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

  Chapter 36

  Jessica stepped through the back door ahead of Johnnie, straight into cowboy chaos. Rose Marie stood in the center of it all, besieged by men jawing over the top of each other, fighting like young bucks for a spot next to her. Jessica had never even seen some of them smile before. Typical. Yet, as she looked closer, she realized this was different. This time Rose Marie actually seemed agitated by it all.

  With a scowl on his face, Johnnie sidled up to Rose Marie and said something in her ear. Her face paled as she stood absorbing what he was saying. When he strode off with the present scowl still knitting his brow, Rose Marie smiled weakly at the cowboys, then tread into the kitchen and straight for Jessica.

  "I need to talk to you," Rose Marie said in a voice as weak as if it had been bled from her body.

  What had Johnnie whispered in her ear? Now Jessica wished she hadn't spilled her heartbreak out to Johnnie. She studied the other woman's face. What could this hussy possibly say that Jessica would want to hear? But, Rose Marie seemed resigned, and a touch contrite, so there was no choice but to do the right thing.

  "Okaayy." Jessica swiveled around and headed for the privacy of her bedroom, determined to face Rose Marie with poise. Her heart began thumping like she'd just scaled the side of a mountain before they'd even reached the stairs. She signaled for Rose Marie to go ahead of her, then followed, wishing God would pick now to take her home. "First door on the right," Jessica said.

  Rose Marie stopped when she reached the landing. She straightened her spine, a Princess Grace gesture for sure, and then strode to the bedroom door.

  Once inside Jessica's room, Rose Marie made her way to the bed and sat on the edge stiffly, her beautiful yellow dress splayed out about her. Her eyes looked blank as if her thoughts were elsewhere. She took a sudden breath, awakening to the present. "Johnnie tells me you have most of your memories back. When did that happen?"

  Jessica eyed her, wondering how much to say. Her legs seemed to be losing strength, so she plopped down in the ornate antique chair in the corner. "When you walked in the door in that dress. It was the one you wore when Clint and I first met you at Mary's."

  She glanced down at herself. "Oh. That's right."

  "Now I understand why you asked my forgiveness ahead of time."

  "Yes." Rose Marie lowered her eyes. "And now you've changed your mind."

  "About forgiving you?" She sighed. "Of course not."

  Rose Marie's head snapped up, and her brows twitched briefly in confusion.

  "Jesus never removes His forgiveness from us, so how could I do that to you?" Just speaking of Christ's forgiveness gave Jessica strength to face this.

  Rose Marie gave a resigned sigh. "I need to tell you what actually happened between Clint and me."

  Blood drained from Jessica's head, making her feel faint. She didn't want to hear this. "No, that's not necessary." She started to rise. "Listen, I should get back—"

  "Jessica. I need to tell you, since I know Clint thought it was you and not me."

  Her stomach was suddenly queasy. But, hope made her stay. She dropped back into the chair. "All right."

  "I'm not proud of it, but it was my doing, not Clint's." Rose Marie seemed to struggle taking her next breath.

  The tension in Jessica's jaw eased as she waited for more.

  "That day, when I first met Clint, I reacted to his attractiveness and he seemed to do the same with me. I thought, well, Grandma had told me about him. Had thought of him as a son. So I figured maybe we were meant for each other. That she would like that . . ." She raised a shaky hand to push a lock of hair out of her face. "Silly, I know."

  She took another breath. "Anyway, that night, Clint became feverish. I didn't know it at the time, or anything about his illness until Grandma told me later." She hesitated for a moment, apparently gathering courage. "I went to his cot and coaxed him back to my bed. I don't think I could explain why, exactly. I'd heard him thrashing on that hard old cot, sounding tormented. When I stood over him, he just seemed so troubled, and needy."

  "Needy?" Clint was anything but needy, Jessica thought.

  "Suddenly, I just wanted to hold him, and for him to hold me, since he seemed so warm and so . . . so docile."

  Docile? Clint? Were they talking about the same man here?

