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

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  Clint watched her make her way into the cabin, then he ambled to the porch. He sat down on a kitchen chair he'd already drug out and looked up at the cloudless sky, inhaling the piney scent of mountain air. He'd enjoyed his time up here, as hard as it had been health-wise. Contentment like he'd never known before had taken up residence in his soul. It was Jessie. As much as he fought it, he knew it.

  She opened the door just then, and it was as if he'd never seen her before. Her gaze drifted to his, and he caught and held it. Those radiant eyes. Pine. No, lime—taking up the color of her blouse. Her cheeks were flushed with color. And, that hair. It was no longer in its usual ponytail. She stepped out onto the porch. The breeze stole the chestnut mane off her shoulders and blew it across her face in riotous waves and curls. She reached up and seized it, pushing it back behind her ears.

  Clint's jaw sagged. She'd never looked more beautiful. Funny how he'd never thought of her as beautiful before. But, in that moment, her inner character and outer uniqueness meshed, and he'd never seen a more innately beautiful woman in his whole superficial, wretched life.

  The question plagued him. Why was he having her cut his hair? It'd been longer than this plenty of times before. He could easily wait for Mabel to do the task. He straightened his spine as Jessie crossed the porch, picked up the scissors and comb, and continued toward him. His mouth was drying up.

  She put one of Mary's small tablecloths around his neck and knotted it at the back. Tense moments passed as he counted his rowdy heartbeats. Jessie sighed from behind him, and he heard it all the way to his toes. Then her fingers were in his hair. She ran them up from his nape to the crown of his head, and he choked on his parched mouth.

  Warm breath delighted his ear. "You okay?"

  He dragged in a huge breath and managed a nod.

  She used the comb next. That's safe. He heard a snip, snip, across the entire length. Good. That was good. He'd neglected his hair for a long while, and it practically sat on his collar. Way too long for ranch work. When he sweated, it hung in clumps and—her fingers were raking through the hair over his ear, once, twice. His eyes nearly crossed with pleasure.

  She stopped, skirted to the front and stepped between his thighs. He choked for real this time. She waited while he coughed. He glanced up. She raised her brows in question.

  Blasted woman. She looked too darned relaxed while he could barely breathe.

  Irritated now, he nodded for her to go on. How was he going to endure the rest of this haircut? He'd thought it had been a good idea. He needed the trim, sure, but something had compelled him to get close to Jessie. She'd been avoiding him for a week, now, and he'd had enough. The hair cut had been a good plan. Now, he wasn't so sure.

  A sprinkling of perspiration broke out on his forehead. One of the beads slithered down his temple to his jaw. He raised his eyes without moving his head. Her expression was purposeful, and her arms were elevated to allow her hands to do their handiwork. She didn't know he was watching.

  Snip. Her fingers slipped through his tangles.

  His heart missed a vital beat.

  Snip. She sucked in her lower lip in concentration.

  His breath lodged somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

  Snip. Snip. He drew a hefty breath in through his nose. Bad idea. She smelled like heaven— fresh air, hay, and woman with a dash of lilacs.

  He couldn't take much more of this. He squeezed his eyes closed and waited it out.

  "There." She untied the tablecloth and tossed it across the railing.

  "You done?"

  "Yes." Her voice was husky.

  His restraint snapped. He grasped Jessie's wrist and tugged her to his lap. She gasped and dropped the scissors and comb. They hit the porch boards with a clink. He wrapped her in a deep embrace. Hungrily he collected her lips in his for a soul-blistering kiss that lasted and lasted.

  Breaking free for air, he whispered her name against her lips before he possessed her mouth again. It was an unguarded kiss. Everything was poured into it, as if he'd waited a lifetime for the fierce joining. With her. He felt her heart pound against his side. His matched its pace.

  He should stop. Where was his good sense? It had vanished on the wind and he didn't care. He had to possess her. The porch, the pine trees, the breeze all faded out. He noticed nothing but Jessie's sweet smell, her soft lips, her avid response to him.

  Suddenly, she broke away, and shoved off his lap. Her limbs trembled as she stood and stared down at him in bewilderment.

  Disappointed and dazed, he peered up at her. He was a two-bit heel at what he'd taken, yet his body vibrated with the joy of it. She turned to go. Panic shot through him. He grabbed her hand and towed her back between his legs. "Jessie." His voice was gruff, passion-filled.

