Chapter 30
Clint's stomach climbed into his throat. "What?" He refused to believe what he'd just heard.
A little louder now, she asked, "Who are you? Where am I?"
Clint's jaw unhinged, and he stared at her for long breath-constricting moments. The heart that was finally alive may as well have been wrenched from his chest. The pain would have been less.
"You don't know who I am?" he asked, hardly able to speak.
When she shook her head, his blood all but dropped to his boots.
Mary scooted closer. "Do you know who I am?"
Jessie studied her face for a moment, then shook her head again, eyes widening.
"How about me, do you know who I am?" Rose Marie.
She looked carefully, shook her head.
"And me?" Johnnie.
And again, she shook her head.
Clint's eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, God, what are you doing?" he mumbled. He leaned in closer and pressed his forehead into hers, startling her. His angst was so great he barely registered her reaction. Lord, let her know us. Please. When he leaned back to look into her eyes, all he saw was confusion there—and fear. "Little one, do you know your name?"
"Yes, of course. My name is . . . That is, I'm . . ."
Horror swept across her face. And, in that moment, Clint would have traded all his memories, past and future, to give hers back.
She sucked in a choppy breath. "What happened?" Her voice grew a tad stronger. "Why am I here? I don't understand."
Clint pulled away, realizing he was adding to her discomfort with his intimate contact. He struggled to string words together. "Your name is Jessica, sweet thing. Jessica Harper." He waited while she absorbed that, disappointed the revelation hadn't seem to ring a bell. "There was an earthquake, and you were hurt. Do you remember any of that?"
Concern showed on Jessie's face as she studied his. "I should know you, shouldn't I? I'm sorry."
He blinked several times, then gave a sad smile. "It's just like you to worry about me." He hesitated, trying to get hold of his rampaging emotions. "What exactly do you remember?"
She pondered his question. "I remember . . . I remember . . . that 'God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have Everlasting Life." Her eyebrows raised in surprise.
Clint grinned at her. "That would be what you'd remember."
Her gaze floated over his face. "You're very handsome, you know. Especially when you smile." Her eyes went wide, and she blushed all over.
He laughed as warmth spread through him. At least her not-thinking-before-speaking disorder was still intact.
She looked at him apologetically, and he felt a flicker of hope.
Trying not to think of the unfairness of it all, Clint vowed to care for her, to make her whole again. Lord, she's yours. I have absolutely no control. Help me to trust you and take one step at a time. "Do you think you can sit up?"
She nodded.
He propped her against a nearby rock and eased to the ground beside her, his arm around her shoulders.
She dropped her chin to her chest, shaking her head as if to clear the fog.
"Dizzy?" he asked.
"A little woozy, and my vision is a bit blurred."
"You should only sit up for a minute, then. Mary, let's give her more water. Maybe her dizziness will stop once she rehydrates."
Johnnie strode up next to him and lifted the canteen to check if it needed refilling.
Clint glanced up at him. Jealousy shoved in, wanting control of his mind. It certainly had his emotions. But, what right did he have to feel jealous? Concern, yes. Jealousy, no. Yet, a vision of Johnnie marrying Jessie flashed in his mind's eye, setting his blood to boiling.
"Thanks for taking care of her," he managed blandly.
Johnnie's jaw ticked. "Of course we'd take care of her. What did you think we'd do?" With that Johnnie flung the canteen to the ground by Clint and stalked off, disappearing into a thicket of trees.
Clint stared at his back as he strode away, then shared a glare with Rose Marie before looking back at Jessie. "Enough sitting for now," he said, lifting her to the stretcher.
Once she was settled, she began to drift off to sleep. Fear gripped Clint. What if she didn't wake up again?
Mary touched his arm, breaking into his thoughts. "Clint, let's take a walk, shall we? Rose Marie, will you keep an eye on Jessica? Please." Mary eyed him carefully. "Come with me, dear boy."
Clint hesitated, not wanting to leave Jessie—especially with Rose Marie—but Mary wasn't asking.
They both rose and headed in the opposite direction of Johnnie. After strolling far enough away so as not to be overheard, Mary said, "Clint, you know I love you like a son, don't you?"
