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

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  Agony. So deep it seemed to permeate Clint's soul. His recently resurrected heart, tenuous at best, was fragmenting all over again. Part by painful part. He ended the sweet contact and raised his head. Where does this leave us, sweet Jessie? The thought bounced off the walls of his mind as he stared into the depths of her sad eyes. Not able to endure her hopeless look any longer, he gathered her into his embrace, fitting her like putty into the crags of his body. He hugged her as a man about to leave his bride to go off to war. If only they could stay like this and never promise a thing.

  It wouldn't take much to pull this sweet thing into an ungodly relationship. She was on the edge, he knew it. But he couldn't do that to her. He had to release her. Allow her to find another. One that would keep her pure and marry her as she deserved.

  Johnnie's face swam before his eyes, and an unrivaled surge of jealousy spiked. The thought of her with another man clawed at him—especially a man he knew. How could he stomach it if she married someone and lived on the ranch? To see her every day and know she belonged to someone else—offering the man private smiles, and a shared bed . . .

  No! He couldn't—wouldn't. Yet his past prevented him from going where his heart so desperately tried to lead. Never before had he allowed a woman to wind her way around his heart like this. When he let her go—and he would let her go—that part of her, hopelessly entangled in his heart, would eventually wither and die, and take a big chunk of him right along with it.

  Jessie leaned away, looked up, and searched his face. The evidence of sorrow was there in her beautiful, glistening eyes. "That felt a lot like a good-bye kiss, Clint." Tears streaked her flawless skin. "Is that what it was?"

  He still didn't have the answer. The silence between them became unbearable, forcing him to find his voice. "Jessie," was all that emerged. The lump that was cutting off his air supply kept him from saying more. He roped her to his chest again and rested his cheek on her head.

  Finally, when he thought he could withstand the absence of her touch, he loosened his hold. But, the need for one last touch brought his callused fingertips to her soft face. He slid them down her cheek, gathering up the gut-wrenching tears he'd evoked. Ducking down, he gave her a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on her forehead. Her soft flesh beneath his lips tore the last trace of resolve out of him. He'd fall apart right at her feet if he didn't leave her. Now.

  He turned away, and a deadly fog of loss settled over him.

  Clint entered the cabin, burdened with hopelessness. He was glad the ladies had gone off to their bedrooms, and Walt had taken to the stream with his bedding. He stripped off his shirt and boots and lay on the rigid cot wanting for sleep, hoping tomorrow would carry with it some answers and a suitable direction.

  Eventually, he heard Jessie open the front door and slip past him, a hiccup escaping as she opened Mary's bedroom door. "Goodnight, little one," he said before the door shut behind her with a soft click. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut in abject misery.

  Sick from the ache, he forced his fury to build instead, thinking how Jessie should know better. She knew who he was. How he lived. He was glad she had seen his reaction to Rose Marie. Maybe now she would destroy the pedestal she'd built under him and let him be. Perhaps the longing he saw in her eyes would finally go hollow.

  But even as he concentrated on straight forward logic, chaos reigned. He combed his hands through his hair, as if that would control the pain inside his head. He'd only gotten halfway through the motion when he stopped and pulled his hands away from his scalp. He touched his thumb to each fingertip . . . wet. He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead: sweaty. Inside he cringed. The fire and fog were sliding back into his mind and body. As he lay there assessing his life, he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  Clint jolted awake. Heat rolled off him. Delirium had returned in full force. His mind caught fire as sleep and fever dragged him back under.

  Nightmares crowded in on him. He saw himself running after two women. Both were laughing and calling to him playfully. One was a beautiful blonde, the other a lovely brunette. As they raced along a path together, with him at their heels, a fork in the road came into view. Somehow he knew a grizzly waited to the right. The blonde took the turn to the left. She stopped to watch and continued to laugh. The brunette looked back as she ran. She reached out an arm to him. The smile she gifted him with was as dazzling as the morning sun.

  To his horror, she made the turn to the right.

  He opened his mouth to scream, "Grizzly!" but nothing came out. He tried to run after her, but his legs had grown thick and slow. Frantic, he searched for his rifle—nowhere. She didn't see the enormous bear, and he knew when she did the fright alone would kill her. Closer and closer she ran toward it.

  Clint struggled but couldn't do a thing. Was his body bound? He glanced down. No. He concentrated on his feet. Move!

  She screamed just then. His head snapped up and he saw she'd lost her footing. Her arms wind-milled, propelling her straight toward the beast.

  "No!" He shouted, sure the sound had finally ejected from him.

  Someone from behind jerked him away from the carnage.

  He whipped around, and there she was, his precious Jessie. Whole. She wore the lacy white nightgown with the ribbons untied at her throat. Somehow he knew he'd been the one to untie them. Frenzied desire for her ignited and shot straight through him. She pulled on his arm, bidding him to follow.

  "Jessie," he murmured. He found his footing and stumbled along after her.

  She tugged him down next to her on a bed. "My but you're hot. Let's get these clothes off you," the soft voice said.

  "No, little one. You don't want to do this." He stilled her hand. Though physical desire was driving his body, his mind was fighting for control.

  "It's okay," the voice said as she pressed a kiss to the cleft in his chin. Her hands were traveling to loosen his clothing, unleashing his craving for her. But something was wrong. This wasn't the sweet innocence of an unskilled lover. Even in his delirium, he could sense the mistake. He tried to wake himself out of the stupor, but need and fever took hold and drove him deeper in.