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

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  Clint ran as far as his tiring legs could take him, to the corner where she'd made a turn. Bracing his hands on his knees, he wheezed in air. He tilted his head up and watched the Packard sail down the street, past the train station, and onto the two lane highway until it was a mere blue dot against Lionhead Mountain west of town.

  His heart ached with every stampeding beat, as his lady love fled yet another incident of him with one more woman. He yanked his hat off and threw it hard against the pavement, cursing. "This has to stop!" he shouted to the retreating vehicle. "When are you going to stay and face me?" he yelled after her.

  Either he would make her understand she was his one and only love for life, or he would have to live life amputated and bleeding, and somehow survive.

  Once he paid the livery keeper, Clint saddled up, threw his saddlebags back in place, and hoisted himself onto Shadow. His plan was to follow the road out of town until he came across Jessie. A fool's errand, but he didn't know what else to do.

  He followed the same route Jessie had gone, not caring about the odd looks he received from the townspeople and tourists. His mind was a million miles away, trying to devise a plan where he could tell her he loved her and wanted no other, when he spied the Packard. Heartened, Clint glanced about for Jessie and found her sitting in front of the station. His heart somersaulted. But, as he took in her slumped form with head in hands, a lump grew in his throat. He'd caused her this latest torture—just like always.

  He reined in his horse and headed toward her. She had yet to look up. Hadn't she heard him?

  Muffled hiccups raised her shoulders every few seconds, though her head remained planted in her hands with her elbows stabbing her thighs. He took a moment to study her, all soft and feminine. Her silky brown hair hung over her hands. A desire flared in him for that same silkiness to run through his fingers as he comforted her. He noticed her little short-shorts and a white ruffled blouse, an obvious outfit for the beaches of California. Yet—he couldn't help but smile—she also wore her western boots. Montana had made its mark on her. He only hoped he had, too.

  "You're disturbing the peace with those cute little hiccups of yours," he said, remembering that same phrase he'd once said to her at Mary's—this time praying for a different outcome.

  Her head whipped up.

  He'd surprised her. "Jessie."

  She leaped to her feet and took in a huge breath that caught in her throat. Before he could vault from his horse, she recovered. Barely. "How could I have missed hearing you?" she said in a strangled voice. "How long have you been there?"

  "Not long." He swung his leg across the saddle horn and hopped down, tossing Shadow's reins over his head. Jessie was beautiful in her astonishment. Her eyes had gone bigger than ever, and her full lips parted. A deep longing swept through him. Her parted mouth wasn't an invitation, but he contemplated snaring her against him and kissing her anyway. Containing himself for several long beats, good sense finally won out. Tentatively, he reached out and captured her hand, towing her back to the bench seat. He sat, and gave a small tug for her to follow.

  If he could keep her distracted with his closeness, remind her she loved him, maybe he could keep her from bolting away. Her scent hit him like a sucker punch to the gut—a sweet, lilac fragrance that went straight from his nostrils to his brain, and triggered a barrage of fresh memories.

  She pulled against his hand, but he didn't let her go. "Wait. We need to talk." Still struggling, she tried to rise again. "Jessie stay. Please. Little one."

  The minute he said those last two words, Jessie's whole body slumped against his side. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder and took a ragged breath. He knew she was confused and trying to keep from crying. He put an arm around her and tucked her into the crook of his arm, thankful for the moment to just hold her.

  When had he fallen so madly in love with this woman? No, not fallen, plunged. His heart craved her, and it ached for the agony he kept putting her through. He prayed, asking God for the right words to say.

  Too soon, her body tensed and she wiggled again to be released.

  He still restrained her. "I'll only let you go if you'll stay so we can talk about this." With a curved finger he lifted her chin and stared into glittering eyes. "Do you agree?"

  The apprehension in her eyes sharpened. His heart swelled with a fierce instinct to protect her, even if it was from himself.

  She finally nodded.

  He released both arms, and she jumped up. For a moment he thought she would flee and he would have to give chase again. In the end she didn't, but she did start pacing. He remained on the bench while she strode back and forth in front of him—stopped briefly to stare at Shadow grazing—then started again. He smiled to himself at her interest in his horse even when her world was turning upside-down. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to formulate her thoughts. Somehow he knew she would have to start first.

  Minutes dragged on, but still he waited.

  In time her gaze met his, darted away, and then returned as if the pull to do so was too great to resist. "Clint . . ." At first her eyes were sad and weepy. Then other emotions skittered across her face, one after another. Soon there was no doubt about the one she'd settled on—anger. It was a relief, since her sadness tore him apart. Anger he could handle. Or so he thought, anyway.

  "Weren't you out looking for Brad? And who was that woman anyway?" she finally sputtered. Her arms flailed about and her eyes flashed in fury.

  This was serious business, he knew, yet a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at how adorable she was in her obvious indignation. He loved it when she fought back. It gave him hope that they may yet work this thing out. He was anxious to finally tell her he loved her. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he took a moment to make sure he looked serious enough.

  "I did find Turner, brought him here to the Sheriff's office."

  Her eyes widened, and she started to speak.

  Clint held up a hand to stop her. "Jessica, are you going to believe me when I tell you about the woman?"

  Her body seemed to wilt. "You never call me Jessica," she said in a small voice.

  She remembered that? Or had she noticed lately that he called her Jessie?

