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

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  Days sped by while Jessica managed busyness to the point of distraction. If Clint was near, she immersed herself in her chores. If it was possible to avoid him, she did. A sort of peace had emerged since she'd been fairly successful stuffing away feelings into deep emotionless crevices. Something she was especially practiced at since her school wallflower days. She managed by force of will to keep her mind on what pleased Mabel and off of Clint.

  She remained steadfast, until one Wednesday morning. The men had eaten a quick breakfast, and had long since dispersed. Jessica stepped out to the front porch. She hummed happily while shaking out the little kitchen rug. Hearing in the distance a pounding against the dirt, she leaned over the porch railing for a better view. Clint, on his sleek black horse, raced to the barn like hellhounds were on his heels. He yanked back on the reins. The gelding's front legs straightened and its hooves plowed into the ground. Clint vaulted into the dust cloud and disappeared into the barn.

  He emerged with a large satchel in hand, scanned the camp, and spied her. Her eyes went wide at his inspection, and wider still when he set off at a jog toward her.

  No! No more girlish fancies. She willed herself to turn away and mindlessly gave the throw rug another whip. Dust and caked mud shot out from it. She blinked and choked and refused to look his way.

  Jessica heard rather than saw Clint draw near. He leapt up all three porch steps and clamped a large hand to her shoulder so fast it made her jump. Or was it from the heat of his hand? He whipped her around. "I need your help. Ride with me?"

  Her mouth went dry. Those words . . .

  "Um . . ." Somehow she had to formulate a response, but couldn't seem to. She glanced at the house for any sign of Mabel. Her common sense screamed No! Instead, she nodded.

  "Good. Let's go." He took a tight grip on her hand, backed down the steps as she followed after, then twisted to sprint toward his horse with Jessica in tow. She tossed the little rug over one shoulder and forced rubbery legs into action, straining to keep up with his long-legged strides.

  He took hold of the gelding's bridle and positioned him . . . for him to mount? "We've no time to saddle you a horse."

  Her heart dropped a beat then slammed into break neck speed. He meant for them to mount. Suddenly, she had to struggle for her next breath.

  "You'll need to get up first." He whisked her around to face the horse and stuffed her boot in the stirrup. Heat shot through her, mixing up her thoughts. She must not have hustled enough since she felt a push at her hip to guide her up and over the saddle. He tugged her foot free, shoved his own boot in the stirrup, and swung up behind her.

  Strong arms encircled her waist, derailing her thoughts, propelling her pulse. His gloved hand gathered the reins in front of her. She stared down at that hand as Clint guided the horse around and heeled him in the flank. Within seconds they sped into a full-on gallop. All Jessica could do was hold on to the saddle horn, pull her knees in tight, and remember to breathe.

  In the history of spine-tingling rides, this one took first place. Clint's focus was obviously on the emergency at hand, but Jessica could only think about the feel of him behind her. His right hand had spread at her midriff to keep her secure, and he was leaning into the forward motion, pushing her body with him. His breath was stirring her hair, his hard chest at her back.

  Just when I thought I could handle being around him and now this. Lord help me.

  They rode over several small rises and soon left the cooler air off the stream to make their way into a pasture filled with dozens of grazing Herefords.

  Clint straightened the angle of his back and slowed his steed to a steady trot. The jarring tempo made Jessica wonder how Clint kept from smacking his chin on the top of her head, until she felt his puffs of breath above her left ear. Sudden goose bumps prickled down her side.

  They threaded their way through the herd. Soon, she saw a cow lying on its side. When they drew near she heard its bellow. It was plump with calf and in obvious distress.

  Clint released Jessica and jumped off so quickly, she toppled off right behind him. She let out a huge gasp. He circled back and caught her easily, as if she were a small child. He held her to his chest for endless seconds, his arms like steel bands around her as if terrified he'd almost lost her. That was ridiculous, of course.

  Her mind was playing games, dangerous games.

