Chapter 37
Jessica stared at herself in the bureau mirror. Her red-rimmed eyes matched her raw, overburdened emotions. Her body was going back to California, but her soul would remain here. Here in Montana where she'd experienced the best as well as the worst days of her life. Her plan was to sneak down to the Packard and drive herself to the train station. A note to Uncle Roy was propped against the mirror. In it, she thanked him for her time here, apologized for being a quitter like all the rest, and promised to mail his second set of keys back to him.
Tears burned her eyes, but this time she wouldn't give in to them. She dressed, packed the last of her things, and tiptoed down the stairs. When she stepped out onto the front porch, she gasped at the beauty she saw there. As beaten as she was, God's offer of the multicolored sunrise soothed her.
Her drive to West Yellowstone was rough going since the earthquake had damaged so much of the road. But she managed to make her way along the broken roadway, thinking that her heart was in the same sort of shambles.
The thought of going back to her cold, unfulfilling life—and a mother who saw her as nothing more than an old maid—tore at her almost as much as leaving Harper Ranch behind. She had changed. She wouldn't fit in at home anymore; not that she ever had.
As the sun blazed through her window, she wished it could brighten her spirits as well. When she arrived at the outskirts of town, she straightened her spine. She would make a new life for herself, though she fully expected to live it alone. Never again would she feel for anyone as she did for Clint, nor would she even try. Even though her memories were vague concerning any sort of love between them, the reality was she couldn't make a life with him; to spend a lifetime worrying when he would tire of unremarkable her to go find an attractive and exciting other. And there would be plenty of others for him to choose from—always.
The streets were surprisingly empty for a resort town. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the hotel, then back to the road. An immediate double-take made her hands grip the steering wheel. She blinked hard. It couldn't be.
Before she thought better of it she whipped the car to a parking space in the front of the restaurant, to the right of the old hotel. She threw the car into park and locked her eyes on the two standing at the doorway, a few short yards away. Her breathing constricted a little more with each intake of breath. Squeezing her eyes closed she sent up an arrow prayer and forced a calmness before allowing herself another thorough look. There, before her, was Clint dressed in her favorite green shirt—the one that matched the color of his eyes. His hat was held by one large hand and his saddle bags were draped over the arm of the other, while a blonde woman was pressed against his torso, her arms wrapped neatly around him.
Now, who is this one? And, why was he here? But, she realized, what did it matter? Women naturally flocked to Clint, and this one, whoever she was, had a tenacious hold on him. He took two steps with her clinging like a trap to his waist. Then he stopped and spoke some words down into her face with an exasperated look on his. He tried two more steps with no better results.
Finally, dumping his hat and saddle bags to the walkway he seized the woman by the shoulders, wrenching her away from him. He shifted her to one side with the action of an incensed man, then bent to pick up his belongings. With his mouth in a grim line, he threw the saddle bags over one shoulder and jammed on his hat. Clint opened his mouth to say something more to her, but before he did he spotted the Packard over the top of her head. Just as Jessica had done, he did a double-take, squinted hard at her, and then barreled past the woman straight for the car.
Jessica panicked. She threw the car in reverse, praying no one was behind her, and skidded out of the parking place. Clint was closing fast. She shoved the gear shift into drive and zoomed down the street. She glanced in the rearview mirror as Clint took out after her. With the power of a mountain cat, he ran full-on down the middle of the street in pursuit, every muscle alive with motion.
The sight tore her up. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to leave Montana—escape to anywhere. Her grief over him had reached a peak. She knew in that moment, as much as she wanted him, she was not enough for him. Oh, she could handle caring for him, and was perfectly capable of handling matters of the heart—his heart. But, she was certain she could not endure a lifetime of Clint's popularity with women without becoming a bitter, jealous woman herself.
Jessica drove straight out of town with unshed tears clouding her vision. When she could no longer see to drive, she pulled off into a field that had become the parking lot for the local rodeo. The Packard bumped over uneven ground until she brought it to a stop. She slammed her fist on the steering wheel, then dropped her head to it. Sobs rose so brutally from within they nearly choked her on their way out her mouth.
Physically, she was a wreck, spiritually she was fractured, but emotionally she didn't know if she would recover. For sure, she wouldn't look at life the same again. She couldn't remember everything yet, but knowing what a fool she'd been concerning Clint was a hard pill to swallow. Somehow that thought put a halt to her tears, but a knot formed at the back of her throat.
What was she going to do now? Raising her head, bleary eyed, she tried to assemble a plan, but could only focus on the beautiful countryside. Foothills edged the grassland for miles, and wildflowers were scattered everywhere. She would miss this place. Leaving it—leaving Clint—was going to tear her into little unrecognizable bits.
She shook her head, trying to lose the image of the handsome, rough and tumble cowboy running after her down the highway. He was really something. And, like an addict who couldn't be without her addiction, her heart couldn't close the chapter on Clint.
She knew what she had to do. Give herself time to sort through this thing. No California, then. She would buy a train ticket half-way there—Salt Lake City. There she'd spend the night and think—just think, and pray. God would need to give her direction beyond that. She'd bungled things so badly already, she felt compelled to stop overreacting and finally do things God's way.
Bringing the car to life, Jessica backed up, swung around, and pulled out onto the highway to head back to West Yellowstone.
When she pulled up to the West Yellowstone train station, she noticed the empty parking spaces but didn't take the time to wonder about it. Without hesitation, she got out of the car and marched up the path toward the depot's double doors. She had her plan. She'd get her ticket first, retrieve her suitcases, and then be on her way to Utah. Once at the entrance, she reached for the door handle and pulled. Her shoulder yanked almost painfully against the locked door. Locked? Frustrated, she glanced up for the first time and noticed a sign posted on the door:
Train travel prohibited due to extensive damage to tracks
Jessica blinked. Confused, she read it a second time. Finally, when the full meaning sank in, she numbly sank down to the stone bench under the depot sign to make another plan.