  "Yes. I'll believe you." She gazed down into his eyes with such hope in hers it twisted his insides.

  But he didn't have time to berate himself again. He delivered his words carefully. "Yesterday, I arrived in town with Turner and his two degenerate friends, and turned them over to the authorities."

  Jessie opened her mouth but Clint's hand shot up. "More about that later. The woman, remember?" She nodded and closed her mouth.

  "After that, I went to the hotel, tired and reeking, since we'd been out for over a week. Took a bath, headed for the restaurant. The owner seemed to . . . to take an interest in me." Jessie noticeably stiffened at that. He left out any mention of the first two waitresses. Enough was enough. Even he was sick of the constant attention he received from the opposite sex. There was no doubt about it. He was a changed man.

  "She sat down at my table—propositioned me." He winced. "Once I made it clear I wasn't interested, she left. This morning I didn't figure she'd be a problem but she followed me outside. I'm guessing you saw the rest."

  Jessie stood in silence as she paled and wobbled a bit. He leaned out and grasped her elbow, drawing her to his lap. To his surprise, she let him. She sat stiffly, though. Her eyes were fixed on a group of people meandering down the other side of the street, but her mind was clearly sorting through what he'd said.

  "Do you believe me?" Clint asked.

  She turned to face him. Hazel eyes adored every feature on his face with slow deliberation. His hopes lifted. Her expression brimmed with affection, then as quick as that, snapped to disillusionment. His chest tightened. She was wary of more hurt, he could see that. He understood only too well how someone as grounded as Jessie should question loving someone like him.
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  He tried smiling, but she remained somber. "Talk to me," he said in a strained voice. He swallowed hard and waited for what he hoped wasn't a goodbye.

  "Clint, I don't understand any of this. I'm remembering brief interludes between us, but all of them seem to be followed by incidents with you and other women. I realize some of my memories aren't clear yet, but what were we to each other? Exactly."

  Before he had time to analyze her question, the light suddenly came on. "You have your memories back!"

  She started at his sudden exuberance. Her mouth parted again, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He bent to kiss her, but she averted her mouth and his lips landed on her cheek. Sighing heavily, he slid his fingertips into that silky hair he'd wanted to touch. Slowly, he turned her face back to him, and pressed his forehead to hers. "Aw, Jessie," he breathed, saddened that she couldn't bring herself to trust him.

  She tensed, and he leaned back to search her eyes. But they looked even more distant than before. He felt like he was losing her before he'd even had a chance to profess his love for her. If he were to tell her now, she wouldn't believe him. She'd only think he was trying to extricate himself from a bad situation.

  She put her hands to his biceps and pushed slightly to rise. He loosened his grip and let her stand. A sinking feeling started in his throat and landed hard in his chest.

  Jessie looked him square in the eyes. "Why did you bring Veronica to the round-up for me to baby-sit?" She bit off the last words with vehemence.

  Shocked that she'd picked that particular episode out-of-hand, he rummaged for the correct words. But if he hesitated too long she'd think he was fabricating something, so he jumped in quickly. "I don't know." Shoot. That was the last thing he should have said. He watched her lips curl ever so slightly in irritation. He knew why he did it . . . now. "I meant, at the time I didn't know."

  Her expression changed slightly, but she still awaited his answer. He let out an audible sigh and ran a hand down his face. "A test, Jessie. At the time I would have sworn to anyone who'd asked that it was a test for Veronica. To see if ranch life agreed with her." He averted his gaze and barked a humorless laugh. "As if I hadn't known the answer to that already."

  He stretched out and grasped Jessie's hand before turning his face up to hers. She didn't try to pull away. "It was really a test for you. I didn't know you'd be out there that day and I didn't know why I was testing you. I just knew I had to. In part, I wanted to know how you'd handle the round-up—it really didn't surprise me that you loved it—but more than that . . ." He swallowed hard before letting the truth escape his lips. How would she take it? Would it make things worse? "I was comparing the two of you. I didn't know that's what I was doing, at the time. But that's what happened."

  Jessie gave a grunt of disapproval and tried to pull her hand out of his.

  "Jessie. Listen. Veronica lost, hands down. Then and at the oyster feed. And later." He saw the instant curiosity. "I took her home, broke it off with her, and left."

  Somehow he was blowing it. She looked more lost than ever.

  "Clint." Her voice sounded heavy with emotion. "I don't know if I can do this."

  His heart skipped a beat and his mouth dried up. Their gazes remained locked.

  "I . . . I don't trust you." Her words slammed into him with more pain than when the cougar had hit him dead in the chest. No one had ever told him they didn't trust him.

  His heart tripped at the sadness he saw in her eyes and felt in his soul. "I don't want to be jealous of every woman who'll notice you. And they all notice you. But it's worse. You notice them . . . and more than notice." She tried to swallow and it looked like she couldn't quite get enough moisture to do the job. She searched his eyes, as if she could find answers there. Hers looked tortured. In a small, raspy voice she asked, "What has made you a womanizer?"

  He didn't answer that. Even if he could summon up the courage to tell her, somehow he knew it would only make things worse.

  Unshed tears made her eyes shimmer. She was trying hard to blink them back, and his heart wrenched all the more. "I don't see how we can build a relationship on such a flimsy foundation, Clint. Trying to do that would be too painful. It already has been."

  He gulped, hard. A life without Jessie? He couldn't do that.

  His alternative—face his past? He couldn't do that either.