Chapter 29
Clint awoke abruptly, sure he'd only just dozed off. He scanned the area for what had awakened him. When nothing became obvious he sighed in relief.
Dawn was breaking, revealing a gray mist that covered the earth. He inhaled a deep breath of the clean, moist air and sat up, working stiff muscles. Despite the coolness of the morning, a coating of sweat covered his body. His clothing stuck to his skin, his hair was matted. With the pace he'd kept it was no wonder his body hadn't gotten a chance to fully recover. But he didn't have time to worry about himself.
He stumbled to his feet and retrieved his saddle bags, rummaging around in them until he found a piece of jerky. Popping it in his mouth, he chewed while saddling his horse.
The road was annihilated. Forcing his weary body forward, he tugged the gelding along behind. Thankfully his horse had stayed put throughout the night. He knew the mountain lion was lurking about, no doubt waiting for the perfect time to strike. The gelding would alert him to dangers, though he didn't know how long he'd be able to take the horse along. Already he'd found it difficult to squeeze him through the larger boulders that cluttered the road. The black had always been a spirited horse—ran like the wind, excelled in working cattle—but he'd never done well in tight spaces.
Shouldering his rifle, Clint zigzagged through the rubble. Hours passed slowly, each mile demanding physical strength he lacked. He walked in a daze until his horse balked at a boulder and about tore his arm out of the socket.
"Easy, boy," Clint said, trying to pat the black's shoulder. The horse spooked to the side and trampled a pile of splintered pines, then bolted forward and knocked its knees against a boulder. "Whoa. Whoa, boy." Clint tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible, but this was downright dangerous. He glanced around for the cat, but deep down he knew the culprit was no predator, but outright skittishness itself. Clint coaxed the horse forward. They'd only made it ten steps when the black reared and almost twisted a leg on a boulder.
That was when Clint knew it was time to leave the horse behind.
Clint searched and found a clearing with tall mountain grasses and a brook passing through it. He stripped off the saddle bags, rifle, and saddle, stuffing the saddle behind a large pole pine. The bags went over one shoulder, the rifle on the other. He slid a palm tenderly down the horse's muzzle and rubbed. "It'd be good if you were here when I got back, fella."
The ascent up the hill was grueling. The midday sun bore down, burning the back of his neck. He stopped to take a drink from the canteen. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then screwed the cap back on. Uneasy all of the sudden, he straightened to full height and listened. All he heard was dead quiet. Where's the noise? Absence of forest sounds wasn't a good sign.
With the movements of a barn cat on the prowl, he slid his saddle bags and canteen to the ground. Raising the rifle, he planted the butt deep into his right shoulder, cocked the hammer, and waited—his ears tuned in to any change in the atmosphere. Twisting lightly on his heels, rifle in place, he scanned the area. A trickle of sweat from below his hat inched over the stubble on his jaw before dropping onto his shirt. Still he waited. Time seemed endless while the weight of the rifle weakened his muscles. Finally, he spotted his adversary moving across boulders overhead.
Without forewarning the cat gave one giant leap toward Clint, his outstretched body blocking the sun. Clint shot. The report of the rifle rang out across the dale, and the cat jerked in midair. Clint dodged the falling carcass, the shot still ringing through his bones. With the smoking barrel, he gave the cat a nudge. Dead on! Thank you, Lord!
Wasting no time over his kill, he re-shouldered the saddle bags and rifle and continued up the mountainside.
After hours of exhaustive climbing over splintered rock and fallen trees, he pulled out his pocket watch. Past two. The heat, unbearable now, forced him to give his lagging body yet another break—the third one in the last hour. He was getting closer though, and slowing wasn't an option. Jessie was just ahead, and the farther he went, the more convinced he was that she was hurt. Giving his worn-out body a much needed reprieve wasn't going to happen. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Catching a glimpse of movement, he stopped short. Other than the lowering of his shoulder imperceptibly, allowing the strap of his rifle to glide down his arm, he remained still.