  Rose Marie sucked in a ragged breath, and closed her eyelids, looking guilty and sick about it. She re-opened her eyes. "He called out a nickname. I didn't even know it was yours, since I didn't know who little one was. I do now. "And you should know"—she licked her lips—"he said, little one, we can't do this."

  Jessica experienced a funny mixture of relief and torture. "He said that?"

  "He was delirious the whole time, Jessica. I didn't know that then, but I did suspect he wasn't in his right mind. And something else—" Humorless laughter broke loose from her. "They say confession is good for the soul, right?"

  Jessica's heart already hurt. Even if Clint had confused Rose Marie with her in his delirium, that didn't change a thing. Clint was a serial womanizer. A man living in a fast paced, philandering world. Nothing like the way Jessica had lived—or wanted to live. "No! Please! Don't say anything more. For your sake and his. It's not necessary. Really."

  Rose Marie didn't seem to hear Jessica's plea. As her lips loosened, Jessica's insides tightened.

  "You'll want to hear this, believe me. You see, we didn't . . . I mean, he didn't . . ." Rose Marie sputtered as color dotted her cheeks. Her shoulders slumped as she spoke into her lap. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

  She looked up then, straight into Jessica's eyes. "I should have never given him the impression he had gone through with anything intimate that night. He didn't. He was out of his mind so I'm sure he won't remember this. Thankfully, before anything of consequence could happen he . . . he just fell asleep. Kind of sudden like . . ." Her words trailed off.

  The relief on Rose Marie's face was so obvious, you would have thought she'd just vanquished all her demons instead of confessed her deepest shame. But maybe those were one in the same.

  Jessica released the breath she had held through Rose Marie's confession, letting it escape out her open mouth like the final breath of the dead. "So God intervened again, like that night with Clint and me," she said, mostly to herself, surprised she still didn't feel any better. "Pardon?" Rose Marie asked.

  "Oh, nothing," she said with a wave of her hand. She brought her gaze back to Rose Marie's eyes. "Thank you for telling me this." Jessica rose from the chair to see her out the door.

  "One more thing," Rose Marie said hurriedly. Jessica grimaced. "When I was with him in Uncle Roy's bedroom, he was sound asleep. I hadn't touched him until you came through the door. And after you left, he woke up and"—Rose Marie massaged her throat—"grabbed me in anger. He was furious I had deceived you, again." Her eyes shimmered. "About him and me, I mean." She gave Jessica a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I should go."

  "Wait." Jessica ached like her vitals had been wrung of their lifeblood. "Why did you tell me the truth about this?"

  "For Johnnie," Rose Marie blurted then looked shocked she'd said it.

  "Johnnie?"

  "I don't know why I told you," she barely whispered. She shook her head. "But, when Johnnie doesn't want to talk about something, he says it's none of your business. Otherwise he tells the truth. He never resorts to lies. In fact, he goes out of his way for the truth to be known. I guess he's rubbing off on me."

  Rose Marie headed for the door. Before turning the knob she looked back, and opened her mouth as if to say more, but closed it. She seemed so lost that Jessica hastened to her and wrapped her in a hug—non-reciprocated though it was. When she let loose, Rose Marie fled out the door.

  Jessica questioned what she was feeling—bruised, confused, sad . . . jealous? Numb—that was all she seemed to feel right now. Couldn't God have left these memories buried forever? Hearing it from Rose Marie had made the memory come alive, and all she c
ould picture was Clint with Rose Marie's limbs draped over him. She wanted to throw up and scream at the same time. She'd believed her girlish pipedream—that Clint could be hers. Well, that dream had been obliterated, as it should be. And, it didn't matter anymore. Clint was not someone she should love.

  A suitcase was open on her bed, and she realized she'd started packing while she mulled Rose Marie's confession. She lowered her gaze to the stack of blue jeans in her hands. A tear landed on the pocket of the pair on top and spread into a dark, damp circle. She stared at it till it blurred, then blinked back her tears and laid the pile meticulously beside her blouses.