marking the end of her tangled traverse through emotion. They rode in silence to the corral. Clint reined the horse to a stop and pulled back from her. A breeze stirred between them, cooling her overheated body. She couldn't speak, didn't dare move. They remained this way for a long while.

  Finally, Clint whispered near her temple, "Okay, little one, we should go."

  So affectionate, like they'd been together for years instead of emotional strangers. She didn't know what to think.

  Putting his hat back in place, he swung his leg across the horse's backside and dropped down. Reaching up from behind, he grasped her by the middle, and waited for her to swing her leg around as well. He held her against the solid barrier of his chest as her back slipped down his torso. When her feet touched the ground, he tenderly rotated her to face him. Thankfully, his hands held tight to her upper arms since her legs didn't seem to have bones. Their gazes fastened together. That self-controlled, almost cool gaze he usually wore had completely deserted him. His eyes seemed to drink her in, leaving him raw, exposed, and unprotected in a way she'd never seen before. She felt joined to him somehow. No wonder women love the attention of this man. He's looking at me like I'm the one.

  "Well now, isn't this a fascinating sight," came a harsh feminine voice.

  Clint stiffened and dropped his hands from her. He slowly turned to find Veronica. "How long have you been standing there?"

  She folded her arms across her ample chest and her normally beautiful face seemed to distort. "Long enough to see you two sitting on top of each other on that horse!"

  Clint's jaw seemed to cramp. He splayed long fingers at his narrow hips and tilted his head toward her. "If you hadn't thrown that childish fit and left the round-up on Jessie's mare, we wouldn't have been on the same horse, now would we?"

  He turned back to Jessica, and with a quiet voice said, "You'd better go on in. Mabel will be looking for your help."

  Jessica's throat tightened to the point of strangling words she might have said right out of her. Dismissed? So easily? She jerked her chin down, part nod, part recoil, and wobbled toward the main house. At the porch, she glanced over a shoulder. Clint's gaze locked onto hers, stony and desperate at the same time, just like the set of his jaw. Then his focus shifted back to Veronica.

  Jessica took the next step more slowly, watching to see what he would do.

  Clint confronted Veronica, speaking in a steady voice, emphasizing each word. "If you want to stay, you'll need to be more agreeable. Take that frown off your face, for one. Go to the house and offer your help, for another. If you're there, I'll see you—if you're not, I won't."

  He lifted his hat in mock salute, then crammed it back down on his head and struck out for the barn, towing his gelding behind him.

  Jessica couldn't believe her ears. He had actually reprimanded Veronica. With Jessica he'd been tender, even intimate. But the minute hope floated up from somewhere deep inside her, she recognized it for what it was—an illusion. He's the ultimate virile -and don't forget, philandering—man. Of course he would react to a woman pressed so close to him on a horse.

  Away from his touch now, she could think more clearly. Even though he was undoubtedly irritated with Veronica, it was laughable to think Clint had any true interest in an ordinary woman such as herself. She knew better than that.

  She squared her shoulders and entered the house in search of Mabel, finding her in the kitchen bent over a bucket of calf parts. "I'm going to clean up," Jessica said, her voice straining. "I'll be back to help you." For once Mabel
didn't have a snide remark and nodded her agreement.

  As Jessica was fixing to climb the stairs, the front door flung open, and Veronica strutted in, her mouth in a pout. She sped straight to the bottom of the stairs, effectively blocking Jessica's assent.

  Jessica bounced back a step and gaped at the brash woman.

  "Clint says I need to help, so what can I do?"

  Jessica stared into flaring blue eyes that had locked boldly to hers. Anxious to be alone with her thoughts, Jessica pointed toward the kitchen. "Go see Mabel. She's right in there."

  Veronica pushed past her and sashayed off to the kitchen.

  Alone in her room, Jessica paced back and forth in front of her dresser mirror. She paused once to stare at her reflection. "What does Clint see in that woman?" she whispered to her image. She took a good long look at herself. If desolation had a look, it was there in her eyes. Disgusted at her own feebleness, she paced again.

  She couldn't in good conscience claim a reason why it should bother her that Veronica had her hooks in Clint. Except the obvious. She, Jessica Elaine Harper, wanted him. Wanted him soul-deep.

  She groaned and scrubbed her hands up her face, sliding fingers into her hairline. She'd been happy today. Clint had noticed. She'd proved to him that this was the life she loved. Grabbing the base of her ponytail she tore off the rubber band, thrust her fingers through her hair, and madly attacked the wind-blown snarls.

  Clint would never belong to her. He didn't seem to belong to anyone. She could yearn for him all she wanted and it wouldn't matter. She'd never be in the same league as Veronica. But then, by golly, Veronica wasn't in the same league as her either.

  Her fingers snagged in a ball of tangles, and she tugged, trying to loosen them while pain shot into her scalp. If her mom were here, she'd be pushing Jessica to go after the man, offering anything . . . everything. If for no other reason than to show Veronica up. No! She refused to succumb to that pathetic state. She would find a way to manage the evening's celebration, and somehow show Clint that he deserved more. Someone who wasn't just a beautiful shell.

  She threw off her soiled clothes and used her newfound determination to fuel her plan. She would dazzle Clint. Not out of spite. Not to somehow show Veronica up. As Jessica. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  She bathed, washed and dried her hair, and brushed it until her natural curls shone like liquid amber. She donned a full skirted, light green dress with little cap sleeves, cinched tight to emphasize her small waist. The neckline was scooped, but not too revealing, and the skirt length was discreetly at her calves. She applied her lilac fragrance and only light make-up since her skin already glowed from the day in the sunshine. Though her outfit bespoke the refined femininity of California, she wore cowboy boots—and with them her love of an untamed Montana. This time when she took a quick look in the mirror, she smiled. Yes. Now, at least her self-respect was showing.

  She traipsed into the hallway with renewed confidence and bravado, and rounded the corner to head down the stairs. The front door swung open. Clint took one step in, glanced up to where she had paused on the landing, and stopped dead in his tracks. She heard his breath hitch. After that he stood perfectly still.

  He was devastating in his white shirt with thin blue stripes tucked into snug jeans. His emerald eyes flashed against his deepened tan. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Jessica studied his expression. It was the same one he'd shown her before Veronica's interruption at the barn. When it sank in that this was awe in his eyes—for her—a thrill of pure victory burst through her. His reverent gaze raked over her, from her hair to her booted feet and back up to her eyes. Jessica drank in that gaze as if it was a gentle caress.

  She hoped he'd speak first or move, since she seemed incapable. Five heartbeats later—or was it seven—he gave a deep pull on the brim of his Stetson, and in a low voice for her ears only, he said, "Evenin' Jessie. You're prettier than a picture. I'll bet you smell good, too." The last sentence he'd expelled on a breath, as if he had only planned to think it.

  Heat rushed into her cheeks as her bluster rushed out. "Hello." She slowly inhaled. "We'll have the meal ready before you know it." She gave him a sweet smile. He was only here early to see about Veronica, she knew that. But it didn't matter. He got a good glimpse of her best, and that pleased her. For now.