* * *
Without warning, the tidal wave of longing—building since the moment Jessica had laid eyes on Clint Wilkins—crashed over her, eroding her well-known Harper stability and good sense. With no conscious thought, she came up on tiptoes and clasped her hands behind his neck, tugging him down to her mouth. Her lips pressed into his recklessly, as if she could pour her heart into him through that single point of contact.
He didn't hold her—his hands full with his rifle and flashlight—but he didn't stop her either, kissing her back, letting it deepen and lengthen until both of them were completely unraveled. He pulled away, his expression one of anguish. "Jessie—I . . ."
He looked so stricken, and sad, and confused. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it. Staring into her eyes, his seemed to say that this wasn't right, that it could never be. He never said those words. Maybe he couldn't. Not when he wasn't even sure he would return. Like the encounter had never happened, he twisted around and jogged off into the night.
Helplessness seized Jessica in a grip so tight she struggled for her next breath. Clint was running headlong into danger and she didn't have the power to stop it. Clint had the only gun. She was unarmed, except that she could pray. No matter how Clint felt about God, it didn't change the forces that came into play from the prayers of the faithful. She knelt by the campfire, praying aloud Psalm 23. "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want . . .
. . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me . . .
Jessica kept repeating the Psalm until she heard the report of a rifle. She jerked and sucked in a gasp at the sound. She continued her vigil in her head, asking God for Clint's safety, his sure footing, God's full protection on him. Still on her knees with her head bent toward the ground, fear for him and for herself finally burst out of her as an onslaught of hiccups.
Suddenly, strong arms came out of nowhere and lifted her to her feet. Clint. He twirled her around and tucked her under his chin. His arms locked her to him, and hers joined in the desperate embrace with fingers digging into his back and their warmth mingling together.
And then the tears came. She wept against him, shuddering with intense sobs.
His ragged breathing slowed, and her snuffles lessened. Soon only silent tears fell from her eyes. When the terror faded and her tears subsided, her heightened senses shifted to the feel of the man himself. They fit perfectly there in each other's arms—familiar, natural, comfortable. Embedded in his solid chest, his scent came to her, encompassed in masculine heat. It calmed her shattered nerves, leaving her trembling for another reason altogether.
Clint loosened his hold. With long fingers caught in her hair, he gently pulled her head back to give him a clear view of her face. His gaze swept over each feature before looking into her eyes. "Are you all right?"
Warring emotions raged through her. "Am I—all right? How c-can you ask if I'm all right?" Jessica hiccupped. "Are you—all right?"
Releasing her, he gripped her hand to bring her to the blanket and gently pushed her down. He sat next to her, resting a forearm on one raised knee. "I'm fine. I told you I would be."
"What happened out there, Clint?"
He gazed off into the darkness as if the scene was replaying there. "The grizzly was scavenging for food in the wagon." He glanced back at her. "I heard you praying all the way to the wagon, Jessie." Jessica saw a distinct look of awe on his amazing face. Hadn't anyone ever prayed aloud for this man before? "Peace washed over me, like I'd never experienced before." His gaze flitted back to the darkness again.
She studied his profile as she waited for him to continue. "He was up on his hind legs and stared straight at me. He held very still, like he was one of those chiseled wooden statues." He sighed heavily. "I raised the rifle, with the flashlight next to the barrel so it shone on his face, and shot. Perfect shot, right through the eye." He looked over at her. "He's the rogue bear, Jessie. I saw the marks we put on him. One's where we missed. I don't understand it. He should have been violent. All I could think was that your God had held him still so that I could put him out of his misery . . . and ours."
He smiled just then. An astounded smile that looked unfamiliar on his face.
Jessica hiccupped in stunned silence. There was no mistaking his excitement or his bewilderment. She'd never heard him talk so much—or so fast. Her mouth gaped open.
He sat up straight, his hands on his thighs. "What's wrong?"
With some difficulty, she found her voice, "How ca-can you grin like that after what you've been through?"
He began to laugh. The hardiest laugh she had ever heard from him. He continued to laugh until he realized she wasn't responding. He stopped and stared at her. An unreasonable fury rose within her. As she sat there, her hiccups rang out into the stillness. "What could y-you possibly be laughing at?" she finally choked out.
"You. You're sitting there all concerned about me, hiccupping your little head off. It's just so . . . you." Then came another round of singular laughter.
Still confused and outraged at being laughed at, she managed to say, "What is wrong with you? How can you t-take this so lightly? You were almost killed out there, and there was n-nothing I could do to help, but pray!" Anger was getting the best of her now. That, and these blasted hiccups!
He seemed to be biting back a grin, forcing seriousness. "I was not almost killed, Jessie. I told you I had done this before. You were my only concern. For me it was a necessity. He was dangerous. It had to be done, that's all."
Not knowing what else to say, she lay down on her side facing him. Sitting back up, she grasped the second blanket, flung it over her and stretched out again. "Ma-Men!" she hiccupped. "I'll never understand you."
His expression hardened. "Probably a good thing. There's no real need." He looked weary all of a sudden like the weight of the day's events had finally caught up to him.
"Try to sleep, Jessie. One of your sunrises will be waking us up soon enough."
Flipping another blanket next to hers, Clint spread out his huge frame until not a hint of gray wool showed. Bringing his good arm up, he rested his head on his hand and stared up at the multitude of stars.
She hiccupped.
His low chuckle came from deep in his throat, sending a shiver of pleasure through her.
"Goodnight, little hiccupper. Hope you'll be able to sleep with those."