There it was again. A glimpse of gray racing between trees. Rifle in hand now, he shifted his gaze to the right in time to see a pack of wolves advancing through the copse of trees. Incredibly close, the alpha male led the pack toward him, his yellow eyes fixed to Clint's. Confusion muddied Clint's brain for a minute. Wolves never came close to humans, despite the stories the old timers liked to tell. Of course, unless there was a very good reason. The earthquake alone was reason enough, but right behind him came the true reason—the alpha female with the same gray coat and penetrating yellow eyes. Following her were four blue-eyed pups. When she came to a halt they began scampering about her feet. The wolves were disoriented and probably hungry. The female looked thin, almost gaunt, and her coat resembled an eagle's nest, unkempt and matted. Each time a pup tried to latch on for a meal she turned on it, bumping it from her with a growl and a snap.
Clint felt the last of his blood leave his face. Sweat trickled from his hairline and drop-by-drop slipped into his eyes. Stinging with a fury, he didn't dare move to wipe the sweat away. Instead, he squinted in order to blink without much notice. Look away. Show submission.
The wolf raised his nose to the air and sniffed. Clint knew the animal could detect food in his saddle bags. Except for a bear's, he knew a wolf's sense of smell far surpassed all of God's land creatures.
He didn't want to shoot any of them. Besides, the odds were against him. Which one would he shoot first? The protective alpha male or the overprotective alpha mother? Either way, if they decided to attack, things looked grim for him. While he worked at devising a strategy, the male stepped closer and raised his nose to sniff again. Then, his whole demeanor changed. No doubt about it, he'd caught a whiff of food. Muscles taut, the wolf lumbered forward but stopped again and perked his ears.
At only thirty feet away, Clint had to make a decision and make it soon. Before he had that chance he heard a boulder give way from the cliff above, smashing against others as it came skidding down the craggy wall toward him. He afforded a quick glimpse to make sure he wouldn't be crushed and immediately glanced back toward the wolves. They were gone. Vanished. Thank you, God. He leaped over some rubble and ran all out uphill. He looked back the instant the boulder skipped off the road and slammed into the very place the animals had deserted.
He staggered to a stop, heaving a sigh of relief mingled with fatigue. He removed his hat to swipe a forearm across his face, then stuffed it back on. Putting his weary legs back in motion, he plodded up the rock-littered road and prayed exhaustion wouldn't take him.
As he rounded the last familiar bend to behold Mary's place, he gasped in horror. "My God. Please, no!" The cabin was totally demolished, flat as a hotcake. He ditched his gear and ran. "Jessie? Mary? Johnnie?" he hollered. "Jessica!"
No! They can't be under this thing. With strength born of an adrenaline rush, Clint tore into the rubble, flinging lumber in all directions. He loved Mary and cared about Johnnie, but if he lost Jessie . . . The admission sent his thoughts into a tail spin he didn't have time for.
"Jessie, you can't be in here. You can't!" His hands and arms worked tirelessly for untold minutes. His strength waning, he fell to his knees on the now cleared pathway into the cabin. He bent to look under the rubble for any sign of life or bodies.
He couldn't see a thing. It was dusk, light was limited. He raced back to his saddle bags and found his flashlight. Another scramble brought him to the cabin. He flashed the light under the debris. "Jessie, Mary! Are you in there? Anyone?"
Sick to his stomach, his body rebelled from the two days of travel when it was still recuperating. He ignored its needs and began to te
ar into more fractured lumber. Stepping in now, he shouldered a big portion of roofing and gave it a shove. Encouraged that he'd uncovered a good portion of the kitchen to his view, he dug some more. Laying the flashlight on the rubble, he began again—lifting, straining, pushing, and tossing.
"Jessie?" he called out one final time, hearing the weariness in his own voice.
Defeated, yet somewhat encouraged that he hadn't found any bodies yet, he trudged up the road a ways to retrieve his gear. He turned and flashed the light on the tree in front of Mary's cabin, thinking it would be a good place to bed down for the night.
He would begin again in the morning, though the longer he waited the less likely he'd find anyone alive. He snatched his hat off the ground, gave it a slap across his thigh and positioned it on his head. He needed to be honest with himself. If they were in there, they couldn't have survived. Yet, he had to know. He wouldn't leave until he found them.
As he came closer to the tree, something white in the greenery at its base caught his attention. He bent down to pick it up. A piece of gauze for bandaging! Exhilarated, he looked for more evidence that someone had been out here. Yes, a ways from the tree, he found an empty roll of surgical tape. The kind Mary kept on hand for injuries. So someone's injured. It's Jessie. Instinctively, he knew it. His many dreams had pointed to it, hadn't they? His stomach surged.