Clint pressed his back against a pole pine, set the sole of his boot against the bark, and an arm draped across his thigh. "Uh oh. This can't be good."
"I know you've had a big shock here. So have we. I know how you feel about Jessica—"
"Listen, Mary—"
"You have to tread lightly here," she went on. "We've been through a lot as well. You wouldn't believe the change to our Rose Marie for one—"
"She's not our Rose Marie."
Mary kept right on talking. "I know you blame her for a lot of the heartache you've had with Jessica, but since I see that you've begun to change your mind about God, it means you must also do what God would have you do. And that's forgive her."
He groaned. Stuffing hands in his front pockets, he pushed off the tree and started to pace. "I'm not ready for that. I'm still so angry with that girl I don't even know how to act around her."
Mary put a hand out to stop him. "Okay, I understand that, Clint, but promise me you'll work on it. She's changing. Since the earthquake. I know you don't want to believe it, but watch, please, and try to hold your tongue. The same goes for Johnnie. That boy's got strong feelings for Jessica. Though I must admit, there seems to be a spark between him and Rose Marie lately." A tenuous laugh spilled out. "I just hope it doesn't start a forest fire! Anyway, try to remember that others care about Jessica as well."
Clint started pacing again, then stopped, head bent under a weight he couldn't possibly bear. Sunlight speckled the thick cushion of pine needles beneath his feet. He cleared a spot in the needles with his boot, half-aware his heart was about ready to drop right through the leather sole. "She doesn't look at me the same . . ."
"What are you talking about?"
He looked up at Mary. "Jessie. The way she used to look at me." He waited a beat. Two. "It's not there, Mary. In her eyes . . ." He shook his head.
"Relax, sweetie." She patted his arm. "Everything will get back to normal."
"What is normal for Jessie and me? I've botched that so badly! And what . . . what if she never remembers me?" His throat tightened. "What then?"
She considered him for a moment. "Well, if she never remembers you, what will you do?"
What would he do? Confound this woman and her questions. Fear turned to fury in a heartbeat. "Will I forget about Jessie and go back to my old ways, you mean? To my former"—what could he call them to Mary?—"paramours? Is that what you're asking?"
"Yes, Clint. I guess that's what I'm asking."
Shame flooded him. He'd never tell Mary the stupid thought had actually crossed his mind. Not because he cared about Veronica or any of the others—in fact just the opposite. Veronica and he were two of a kind. Both tainted and undeserving of decent people. And, with her he hadn't had to involve his heart. Guilt free—pain free.
But, he'd buried that possibility on his trip up here and had no intention of exhuming it now. "Just because a person has amnesia doesn't mean they change who they are. I'll make sure she's safe and I'll make sure she understands about the two times she saw Rose Marie and me . . . and . . ." His mind drifted. Truth was, if she didn't remember him, he'd be sick at heart. So what would he do about her? Maybe the bigger question was what
would he do if she did remember him?
"Shoot, Mary. I don't know beyond that. What do you want me to say?"
"Say you'll marry her. Say you love her. You admitted you do."
His jaw clenched, and he pressed his lips together. "I can't marry her."
Mary looked cross. "Then why not let it go? I mean, what's the point of explaining about you and Rose Marie if it doesn't matter anyway?" Her eyes penetrated his, like if she stared long enough she could extract his real reason.
Clint glanced away and rubbed his temples. Inhaling a deep, calming breath of mountain air, he swung his gaze back to her and stared. Moments clicked by. This was Mary. He could tell her. "You want the truth?"
Mary looked at him like his nose had just slid off his face. "What do you think?"
"Okay, fine." He plowed a hand through his hair, hoping she'd forget all about this conversation and walk away, but that wouldn't happen. "I'm not good enough for her."
Her jaw dropped. "Why ever would you say such a thing?" She scrutinized his expression, and a new awareness seemed to cloud hers as her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying this because you're thinking of running scared? You've done that before when someone got too close."
He glowered. The impulse to run was great. Mary was right. But the reasons were complicated. He wasn't good enough for Jessie. But he also didn't trust her. He didn't trust any of them. He'd been fooling himself. He'd been toying with thoughts of a future, when the truth was, he couldn't have a future with her.
