* * *
Clint might not feel like himself, by any stretch, but determination fired his need to get down the mountain and confront Jessie. Four days had passed since Jessie had traveled with Walt to the homestead, and Clint worried that each day broadened the wedge between him and the woman he cared about.
Clint's body ached in new places every hour, but he managed to hitch up the horses while Rose Marie and Mary packed the wagon. He slowly pulled himself onto the bench seat to embark on their half day journey home. Rose Marie insisted on sitting in the middle so she could keep Clint from tumbling off the wagon in the event of a relapse. Somehow he doubted that was her motivation, but he didn't have the strength to argue, so he agreed.
Clint looped the reins through his gloved fingers and gave them a crack. The horses sprang into action, much like Mary and Rose Marie did with their conversation. Clint found himself deep in thought, contemplating what he would say to Jessie.
"You know, I really like it here, Grandma. I could get used to living in Montana in the crisp mountain air. I do love the outdoors—riding everywhere in wagons and on horseback and such."
Tuning in for a moment, Clint frowned, recognizing the usual lie these beauties tended to tell. He didn't believe her any more than he believed the rest. Jessie on the other hand had always told the truth. And she actually did like the outdoors. In fact, she liked most things he liked.
His thoughts scrambled about in his head. How would he explain away what Jessie had seen between him and Rose Marie? Since he hadn't been conscious, he had no idea the view she had been given, though he could well imagine.
When they came to the spot where Clint had killed the bear, his gut tightened. Jessie had thought he was in danger. He smiled to himself over the way she had stripped all restraint and kissed him. That had cost her. She had risked rejection in order to share part of herself with him before he'd gone off to risk his life. The bear had been a feast for the wildlife, and all that was left was gnawed on carcass and a shredded pelt. If he didn't win Jessie's favor back, he knew his heart might end up resembling that bear.
Winning her favor. He rolled the thought around in his head. Would it really matter if he did or didn't? His head said no, but his heart said yes. Jessie would give any man a lifetime of happiness. He visualized himself as the recipient: Jessie loving him, her sweet sleep-flushed face smiling over at him in their bed each morning; Jessie in her frilly apron cooking for him; Jessie having his babies . . .
Who was he kidding? He'd never been respectable enough for her even if he did consider marriage. His breath jammed in his lungs at the hopelessness of it all.
The late afternoon sun dropped near the horizon. The ball of fire would soon vanish, but not before it left behind a colorful remnant of its former glory. A glory Jessie never failed to appreciate, making him miss her all the more.
A plan came to him the moment he set eyes on the grand house—Roy Harper's house. He would straight out tell her the truth of what she saw, and take the risk that she'd believe him. She deserved no less. And since it was Jessie, he knew deep down that she would believe him. He ached to see her and make her understand.
As they drew near, the main camp looked deserted. Where was everyone? He made a wide turn to bring the wagon to the back of the main house, and Clint's heart tripped at a sight on the back porch: Jessie with her back to him, and Johnnie in a chair in front of her. He gritted his teeth in instant, seething jealousy when he realized what she was doing. She had a handful of Johnnie's hair in one hand and scissors in the other. Johnnie of all people! The impact of the scene hit him so fast and so hard that his foolhardy plan was to jump off the wagon, run straight to Johnnie, and cold-cock him.
Jessie raised her head, swung around, and froze at the sight of them. One hand still held the scissors and comb while the fingers of the other were intertwined in Johnnie's hair. The cozy picture they made sent Clint's fury from a leisurely trot to a full-on stampede.
So busy with his own livid reaction to Jessie's cutting another wrangler's hair—after he'd specifically told her not to—Clint hadn't noticed that Rose Marie had moved closer to his side. When the wagon slowed enough, he yanked back on the brake and jumped out. Rose Marie toppled out after him with a startled scream. Clint whirled to find Rose Marie face down in the dirt. He glanced at Jessie, then at Rose Marie. Not wanting to deal with Rose Marie first but knowing he had to, he reached down, grasped her by the waist, and hoisted her to her feet. He lightly dusted off her face, and once satisfied she could make it on her own, he turned to face Jessie, who stood watching, mouth agape.