He had to find Jessie. She needed him. They must have started down the mountain. But why had he missed them? Suddenly, a terrible thought struck him, so intense it blurred his vision for a moment. Flashing his light around the area he looked for a grave of any kind. He strayed from the cabin for the next hour but found nothing to indicate someone had been buried.
Somewhat mollified, he made his way back to the tree and proceeded to lay out his bedroll. He found another chunk of jerky in his saddlebags, propped himself against the tree, and chewed on the meat and a plan. At first light he'd venture on in search of the group he now figured had to be headed home.
Morning arrived as a streak of light through the tall pines. Clint squinted against its brilliance, forcing his muddled brain into wakefulness. Where am I? Then he remembered and shot to his feet, nearly blacking out. Placing a hand against the tree, he shook his head. He glanced at the treetops. Direct sunlight peeking through the bows meant only one thing—it was late morning. Disgusted and impatient with his perpetually weakened state, he hustled through preparations to get back on the road to find Jessie.
Jessie. Oh, how he missed her. Admitting that much to himself seemed to offer the needed fortitude.
Loading up his arms and shoulders with saddle bags and rifle, Clint took one last look at Mary's cabin, grieving over memories they'd never again have in that special place. Then he turned and strode down the road. Though worried, a strange contentment filled his soul. A small smile curved his mouth as he journeyed ahead to find her, until the gravity of the situation re-registered and the smile slid from his face.
The day had stretched on endlessly, with more aftershocks and no sign of the group moving down the mountain. Clint took few breaks and pushed himself to the limit of endurance. His entire world became very simple very quick: he would keep putting one foot in front of the other until he found Jessie or died trying.
A flash of white caught his eye, and he jerked toward it. It was only a harmless rabbit, running in circles like a child's wind-up toy. Feeling the effects of little food for several days now, Clint decided it was time for a longer break and some fresh meat. Sliding the rifle off his shoulder, cocking, and aiming, the simple shot hit the rabbit right between its ears. Retrieving it, he remembered that past this quarter mile deluge of boulders a pretty little meadow stretched out along the road for a spell. It would be perfect for building a fire and roasting his game. He opened his saddle bag, pulled out a red handkerchief, and wrapped the bloodied end of the rabbit in it, carefully positioning it back in his bag.
Back on the road he began the tedious task of negotiating the mass of obstructions. I should have gone around the long way, he thought, his legs weakening with every ascent over a boulder.
A peculiar sound made him stop to listen. The sound imitated his own—grunting and skidding across tops of boulders, a scraping of boots sliding down the other side. Human.
"Who's out there?" he hollered.
No answer.
He tensed. "Who's there?" he tried again.
"It's Johnnie," he heard off in the distance. "Is that you, Clint?" came the muffled reply.
For a split second Clint experienced a stab of jealousy, thinking of Johnnie with Jessie. Directly behind that emotion came disgust—at himself. Then fear for Jessie.
"Yeah, it's me." Ignoring his fatigue, he sped forward.
When they drew closer together, both broke into huge grins. Once they took the last few steps, they grabbed each other into a quick hug with slaps on the back.
"Is Jessie with you? And Mary?" Clint asked.
Johnnie's smile dropped away. "Yes. All three women."
Clint's relief was so profound, he barely registered Johnnie's frown. Clint gave out a loud sigh of relief. "Thank God."
Johnnie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Come again?"
Clint gave a weak smile. "It's a long story. More on that later. I just came from the collapsed cabin. Scared me to death, Johnnie! I thought you guys were in it." He swallowed hard, waited a beat, then asked, "Where're the girls?"
Johnnie turned. "Come on. Left them back a short ways. I didn't dare go too far since I have the rifle. What'd you shoot? It's what got my attention."
Now that was a quick shift. An instant dread washed over him. "Rabbit. Tired of beef jerky. Johnnie—"
"I'm glad, or likely you'd have missed us," Johnnie said as he hastened his steps. "We had to take the long way around this batch of rubble."
"Why?" Clint lunged the next two steps and grabbed Johnnie's sleeve to stop him. He turned the man toward him. "I've had a bad feeling about this. Jessie's hurt, isn't she?"
Johnnie's face looked ashen.