  Finally loosening his grip, he let her slide down his body. Since the day she'd met this man he hadn't noticed her one wit. Not one look. Barely hellos. Nothing to speak of, and now this? Once her feet touched the ground, he held her away from him and searched her eyes. To assess what? If she was all right from the ride, from the dismount, his closeness? He looked confused. But, then, so was she.

  In the next moment he stepped back dropping his arms, did an about face, and advanced to the cow as if nothing had happened between them. Had it? The whole episode had probably only taken a fraction of a minute. She stood frozen to the spot where he'd left her, feeling silly.

  "Help me, Jessie. She's losing strength."

  His voice snapped her out of her juvenile thoughts. She ran to his side. Tears scalded her eyes as she confronted the animal and its agony. She didn't know what to do, but a compelling instinct took over and she squatted to stroke the cow's neck with slow, soothing movements, cooing as only a woman could do.

  She glanced up at Clint. He had paused, his eyes skimming down her cheeks at the path her silent tears had made.

  She squeezed her brows together. "Can we help her?"

  He moved then, swinging the bag to the front of him and ripping it open. He removed what appeared to be a piece of machinery. Jessica flew to her feet and stared at the contraption. He couldn't be thinking to use that on a live animal.

  "Come on over here," he said. "You hold the block against her pelvis once I attach the chain."

  "Attach the chain?" she whispered, half to herself.

  The apparatus—a big wooden block with metal links attached and a bar across what appeared to be a large screw—looked threatening. How would this thing deliver a calf?

  Clint rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the length of chain. Planting his knees into the dirt behind the cow he shoved an arm up the poor animal's birth canal.

  Jessica recoiled.

  He unleashed a hardy curse. "I was afraid of that. Help me roll her over." He slipped his arm free, dropped the fetter on the block, and sprang to his feet. Darting around her, he squatted at the cow's distended abdomen.

  Jessica stared blurry-eyed at the crown of Clint's hat, only too aware of her flagging knees. The cow's eyes bulged with fear or pain or both as she huffed. Clint placed both palms beneath the swollen belly. He signaled with a nod for her to do the same. Jessica copied his pose, pressing her hands against the hide.

  "On the count of three we're going to lift, push, and hope the calf shifts. You ready?"

  All she could do was give a quick nod.

  "Okay, one, two, three . . ." They lifted and, with all they had, shoved. Clint used the strength of a shoulder while his hands pushed hard against the back legs. The cow bawled as it teetered for only a moment before it rolled to the other side.

  Jessica lost her balance, about to tumble over the cow when a strong arm encircled her waist and tugged backward. The momentum thrust them both to the ground, hard. Jessica's head bounced once on Clint's chest and a loud whoosh escaped him.

  She couldn't seem to move. And he didn't move. Humiliation overpowered her until concern for him took over and she could think again. She must have knocked the wind out of him. Finally, he stirred beneath her. Flexing his stomach, he brought them both to a sitting position. On a pant he said, next to her ear, "Cozy as this is, we still have critters to save."

  She tensed. He had been waiting for her to move off of him! Embarrassed beyond reason now, she wriggled from his hold and pushed off his knees to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clint smile and bit back a groan. He shoved of
f the ground, rolling to his feet with ease, then hustled to the cow's rump and their task at hand.

  Again he squatted, grabbed the chain, and shoved it back up the birth canal. "The legs. Good."

  Minutes clicked on as Clint grunted, and sweat trickled past the dark stubble of his jawline. He must have succeeded in securing the manacle to the calf's front legs since he beckoned Jessica over his shoulder. "Hold the block against her pelvis while I work the wench."

  His eyes drilled into hers until she nodded. Slowly, he pulled his arm free. His skin and the rolled part of his sleeve glistened in the sun, dripping gobs of blood and orange fluid. Jessica stared at it, light-headed. Clint waited for the next contraction and then began a vigorous twisting. Jessica marveled at his pace. His muscles strained, yet they didn't give out, while she wedged the block against the pelvis. The cow bellowed again—an agonizing sound. Jessica's stomach balled into a knot at that cry of pure pain.

  Jessica scrabbled and pushed and prayed in charged silence beside Clint. Finally, she saw the small hooves coming through the opening with the chain wrapped securely around them.