  Her pupils had dilated, seemed to swallow up the lime green. There was no denying her desire was a mirror of his own. Relent. Let her go. But he couldn't. He tried to pull her down to his lap again. She stopped him with a palm to his jaw. Her eyes searched his, as if they were silently imploring him. They seemed to ask: Is this purely physical? Is that all you want from me?

  He didn't know the answer to that unspoken question.

  She must have seen his hesitation, since she backed out of his hold and stripped her hand from his. She turned and swung open the screen door.

  "Jessie," he said in a voice hoarse with emotion.

  She glanced over her shoulder, opened her mouth as if to speak, then must have thought better of it.

  "I don't want you cutting any more wranglers' hair," he said thickly. And he meant it.

  She hesitated, looking puzzled, then charged through the door.

  Clint raked his fingers through his newly cut hair, feeling a touch of pride for Jessie's abilities. He shook his head. Why was he thinking such things, acting the way he was with her?

  Unmoving, he sucked in deep breaths and examined his behavior. He kept flipping her life—and his—on end. He couldn't seem to right them no matter what he did. The only thing he did know, she was all he could think of. He didn't even try to stop himself anymore.

  She belonged to him.

  No! He needed to slake this all-consuming need to bind her to him.

  As he remained fixed to the chair, he watched the western sky. A pale glow from the sinking sun made silhouettes of the tall trees against its fading pink glory. What a beautiful sky You've painted— Grunting, he ground the heels of his hands against his eyes. What am I thinking? Jessie was rubbing off on him. She was not like the rest. God was the center of her life. She would expect that of him as well.

  She wants more than I'm capable of giving.

  Clint remained on the porch after the sun had set. The gentle wind tried to sooth him, but pandemonium racked him deep inside. Physically he was frustrated beyond all reason now, which was ferociously clouding his judgment. And, though he wanted to blame the whole mess on his physical needs, he couldn't. It was Jessie. She had a stronghold on his heart strings. It made him feel like a wild stallion on tethers. What was worse, a stallion kept from that which he was born to do.

  He dropped his gaze to the fists in his lap. He had to let her go. He had no choice.

  The door squeaked open.

  Clint bounded to his feet. Jessie.

  "Clint, I—supper is ready."

  He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "One of your meals will satisfy, that's for sure."

  She seemed to want to retreat to the house, but didn't budge. Before she found her feet, Clint took the two steps to her and wrapped his fingers loosely around her upper arms. "Jessie, I'm sorry I keep . . ." He always knew the right words to say. Where were they now? "It's just that you're, uh—" He let loose of her with one hand and ran it down his face, blowing out a pent up breath.

  Those wide eyes of hers were making mush out of his brain. And, he was a loathsome snake. She tried to pull away but he slid his hands down the length of her arms to capture her wrists. "
Jessie—"

  "Don't. Don't say anymore." Her voice was breathy. She smiled, but it looked pasted on. "Let's go in and eat. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, biscuits, and even my apple pie." The deep breath she took hitched, and he feared the next would loosen a sob.

  And just like that the agony on her face made Clint lose direction all over again. Sweet, sweet Jessie. He experienced an overpowering urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her deep into the forest; to lose himself in her, away from this life and the past that tormented him. When he could make his voice work again, he said, "You're amazing . . . you know that, don't you?"

  Jessie teased her lower lip with her teeth as tears welled up in her eyes.

  A pain shot straight through Clint's heart at seeing those banked tears. He wanted to fix this. But he couldn't seem to. Every time he tried, he only made it worse. Why did she have to look at him like that? Didn't she know he was broken? Unfixable?

  Clint took another step closer. It forced her to tilt her head back to see his face. He stroked her cheek with his knuckles, planning to explain how it was with him and that there was no recourse for him but to go back to his previous life. It would be altered, but it would be comfortable enough. This tumult he'd been going through up here with Jessie had to stop. The daily flood of emotions had done him in.

  And, more importantly, that way she'd be safe from him.

  But, when she peered up into his eyes with so much open affection in her own, his gut kinked. Some sort of wall crumbled, along with his resolve to keep her at arm's length. "Aw, Jessie."

  Slipping an arm around her waist he molded her to him. He reached up, slid his hand into her hair, and cradled her head. The gaze they shared almost matched the heat of the kiss that came next—the deep, momentous, enduring kiss.