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

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  Clint pried his eyelids open and groaned. His eyeballs stung like he'd been in a desert sandstorm. Had he been on a binge last night?

  He glanced around the room to get a fix on where he was. Ah, Mary's guest bedroom.

  Rose Marie's bedroom.

  He bolted upright. The room spun, and he collapsed back to the pillow. Heaving in large gulps of air, he tried to figure what happened this time. He stared down at the tangle of sheets over him. Slowly, not wanting to—but sure he needed to—he lifted the sheet away from his chest to look underneath. He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. Naked. Now what have I done?

  Clint heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. He could tell they were angry ones, but couldn't make out what was being said, or who was saying it. Not Walt. No male voice among the dialog.

  "You did what?" Mary's voice came through, loud and shrill.

  His bedroom door flew open, and a half-angry, half-victorious-looking Rose Marie traipsed through.

  Clint tensed. Deep in his bones, he knew this was not going to bode well for him.

  Rose Marie grabbed the little chair Jessie had been using to nurse him to health, and scraped it over to him. She plopped down in it, snatched his hand off the bed, and clutched it to her chest. "You remember last night, don't you?"

  Clint's tenuous gut spun a mutinous turn. "Last night?"

  Some of the high color in her cheeks seeped out. "Yes. Last night."

  Clint shot a glare at Mary, who was standing in the doorway. Her stance caught him all wrong. "What's she talking about?" he barked. He wrenched his hand out of Rose Marie's as he narrowed his eyes. "What're you talking about? And how did I get in this bed?"

  "Go to the kitchen and prepare a cold, damp cloth for me to put on Clint's head," Mary said to Rose Marie. There was something terribly wrong with Mary's demeanor. "We need to bring his fever down. Also, get the colloidal silver."

  Rose Marie looked defeated, but he couldn't worry about her right now. She came to her feet and went to do as she was told.

  "Close the door on your way out, and don't come back until I tell you to," Mary said.

  When Rose Marie was gone, Mary took in several deep breaths before attempting to speak. "You must have run a high fever again last night, Clint. This time it wasn't Jessica who came to help you, but Rose Marie. She came out to your cot and brought you back to her bed."

  Clint dropped his jaw. How's that possible? It was Jessie. I'm sure of that. He blinked his grainy eyes in disbelief. He searched his muddled brain for answers, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. A white nightgown. He covered his eyes with a palm as memories of the night started to empty into his mind. He gazed up at the ceiling. But, there was no safety in the rafters.

  "I was having nightmares about trying to save Jessie. No matter what happened I could never save her." He cringed. "And this blonde . . . pulled me in her direction. I couldn't control it." He stopped talking and gritted his teeth in anger. No, it can't be. He remembered only part. What else happened? He was getting mighty tired of these out-of-his-control kinds of occurrences. One thing he knew for sure, it had never been Rose Marie he wanted.

  Feeling that familiar morning after revulsion, he finally understood he no longer wanted the unlovable, unattached kinds of relationships anymore.

  "Mary, where's Jessie?" He swallowed against an unyielding throat. "I have to talk to her."

  For a minute, Mary looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. She dipped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Clint felt a great, disastrous black hole open up below him.

  Finally, with a huge sigh, she said, "Jessica saw you in Rose Marie's bed. She and Walt have gone."

  "Nooo!" Clint bellowed. "Why would she leave? They always leave!"

  Mary looked confounded by his statement. Well, frankly, he was too. He didn't know where the thought came from, and he didn't want to dwell on it right now.

  "Help me up, Mary. I've got to find her. She has to know." Clint shifted his body to one side and leaned hard on an elbow. Before Mary had a chance to help him, he struggled to sit up, only to have weakness overtake him. Trying one more time he soon yielded and fell back onto the bed.

  "Mary . . ." Where did his strength go?

  "I'm right here, Clint."

  "Go after her."

  He slid into unconsciousness.