  "Jessie, pull back on the block."

  She did, and as she backed up with the block in her arms, Clint grabbed the calf's hooves. He stuffed his heels into the mushy ground and strained backward.

  "Grab the oxygen tank, irrigation syringe, and coffee can out of the bag," he grunted. The entire calf slipped out and lay lifeless on the ground. Jessica had the next objects ready for him. Clint began the task of resuscitating the motionless creature. He cleared the membranes off the head and suctioned fluid from each nostril. Then he opened its mouth and repeated the process. He started up the small, hand-held oxygen tank, putting the tube inside the empty coffee can.

  "Hold his head up."

  She scooted over, slid her knee out, and propped the calf upright against her. Clint glanced at her in surprise before he pushed the calf's muzzle into the can where the oxygen ran. They waited as he stroked its body from ear to tail, trying to stimulate it. Stopping momentarily, he removed the chain from around the front hooves, touched them tenderly to make sure he hadn't marred them, and resumed massaging the calf.

  Jessica waited, unmoving. She tore her gaze from the lifeless animal and examined Clint's profile. His expression broke her heart. The unmistakable concern etched in his strong features drew her to him like the winch had done with the calf. He cared. He really cared about this helpless little creature.

  The calf's nostrils flared. A leg twitched. And then the little guy lifted his head and kicked Clint in the knee. Clint looked over at Jessica and grinned so huge and glorious that it filled her with an inexpressible joy. She couldn't help but return his bright smile. She felt exuberant, like it had been the birthing of her own child. A true miracle.

  "You saved their lives. You're a hero," she said in a breathy voice.

  He heard her and stared straight into her eyes, a frown crinkling his brow. If she didn't know better, she'd think he'd never been praised before.

  A small smile flickered across his lips, "You were pretty amazing yourself, little one."

  Her heart skittered. Little one. She stared back at him, looking for a reason for that particular intimacy. Nothing showed on his face.

  He rose to his feet to go check on the mother, leaving her to cradle the calf's head. Jessica stroked the rust and white newborn, wiping its perfect little face clean, all the while talking in quiet tones.

  "Okay, Jessie, it's time to let him go so his mother can come clean him up." He removed the oxygen tank and coffee can. Jessica scooted out from under the calf, carefully settling the head on the ground. The mother came near to sniff her newborn and began licking in earnest.

  "He'll be fine now," Clint said. "He should be up on his feet within the hour. We'll make sure that goes well, then we can head back."

  Jessica took in a slow, pleased breath and smiled.

  Clint looked down at her sitting there in the dirt, messy and rumpled, and presented her with the most endearing crooked grin she'd ever seen him give, melting her to the grass and dirt and goo.

  He repacked the equipment, then dropped down next to her, wiping slimy palms against his jeans and his forehead with a sleeve. Lifting his Stetson from his dampened head he dropped it on a patch of grass next to him. He looked tired but pleased as he draped his forearms across raised knees, and offered her a grateful smile.

  She regarded that smile and the man. Somehow he seemed most at home out here with the elements and the animals. So different from the Clint his reputation painted. This had to be the true man. The one he wanted to be. So, why did he act so differently with others—bigger than life, daunting yet charming? A charm almost expected of him.

  She smiled back. "I loved being a part of this, Clint."

  His eyebrows shot up. "No kidding? I don't know any woman who would have done what you just did. At least, not happily."

  With a fingertip she etched circles in the dirt. "Maybe it's because I was raised on a ranch. We have animals." She looked back at him. "But I've never helped with a birthing before. It was amazing, exhilarating, it felt . . . important."

  A slow grin stretched across his exquisite face, lighting his eyes. "You didn't say a word about my grabbing you off the porch to ride double with me, racing to who knew where? Didn't complain. Not once. And there you sit with blood and slime all over your lap smiling and telling me you loved being a part of it?" His hearty laugh rang out into the summer breeze. When his laughter died off, he shook his head but kept his eyes on hers. "You're an unusual"—his smile dropped away—"but amazing lady, Jessie."