Clint's heart flipped over. A small gust of wind ruffled the hair under his hat, and though it was a warm breeze, it chilled him to the bone.
"During the initial earthquake," Johnnie finally said. "She took a hit to the head. She's been unconscious ever since."
Clint scrubbed a hand down his face and the breath he was holding burst out of him. "She's been out for what? Three days now?"
Johnnie nodded. "She's not feverish, and she's breathing normally. Can't seem to wake her. Rose Marie and I've been carrying her on a cot that we made into a stretcher—"
"Aw, son-of-a—!"
Johnnie's face reddened. "She's plenty capable."
Johnnie had misunderstood the reason for his near expletive. But fine. The way he felt now, he'd gladly take him to task over Rose Marie. "Oh, she's capable, all right." An instant rage seized his gut. Setting his jaw, he turned sharply and walked on. But for Rose Marie, he'd have been with Jessie.
Johnnie stopped him with a hand to his arm. "Listen, Clint, no matter what she's done, she's been through a lot up here. Go easy on her."
Clint furrowed his brows as he stared. Well, now, that was an interesting shift in attitude. He yanked his arm away from Johnnie's hold. He didn't give a plugged nickel how Johnnie felt about Rose Marie. He was angry as Hades at her for complicating his life. But mostly for causing Jessie to run away in the first place.
Jessie's unconsciousness scared the living cockcrows out of him and made him burn with fury all at the same time. If she'd stayed put, he could have explained himself. Yet she'd run from this trouble instead of standing up to him and facing it. It was just like a woman. Just like his mother! Never having the back bone to face a man when it was called for. Now look what happened to her.
"Jessie would've been fine now if she'd been with me," Clint hissed, taking his full wrath out on Johnnie.
Johnnie narrowed his eyes as he snarled back, "You could have kept her from harm and I didn
't, is that it?"
"Take it how you want. Let's go! I need to see her."
Johnnie seethed in angry silence. Clint didn't care. He let Johnnie lead the way toward the women. Now that he'd faced his feelings for Jessie, jealousy toward Johnnie raged like a wild animal trapped in his chest. At least it fueled his depleted body, helping him navigate the maze to their destination.
When Clint finally spotted the women off to the side of the road, he pushed past Johnnie to jog the rest of the way. Seeing Jessica lying there unconscious nearly crumpled his legs before he reached her. He threw off his hat, dumped his belongings on the ground, and fell to his knees at her side. "Jessie, it's Clint. Jessie, can you hear me?" He cradled her face in his hands, stroking her pale, motionless cheeks with his thumbs. His heart raced with a terror he'd never felt in his life. "Wake up, little one."
An emotive upheaval whipped through him like the undulating road he'd endured during the quake. Dazed and stunned, nothing could have prepared him for the anguish of this moment.
And just like that, between one breath and the next, between one heartbeat and the next, he fell hard. Awakened to a love so strong and so powerful it jarred his very soul.
He never dreamed he'd fall in love. Nonetheless, against his obstinate will, it had happened. But how, when he'd fought against it so? An array of memories tracked through his mind just then: Jessie's cold hand in his the day they met, her compassion for critters and people alike, the gentle warmth of her lush body as they rode double on his gelding, uncontrollable hiccups, her tendency to blurt out everything on her mind, her cheek against his chest at the dance, her display of wills across the fence from him at the round-up, the be-safe kiss before he downed the grizzly, his thumbs sliding across damp cheeks from her tears of anguish, of love.
Memories continued to spill into his mind, but one in particular came and stuck—Jessie looking up at him with wide-eyed innocence before his delirium had cleared a bit, in bed. In his bed. Suddenly, he wanted to be the one—the only one—to take her there. Every. Single. Night.
Jessie.
He needed her to live! Releasing her face, he leaned over to scoop her into his arms. He sank back on his heels and rocked, pulling one hand out to stroke her cheeks and hair.
"Jessie." His voice cracked. "Wake up. Please!"
The rest of the group circled around and one by one plowed their knees into the ground by Jessie, gaping at him.
But she remained motionless, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm.
Clint looked up and eyed each one of them. His despairing glare searched deep before moving to the next person. "What've you been doing for her, exactly?"
Mary planted on a small smile. "She's been fine, other than her unconsciousness—"
"Not fine then," Clint snapped.