But, if I don't marry her, someone else will.
He wanted to tear his hair out. Forcing his fluxing mind back, he had to get first things first. Jessie had to remember him. Then he would decide the next step.
Mary sighed. "God's in control. Of even this, dear boy."
He stared into her kind eyes—eyes that had watched his ungodly way of life for years without hating him for it, as she could have—as she should have. If anyone was the epitome of godliness, it was Mary. He fell so short of all she stood for. Unworthiness, guilt, and shame had all crowded into his decaying soul. And he was helpless to do anything about it. "I don't deserve God's help," he said in a constricted voice. "Why should He give it to me?"
"Oh, sweetheart." Mary's eyes filled with sympathy. "You don't think He will."
"No."
"How sad. And how very wrong you are." Mary came forward and swung her arms around his ribcage. Speaking into his chest, she said, "He loves you, Clint. Believe me."
He pulled Mary into the deep hug and squeezed hard. "I love you, you know." He was about to make a fool of himself and break down like the child he'd never been allowed to be. He sought levity. "Thanks for always looking out for me . . . Granny."
"Granny! Ugh. Never liked that nickname. Should be mom rather than granny anyways." She smiled up into his face. "I love you, too."
"And yes, I promise I'll work on treading lightly around Johnnie and Rose Marie—and sit back and watch," he said, tongue-in-cheek. He grinned down at her.
On the way back to the campsite, Clint sensed his tattered emotions were on the rise again. He guessed he needed to apologize to Johnnie, but for what exactly? All Clint had done was thank him for taking care of Jessie, though admittedly it was less than heart-felt. By the time he planted his first step into the circle of firelight, he was ready to bite someone's head off again.
He huffed out a breath. Turning on his heel to find Johnnie, he halted when Rose Marie jumped to her feet and barked at him.
"Clint, you insensitive—" She started, then stopped when she saw she'd startled him. But her eyes still blazed. "Johnnie's been taking good care of Jessica, doing all he knew to do. You unfeeling, big old . . . lout!"
He stared at her, dumbfounded. At that, she up and tromped off to find Johnnie first. That was fine by him. Forcing calm he didn't feel, he sat down by Jessie, picked up her hand, and threaded his fingers through hers.
Jessie struggled to open her eyes.
"Well, hello, sweet girl. How do you feel?"
She looked scared again. "May I have some water, please?"
Still polite. She may not be remembering it, but she had the same gentle spirit.
"Of course." He looked to Mary, who already had it ready.
"Here, let's sit you up and see how that goes." Once sitting, Clint leaned her back against him and Mary helped her drink from the canteen.
"Do you think you could eat something?" Mary asked.
"I can try." She looked pensive.
"What is it?" Clint asked.
"Would you tell me your names, please?"
Clint's gut rolled with the same turbulence he experienced with every quake. He squeezed his eyes closed, tried to settle his stomach and quiet his mind. He thought he'd finally gotten used to the constant upheaval of emotions regularly afflicting him since meeting Jessie. But this uncertainty was killing him.
He raised his eyelids, smiled meekly, and hoped his voice would not sound as strained as he felt. "Of course." He turned her to the side a little so she could see his face. "I'm Clint. This is Mary. The other man is Johnnie, and the other woman is Rose Marie."
"And who are all of you to me?"
Clint's heart gave another dull thud. "Mary here is a friend. You and I stayed at her cabin for a couple of weeks while I was recovering from an injury." He couldn't believe this was happening. "Johnnie works on the ranch with me. We work for your Uncle Roy. Rose Marie is Mary's granddaughter. Remember any of that?"
Her face fell, and sadness loomed in her eyes. "I only remember that I have family in California. Where are we, exactly?"
"That's great you remember your family." A burst of relief railed through him. He smiled. "Montana."
"Montana. Why'd I come to Montana?"
She looked so lost that pain shot through his temples, and ricocheted straight to his heart. Would they make it through this? "To help Mabel, Uncle Roy's cook. You're helping cook for two dozen employees on his ten thousand-acre cattle ranch, for the summer."
"And you, Clint, who are you to me?"
The way she asked gave Clint hope. "I . . . I'm a friend."