  She swallowed—hard. He kept calling her Jessie. No one had called her that since junior high and she'd been thankful, never liking how it sounded. Now, the name seemed to roll off his tongue and into her soul.

  "I . . . I guess I am a little strange." I'm a little strange? She squeezed her eyes closed, pressed her lips together, turned her face away so he wouldn't see her blush. Why did she always open her mouth before thinking first? Silence hung thickly between them.

  When she looked back, wondering why he hadn't said anything more, there was a twinkle in his eyes. What's he thinking now? While she looked him over, from his ring of dampened hair down to his blood-spattered boots, a great need gripped her. A need to keep Clint here forever, talk to him, study him, get to know the real man. She turned to face him, crisscrossed her legs, and hunched over them. "It's a big responsibility, being the foreman of this huge cattle ranch. How'd you come to be that?" Then excitedly, she added, "But wait. Start from the beginning. When and why did you first come here?"

  Clint's face clouded over. She found herself frowning with him.

  He remained mute for several beats, staring straight through her. Jessica couldn't stand the pain she saw on his face. The deep lines around his usually sensuous mouth, so breathtaking when he smiled, had gone slack. His green eyes, only minutes ago the color of early spring grass, had dimmed, grown cold and distant.

  Her stomach knotted. What had she asked of him? "Clint? Are you okay?"

  He cleared his throat, dropped his hands off of his knees, and sat up straighter. "I . . . um . . . came to live with your Uncle Roy when I was fourteen."

  "Oh." She pulled her knees up and encircled them. "What brought you here?" She wanted to ask more, like where was his mother, did he have siblings, what about a father? But she could see she'd already asked too much.

  He averted his gaze. His Adam's apple sank below his shirt collar before it rose again to his throat. "That's a story for another time, I think." His voice sounded strained.

  She bit her tongue hard to keep from blurting out questions she so desperately wanted to know about this man. She wanted to help. But her cautious side decided a change of subject would be the wiser course.

  "How did you become Uncle Roy's foreman at such a young age?"

  He gave a stiff laugh. "I'm not all that young, Jessie." He raised a forearm and swiped at the swe
at trying to fall in his eyes. "At first Roy put me in charge of caring for the horses, then breaking horses. I still tease him today about how he started me out on the toughest horses I've ever had to train—two really spirited geldings."

  "You break horses?"

  He shifted his gaze to her.

  She smiled in admiration. "That's amazing, Clint. What don't you do?" The minute the words were out heat flew into her cheeks.

  Clint smiled with understanding, embarrassing her all the more.

  She gazed down at her shins, running her hands up and down them. "Um. What ever happened to those horses?"

  He nodded toward his horse. "You're looking at one of them." She saw a muscle knot in his jaw. He exhaled a tight breath. "The other was killed by a cougar."

  Her stomach lurched. "How horrible!" The vision of such a beautiful creature being unmercifully torn to shreds by a cougar made her whole body quiver. She forced her attention to the nearby gelding. His head hung leisurely with the reins piled in a clump next to him while he munched on tufts of grass. "Look at this guy, all peaceful-like, without a care in the world. He's not even tied to anything and yet he stays. You did that, didn't you?"

  A soft chuckle accompanied his reply, "It's not that big a deal, little one. He's a great horse by nature."

  "Maybe so, but you're the one who had to tame him, and teach him to obey you."

  After getting her fill of watching his horse graze, she looked back at Clint and found him studying her. She was taken aback by that. His gaze was warm, tender, as it scanned her face. Not used to looks like this, she wiggled uncomfortably.

  He shifted, stretching out his long body. He leaned back on one elbow and crossed his legs at the ankles. When he plopped his Stetson back on his head and a lazy grin spread across his face, she took a moment to admire him. If he were on the front cover of 'An American Cowboy', I bet every last copy would sell.

  She licked her dry lips. "What do you like most about Montana?"

  With a long finger he shoved the rim of his hat up enough to see her clearly. He broke off a piece of grass, and rolled it between his fingers. "Everything, I guess. The quiet when it's me, my horse, and the cattle. The beauty of the land, the changes of weather. Even the snow—though it challenges us every year—the work . . ."