Mary took a deep breath and tried again. "No. But it's all we have, Clint." Mary studied his face like was her norm. "You're exhausted. Where've you been?"
Clint clasped Jessica tightly to his chest and rocked back to sit. He looked at Mary. "I've seen the cabin. I'm sorry, Mary."
Mary's gaze landed on his damaged hands as they held Jessica. "Your hands. You tried to dig through that rubble, didn't you?"
"When I saw it, I thought the worst. I'm thankful you're all alive."
"I'll doctor those hands for you."
"They're fine." Looking to Johnnie, he said, "What's the plan?"
"Carry her back home, then to the clinic."
Clint nodded, drained of all energy. "I'll help you carry her the rest of the way."
"I figured."
Clint stared into the baby blue eyes of an uncharacteristically quiet Rose Marie. He had so much to say to her, but knowing it would take strength to do it, he frowned at her for a few heartbeats, then sighed and closed his eyes.
"Are you hungry?" Mary asked.
"Famished. Have a fresh rabbit in my saddle bags you can use."
"Fresh meat!" Rose Marie exclaimed, speaking for the first time.
Clint ignored her and looked down at Jessie. He brushed her hair away from her forehead with light strokes. "Sweetheart, can you hear me? Jessie?"
It was eerie how still and pasty she was. Something unfamiliar gripped him and swelled. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. He swallowed hard, tried to push the sensation back to the smallest corners of his heart, where it belonged. But, before he knew it, scalding tears streaked down his lean cheeks. Not a few, but a flood.
As the minutes ticked on, Clint hadn't released Jessie in spite of the rest coaxing him to do so. For his own sake, they'd said. He needed rest, they'd said. Well, though his body screamed in protest, he would rest soon enough. He'd even had words with Johnnie to leave off and let him tend to her now that he was here.
His gaze rarely left Jessie's face, in hopes he would see her open her eyes. A flutter of her eyelashes a couple of times sent his heart into his throat. He'd coaxed, pleaded, prayed. Nothing he tried had worked, and he grew grim as the sun slid behind the great pines and a light evening breeze brushed against his sticky skin.
"Clint. Son. Please, put her back on the cot. Laying her down would be better for her recovery," Mary said.
He raised his head enough to see open sympathy in Mary's eyes. He blinked. A fire flickered between them in full blaze. He hadn't even noticed it being built. Mary's eyebrows drew together in concern, and Clint relented with a nod. Maybe laying her flat would be better.
Mary shuffled around the fire. "Here, let me help you. Your body must be stiff as a board by now."
"Mary." His voice was so weak and scratchy, he hardly recognized it as his own. "She has to wake up soon. Has to!"
He and Mary lifted Jessie to the cot. He kissed her on the forehead, then stretched his arms over his head and groaned. Mary covered Jessie with a blanket, felt her forehead, and looked back at Clint.
"You have to trust God in this, my dear. He loves her more than we do," Mary said in a soothing tone.
"I know," was what squeezed past his throat.
She handed him a portion of rabbit and some water and sat back down to study him. "You're in love with her."
Clint stared into Mary's eyes for several long moments, considering how to respond. But this was Mary and why would it matter? "It shows, does it?"
"Yes."
"I don't care if the whole blasted world knows. In fact, I'll shout it to anyone and everyone if she'll just wake up. Drat, Mary! I can't take this!" He reached up and shoved both hands through his hair, then stood. He started to pace back and forth in front of the fire. "I should have told her before now. What if I never get the chance?"
"If God wants you to, you'll have the chance. Now, get some rest. Maybe tomorrow's the day."
Clint stopped in front of Mary and gave her an imploring look. "Will you pray for that?"
"Of course."
"Now. Please."
He knelt on a knee before Mary and grasped one hand. With her other, she stroked his hair, then bowed her head, giving his hand a squeeze. "Father God, we pray for Jessica. Please heal her body and mind. And wake her up. Help Clint, and the rest of us, to wait on You. Thank you, Lord, for Your many blessings. In Your name we pray. Amen"
"Amen." That prayer was simple enough. He could probably handle those in the future. A measure of relief flowed through him, quieting his mind and relaxing his dog-tired body. After spreading his bedroll, he lay next to Jessie and positioned a hand on her arm so he'd be alerted if she awoke in the night. "Night, Mary."
"Good night, son. Rest well."