Clint felt Rose Marie's body squeeze into him. He dropped his gaze to her at the same time she peered up at him. She had successfully snaked her arms about his waist and squeezed, flashing a brilliant smile up into his face. One glance back at Jessie and he knew she had seen more than she wanted, and he'd only just arrived.
Clint watched in torment as Jessie turned her head to lock gazes with Johnnie. He couldn't see Jessie's eyes, but Johnnie's showed pity. A shudder of pure rage swept through Clint.
Jessie opened her fingers stiffly as if they were numb and the comb and scissors dropped into Johnnie's lap. She dashed to the screen door and threw it open with a loud squeak, leaving Johnnie alone in the chair with a neatly trimmed hairdo and the tablecloth still tied to his neck.
"Blast it, woman!" Clint hollered after Jessie. Rose Marie jumped out of his space as if his fury was for her. Weaker by the moment, Clint hobbled over to help Mary out of the wagon, then tromped to the porch.
Rage clogging his throat, and with no energy left, Clint could only pause and glare down at Johnnie. The same glower was being returned to him as both men heaved breaths through flared nostrils. Clint closed his eyes and expelled a final sigh before he turned away and stormed into the house.
Mabel took one look at him and rushed forward. Her stout arms wrapped half way around him and squeezed. She backed out of her own embrace and clutched his forearms in her hands. "Oh my, so thin and drawn. What's happened to my beefy cowboy?"
Clint stared down into her face. "Where's Jessie, Mabel?"
"Not even a hello for your favorite cook? Are you all right? You seem to me like you're gonna faint. You'd best sit right here." She gestured toward the bench.
His eyes narrowed. "If one more woman tells me I'm gonna faint, I will not be responsible for what I do to her!" Swaying, then bracing himself on the edge of the table with his knuckles, he held fast for only a moment before plopping down hard on the bench. "Okay. Afternoon, Mabel. Now will you tell me where Jessie went?"
"What happened? She came through here like a house a' fire and right out that front door. I'm guessin' she went down to the stream. Spends lots of time there these days." Mabel hesitated. Looked him in the eye. "Clint . . . I should tell you—"
Clint held up a hand to stop her words, then rose stiffly to his feet. He made his way to the front door and out to the porch, ambling down the steps and toward the stream.
He saw Johnnie jogging down ahead of him, looking like a fit athlete while he felt like a ninety-year-old man. Jessie was sitting on one of her favorite rocks where she was known to perch while watching sunsets. Time seemed to stop when Johnnie paused in front of her and then drew her into his arms. Clint's chest squeezed so tight it restricted his already laboring breath, but he kept moving forward.
For weeks now, the lasso that was Jessica Harper had been nudging his heart into working order, practically without his knowledge. Since then, Jessie's sweet spirit had settled the snare in place, sunk it deep in the tissue, and secured itself. He knew it was there. What surprised him was he didn't want to remove it anymore. In fact, he'd help tie that tether with an irreversible knot.
The truth was there. In his mind. In his soul. His heart belonged to Jessica Harper and would be there for the remainder of his days.
Yet, now that he'd faced the truth, it was too late. He blinked hard to keep the burning behind his eyes in check
. He watched Johnnie with Jessie every step of the way, praying she would reject him.
She didn't.
Clint's temper flared and he sped up, keeping his eyes trained on them. No matter how this played out, she would give him the chance to explain about Rose Marie. But every step stripped a bit of the anger away and left sorrow in its place.
He heard her hiccups—those little noises that had become such an integral part of him. His own eyes grew moist knowing he had once again caused her distress. Would he ever bring her anything but grief? If he could only bring himself to leave her alone she might have a real chance at happiness.
He stopped a few yards from them, too numb to speak.
Johnnie lifted his head. There was pain in his eyes—for himself or for Jessica, Clint wasn't sure. At Johnnie's movement, Jessie leaned out of his embrace and caught sight of Clint. With an anguished cry, she wrenched away from Johnnie and ran downstream.
Clint groaned, then mustered his most commanding voice. "Jessica, stop! The rocks are loose down there." His strength was waning. He could barely walk after her.
Desperate to stop her, he sucked in a frantic breath and tried again. "Jessie. Little one. Please stop."