  He stopped and met her curious gaze. His eyes captivated Jessica. Penetrating, and warm at the same time. The sunlight glittered across them, now reminding her of green gems, and such a contrast to the tanned face and new growth of dusky beard. Just looking at him made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.

  "What about you, Jessie?" His low, resonant voice barely broke through.

  "Huh? Oh yeah, I love you, too," she replied dreamily.

  Clint pressed a knuckle to his lips. Coughed. Though he had his mouth covered, his eyes danced.

  She blinked in confusion. Was he trying not to laugh? "What did I say?"

  "I'm sure you meant you love Montana, too."

  Horror pulsed through her veins as awareness hit. She pushed loose hair back to her ponytail with shaky hands, fumbled with the rubber band.

  "What brought you to Montana?"

  She exhaled in a gush, hesitating only long enough to regain her poise, then look back at him. "I, um, came to help Mabel."

  "Oh yeah, that's right. Dear Mabel. Running girls off faster than she can bring them in."

  "She says it's your fault."

  He laughed. "I know. It's an ongoing battle she and I have. This is one area we disagree. Most we don't."

  "Tell me about Mabel."

  "I can tell you this. Mabel may be tough, but she's big-hearted. You do fine with her."

  "I don't know." Jessica shook her head in disbelief. "You think so?"

  "You have a good heart, too."

  She blinked. "How would you know that?"

  He gave her another lopsided smile. One that made her shiver a little, in spite of the heat. "I observe. You're a good person, Jessie."

  He noticed me? She wanted to know more but didn't know how to ask. Before she could figure out how to go about it, he looked away. Quick as lightning, he snatched a creature off the ground. Whatever it was, it was small. It froze in terror within his fingertips while he studied its face. He smirked like he had a secret, sat up, and leaned over to hand it to her.

  She opened her hands trustingly. "Ohhh . . . cute . . . a lizard. I've never seen one like this before. What kind is it?" She captured it between her palms and looked at its little face.

  Clint grinned as he watched her. Settling back to his side he said, "It's an alligator lizard—just a baby."

  She studied its little head. "Huh. It looks like an alligator. Do they get as big as one?"

  "No. They can grow up to a foot." Mirth entwined with his words. "But I wouldn't be handing you an adult. They can be pretty vicious."

  She rested her gaze back on the reptile. "Hello, cute little lizard. It's okay, I won't hurt you." Soon its tiny eyes drooped and shut. She lifted the top hand and stroked its back as it lay motionless in her palm.

  "You have a way with little creatures. Looks to me like its sleeping, not just scared spitless."

  Jessica looked up at him with an amused smile. "Scared spitless?"

  Clint broke into a wide grin. "Well, you wouldn't like the alternative."

  They laughed together. It felt good, right. Soon their laughter faded and they fell silent as Jessica held his gaze, braving his deep probe right to her core. What was he thinking right at this moment? She couldn't tell. Only that it was something significant.

  She began to feel dizzy from lack of breath.

  As if he sensed she needed it, he came to her rescue. "So, no more questions?"

  She needed to engage her brain. "Hmm . . . Where do all the cowboys on this ranch come from? I mean, they're all different age groups, but none of them seem to have families."

  "Well . . ." He lifted his hat up, raked a hand through his hair, stuffed it back on. "Most come to escape their old life, I reckon. Some to be part of something—a family. But, there's kind of an unwritten code around here—the past gets to stay in the past."

  "And your past?" she asked without thinking, as always.

  He turned his face from hers and grew quiet. From the side she noticed the crisp line of his strong jaw as muscles bunched. Guilt tightened her throat. The joy had vanished. For long moments, his eyes seemed to rest on the pine trees clustered at the stream. An impulsive desire to comfort him in the form of a hug came over her.

  Before she could move, he spoke. "Like I said, Jessie, the past gets to stay in the past." He shifted his eyes to her. She could see his apology, but didn't miss the sadness there.

