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

  Chapter 28

  Clint lay on his back inspecting the colors of sunrise as they appeared one by one. Swirling and intermingling reds, pinks, and orange pushed the dimness of the early hour back across the sky.

  He was gravely worried about Jessie, and missed her more than ever while experiencing the sunrise she loved so much. When his eyes lowered from the beauty, tightness seized his chest at the devastation he saw surrounding them.

  He felt furrows gather between his brows. "How can you create such a beautiful sunrise, Lord, when you've allowed your creation to take such a beating?"

  The aftershocks in the night had been hard to get through. Those who were injured had been shaken up pretty badly. Clint was anxious for the group to head off to the clinic, hoping it was still in one piece. He suspected Doc Barnes would ultimately cart the injured off to the nearest hospital.

  Stretching to relieve the painful kinks, he sat up. The others were sprawled out next to him. He inspected each one for evidence of their breathing. Thank you for that, Lord, he thought, and warmed at having talks with God again. Before his dad had died, they were a pray without ceasing family. Conversations with God had been the norm from the tender age of three. He wondered if he'd ever trust God enough to have them regularly again.

  Gathering his strength, with every muscle stiff and complaining, he walked around to test his legs, then woke up the group. He covered the dead for a later burial before dealing with more pressing issues.

  After the small troop was on its way to Doc's clinic, Clint found and saddled his gelding. He filled his saddle bags with food, ammo, and medical supplies, then threw his rifle into its saddle scabbard. Once his bedroll and canteen were in place, he mounted, offered up a small prayer, then hit the road toward Mary's place, dodging broken ground along the way.

  Clint found it increasingly difficult to ride the gelding while negotiating large boulders and cracks. The horse had become agitated at his frequent commands to shift his walking patterns. Clint knew he would soon have to dismount and pull him behind. His plan was to wait as long as possible, knowing that he wasn't at full strength himself to take on the strenuous trip. It was already midday, and he hadn't even made it a third of the way.

  Just then his horse balked and reared. Clint leaned into the action, clamping his thighs tight against the saddle. The black came down hard and danced backward.

  "Whoa, boy. Easy now. What is it?" Clint asked, wishing the horse could answer. Clint's eyes shifted from one pine tree to the next, then shot up to the rocks above. Scanning fast, he saw nothing. But soon he heard what the horse had sensed. The unmistakable scream of a mountain cat resonated in his ears. His heart thundered against his ribs. The "Rrrrraaaow," sounded again, close. Too close.

  This one sounded angry. Distressed, from the quake no doubt. Stripping his rifle from its sheath, Clint slid quietly from the saddle and pulled the reins over the horse's massive head to ground tie him. He thought of tethering him but disregarded it. The black would destroy the bridle if he wrenched free.

  Stealthily, he followed the sound, the rifle in place against his shoulder. He stalked over the rubble in the road, glancing down from time to time so as not to trip over any of it.

  Then he saw it: the sleek, lithe cat, a good eight feet in length. It stood very still and looked straight into Clint's eyes as if deciding whether to attack or escape. As they struck a mutual fixed pose, Clint noticed the cat was missing an ear—The one I shot—the one who had been doubly dangerous even before the quake.

  With supple, muscular moves the cougar bounded twenty feet up to the large boulders above and dashed out of sight. In another place and time Clint might have been awestruck by the grace of this creature. Today he worried it would likely return when he least expected it. Now his night activity would be that of watchman instead of getting the rest he so desperately needed.

  Clint propped the rifle backwards on a shoulder, a hand to the stock. His skittish horse followed behind as they trekked higher in altitude. Large boulders from the bluffs above had tumbled down to the center of the road. Clint was amazed at how many trees had been dislodged, as if an avalanche rather than an earthquake had displaced them. God's creation had been disassembled like a complex puzzle gone wrong.

  As he trudged uphill, every step draining his strength, he looked for a place to bed down for the night. The sunset was nearing, and he craved the closeness it would give him to Jessie.

  Clint halted. Johnnie was with her now. Something burned deep inside Clint, like a hot coal sizzling through his chest. He yanked on the reins, too hard, and started walking again. He liked Johnnie, even trusted him. So what was the problem? He could leave her to Johnnie . . . to his care . . . to his protection. To his kisses?

  "Come on," he growled at the horse, and worked to settle in for the night. He had to focus. The mountain lion was going to be a problem, if not tonight then tomorrow night or the next. When they got this close to humans they were after something. He looked for a place he could be safe from the cougar and the aftershocks. He spotted a large boulder that had been sliced in half by the impact of its fall. The flat half was stuffed deep into the earth. Undisturbed pine trees stood majestically around him, like they had triumphed in a contest of strengths.

  Once he'd decided his best location for the night he settled against his saddle with his meager dinner of fruit and jerked beef, weary to the core. His body needed the nourishment, but his stomach was on fire. Everything he ate wanted to come back up again. For someone who'd always had control over his body and his emotions, neither seemed to be within his grasp anymore. It wasn't the cat that made him unsettled, or even the earthquake. It was how he'd find Jessie. And, the idea of Johnnie and Jessie together was eating a hole in his heart—and his stomach.

  He crossed his legs at his ankles and gazed at the sunset. A hundred shades of rose blazed across the backdrop to the pines' silhouettes. Another one of God's masterpieces displayed. Clint's gaze crept over the trunks of the pines, fiery red in the glow of the setting sun. Erect as sentinels standing at attention toward their sustainer of life.

  "It's a beauty, Jessie," he said wistfully, wishing they could see it together. "There are red skies tonight . . ." He heard sadness in his own voice. "I'll find you. I'll bring you home, and you'll be safe."

  Seeing the first star peak its bright face against the blackening sky, Clint began to sing. "O Holy night . . ." Thoughts of that night when they shared this song hung heavily in his memory.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, feeling warm in spite of the nippy breeze whispering through the pines. "Jessie! What is it about you? You heat my blood, tamp down my good sense, scramble my thoughts . . ."

  This kind of preoccupation was dangerous for someone avoiding marriage at all costs. Roy had teased him for some time now about being a misogamist. It wasn't true, of course. He didn't hate marriage. Just didn't think anyone in his family should attempt it. After all, though his mother had been happily married to his dad, she had failed miserably at picking a second mate. It had been an important lesson for Clint to learn, since his mother must not have known the man's true nature until it was too late.

  Face the facts, saddle bum. Marriage is the only feasible outcome for Jessie. And, just thinking of it made his lungs feel like they'd shrunk. Made him want to slide back to his former way of life—to Veronica and the others before her.

  It figured he'd want to hide there, in that eddy of bad behavior. But he couldn't do that anymore.