* * *
Sensing a presence, Jessica stood and turned and stepped back at the sight of Clint. How dare he follow—
But the thought cut short at the sight of him. His eyes were closed, his expression frozen in a grimace. One of Clint's bare shoulders gained support from a tree, while his white knuckled fist gripped a cane. A gray pallor had returned under his heavy stubble, and there was a sheen of perspiration on every bit of bare skin. His injured arm hung by his side as water and blood dripped off the ends of his fingers.
A sickening dread came over her. She approached him, not sure what to do. But when his knees buckled and he started to slip down the tree, she ran to hold him upright. Instead, she slid with him all the way to the ground, enduring the bark that bit into the backs of her hands, knowing it did the same to Clint's back.
"Clint! Why did you follow me? You shouldn't be out here!" They slumped against the tree's base with her arms still linked tightly around him.
His eyes opened, and she gulped at how glassy they'd become. "I had . . . to find you," he said on small puffs of breath.
"Why?" Tears pooled in her eyes. "What can we say that wouldn't hurt even more?"
He stared at her with a pained expression, and she knew he agreed. He brought his good hand up to her cheek and weakly brushed a knuckle down it.
The action and the pity she saw in his eyes threatened to break her dam of tears. She steeled herself against the flow and looked down at the sweat glistening on his chest. He hadn't even taken the time to dress. She shook her head. This man . . .
"Do you think you can stand?"
She saw his Adams apple bob as he swallowed hard, then nodded. She draped his good arm across her shoulders, drew in a hefty breath, and pushed upward. He braced himself against the trunk with the other shoulder, scooting up the tree foot by foot. When they were finally standing, she wrapped an arm around his torso. He gripped her shoulder and leaned into her. Together they made their slow walk back to the cabin.
By the time they reached it, barely making it up the steps, Mary flew out the door. She looked stricken. "Oh, my goodness! I shouldn't have let him go." She grasped his free arm and ducked under it to stabilize him. "Not that I could have stopped him."
His skin was pasty. Watery rivulets skidded down his cheeks and cascaded off his jaw. His dark hair curled in wet clumps.
By the time they got him settled he was comatose. "It's my fault, Mary!" Jessica wrung her hands as she paced, feeling like a snared animal in the small room. Mary's gaze stayed affixed to her. "If I hadn't run off like I did, he would be improving instead of so much worse."
Mary blocked her path and caught her by the shoulders. "Jessica, you couldn't have known he'd follow you. And I shouldn't have let him go. Enough remorse from both of us. We're wasting time."
Mary was right . . . of course she was. Jessica rubbed both hands over her face and huffed a huge breath. She went straight to work with a damp washcloth, cleaning off the sweat and cooling down Clint's face. Next she bandaged the infected arm and dressed his scraped back. When she finished Mary did away with his jeans and tucked a sheet around him. With one last look, they left him to sleep.
Jessica sank down at the kitchen table, weary to the marrow. She sipped from the lemonade Mary had prepared for her. "It wasn't his fault, you know." Jessica sighed. "He's probably just embarrassed it was me last night."
Mary's eyes were kind. "Listen, Jessica, I guarantee it's you he's worried about."
Jessica groaned over that painful bit of information.
"I've never seen him so concerned over a woman before. He's not inclined to follow God's ways, so he partakes in physical pleasures and usually thinks nothing of it. It's why he never gets involved with someone like you. Why he finds himself in painfully uncharted territory right now."
Hadn't Mabel said something like that in the ranch kitchen a few weeks ago? "Exactly what do you mean he would never get involved with someone like me?" She braced herself, not at all sure she wanted to hear Mary's answer.
"He . . . he believes you to be a maiden—untouched."
"He said that?" Blood rushed to Jessica's face. "To you?"
"Well, he used the word pure, but yes, he was worried he'd ruined you. He seems to know you would want to keep yourself pure for a husband. He doesn't see himself ever being one of those." She shook her head. "He would make a wonderful husband and father. It will be tragic if that never happens."
Any remaining hope of Clint's love died out in Jessica like the last flicker of a spent candle.
It was close to supper time, so Mary rose and began preparing a meal. When the woman waved off all offers of help, Jessica went in to soak Clint's arm instead.
He was ashen and, while his arm looked less infected, his whole physical state seemed to be deteriorating. Jessica tried to pray for him, but there was a strong interference. She knew she was the cause of it. Her own part in their intimacy had caused an embarrassment toward her Lord. Reminded again at how she must sadden Him, she now understood why Adam and Eve had hidden from God after they had sinned. Her own wanton behavior had caused the same result.