  Angry at herself, she decided not to ask that question of him again. While she pondered how to bring his joy back, a particular question niggled her mind. "Why is it you've never married?" Did I actually ask that question out loud? She wanted to grab the words and stuff them back down her traitorous throat.

  Shock registered on Clint's face. His eyebrows rose, then fell into a scowl, then shifted again into another expression entirely. Pain? Regret? She couldn't tell. She remained still, breathing shallowly, not knowing what to do but wait. Surprisingly, now she didn't want to hear his response. She searched for a way out of the awkwardness.

  He swung a cool gaze back to her, his eyes pricking hers. "I'm not the marrying type, Jessica. It's that simple."

  His cool answer stabbed her heart, deflating it like a punctured rubber ball. The silence between them grew deafening. Sweat trickled down her spine from the hot sun.

  Right then the calf stood up on wobbling legs, and Jessica whooshed out a pent up breath. She caught the same relief in Clint's expression yet somehow that saddened her.

  "There he goes." Clint swept to his feet in one motion. After giving the calf a few minutes to steady himself, he gave the head a little shove under the mother to help him find milk. Turning back to Jessica he smiled. She was drawn to the creases that had d
eepened around his mouth. Staggering how a simple smile could improve already extraordinary looks. But she saw tension in that smile and wished she hadn't broached the subject of marriage. Still, she wondered why it affected him so much.

  "They'll be fine. Let's go back."

  He gathered up the satchel, hung it on his shoulder, and headed for his horse.

  Jessica released the little lizard back into the wild, and followed. She swung into the saddle with only a small push from Clint. When he hefted himself up behind her, her blood raced. He closed in, swallowing her up in his massive embrace.

  Hot breath stirred on her cheek. "We'll be taking it a little slower this time. Lean against me. Easier on your back." A hand settled on her abdomen and gently tugged her against him. She sucked in a breath and stiffened, closed her eyes to fight off the longing his closeness brought her.

  His lips tickled her temple. "Relax, little one." His intimate, yet curt, instructions caressed her ear, making her shiver, but, though she was tucked into his solid frame, an intangible wall had arisen. Silence hung between them as together their bodies rocked with the motion of the steed.

  When they arrived at the main camp, Clint steered his gelding into the barn and reined in at the far stall. He loosened, but didn't immediately release his hold on her. As the horse remained still and she stayed comfortably pressed into his chest, the hard beat of his heart resonated straight into her back, firing her senses. She wondered why he didn't move, but was glad for every second of contact he was willing to give.

  A breath huffed into her hair, and he shifted in the saddle. Instant recollection of her not moving off him earlier hit her like a charging bull, and with it a flood of heat throbbed in her cheeks. She flung her frame forward, nearly toppling over the horse's head.

  Clint caught her shoulders and dragged her back. "Whoa, now. What're you doing?" he barked. The agitated horse bounced to the side and tossed his head, nearly slamming her in the nose. She was so embarrassed, all she wanted to do was get down and disappear into the house.

  The saddle creaked as he moved to dismount. Once he stepped down, and before she could open her mouth to protest, he reached up to clasp her waist. He was so tall she only had to tilt her head down a bit to stare into his eyes. His pupils were large and he looked at her with some kind of unnamed emotion. Angry she hadn't moved? Agitated she'd upset the horse? But, it didn't look like either of those things. It looked more like—

  He tugged, startling her. She had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling. His eyes remained fixed to hers, and like there was an invisible tether, she couldn't look away. He pulled her out of the saddle and into his arms, then lowered her so slowly she wondered at the strength it took to hold her like that. Finally her feet touched the hay-sprinkled ground. Jessica counted five heartbeats before he dropped his hands.

  A look of puzzlement crossed his eyes briefly. Then, without a word he tapped the rim of his hat in thanks, or good-bye.

  Jessica could only nod.

  He backed up a couple of paces to give her space and somehow she put feet to motion. With head held high, and with strength her rubbery legs didn't have, she sauntered past him toward the house before her heart could burst from its strange brew of elation and uncertainty.