Chapter 40
Jessica withdrew her lips from his and pulled back to see if his eyes had opened. Not yet. He had been dreaming; dark, severe dreams. His face twisted in an anguish that convinced her it was more than physical pain. She didn't want to shake him because of his head injury, so she'd tried to reach him with words and caresses. And, finally a kiss.
"Clint, it's Jessie. I'm here. Please, open your eyes." Her hand stroked his arm slowly. She kissed his cheek, his eyelids, his chin, then ever so softly his mouth again.
His eyes opened, scrunched closed, then opened into small slits. A deep frown put a furrow between his brows, and something deeper still distorted his face. Pain. She had come prepared. The wet washcloth was across his eyes before he could even speak. Silence remained for a few more seconds. He groaned, then reached up and pushed the rag from his eyes, leaving it to rest on his forehead.
"Jessie?" His voice was ragged, edged with suffering.
"Clint. You were shot, but you'll be okay. How bad is the pain?" she asked. The washcloth kept slipping so she grabbed it off and waited for his answer.
"Bad."
"Do you think with my help you could raise your head? I want to give you the pain medication Doc left in case he wasn't here to give you a shot."
Clint nodded once. She lifted his head and stuffed several pillows behind him. She gave him water then dropped a pill in his mouth. He swallowed and managed to gaze up into her eyes through lowered lids.
"I'll go find Doc," she said, coming to her feet.
He caught her hand. "Jessie. Give the pill time to work. Sit here. Talk to me."
It was excruciating, staring into eyes that revealed his torture. She sat on the rolling chair and rotated forward. She was thankful at least that he was awake and knew her.
She kept hold of his hand and waited a long while, hoping the pain killer would kick in. "Clint, who—" She didn't know why she'd started to ask him that. She'd intended to sit and hold his hand until the pain had subsided.
He stared into her eyes. "Go on."
"Never mind."
"Jessie . . ."
Shoot. She couldn't keep the question inside any longer, like it had found a crack in her mind and weaved its way out her mouth. "Who beat you, Clint?" she whispered.
The question knocked out the last bit of color from his face, and he grimaced with a noticeable increase in pain. What had she done? She watched as Clint's expression became fluid. Despair then red hot rage. His nostrils flared, his lips flattened. She'd never seen this look of anger on him before. Beyond anger. Hatred.
He yanked his hand out of her grasp and turned his face away.
Jessica sucked her bottom lip in and clamped her teeth down. Somehow she knew this part of his past had molded Clint into the person he had become. And after these vivid nightmares, he needed to get it off his chest. She waited, hoping he would share it with her.
It seemed an eternity before he turned his head back to her. His stare was bleak. She wondered if he would send her away from him, for now—or maybe permanently.
"Jessica." She winced at the formal name. "What makes you think someone beat me?"
So his answer would be avoidance? He didn't trust her with this information? She blinked at the overwhelming disappointment. She stared into his haunted eyes, and the sensation passed. She figured out what he was doing. A ploy. To shock her into dropping the subject. Well, it wouldn't work. Her future with him could depend on his facing what had happened to him. After the crushing nightmares, she knew deep in her heart he needed to do final battle with the demons of his past.
She straightened her spine, then spoke in a quiet, cool tone. "Clint, you were the only cowboy who didn't remove his shirt during the round-up. In fact, not once during any of the hot days have I seen you without one. And then, at Mary's, when you fell off the bed, your back was exposed. I saw the thin scars on it. Only one thing could have done that."
His jaw muscles tightened. She'd never seen so many emotions flicker through a person's eyes. Tears pooled, diluting the sharpness of his green-flecked irises. He blinked fast, his throat pumped. She saw the pain this was causing. His composure was slipping, and it was all she could do not to throw her arms around his neck and tell him to forget it.
She saw when he surrendered. "Okay," he said with way more regret in his voice than she had hoped to hear.
She dropped his hand and stood. "Clint, if you can't trust me with your past—" She halted her words. A flush of guilt and regret rushed over her. Hadn't she just today told him she didn't trust him?
"You're right." He grasped her hand back so she wouldn't leave him. "I need to tell you. I don't want to remember is all. It has nothing to do with you."
She sighed. "Maybe God wants me to know. Your mind is not letting you forget."
He looked skeptical.
He was still locking her out, and that hurt, but she pressed on. "Ever since you were shot, you've been having nightmares. It's like you're a little boy again and fighting off an attacker."
Shock was evident in his expression, and then sadness. He closed his eyes in surrender. Jessica laid a hand to his cheek and stroked it. Covering her hand with his, he opened his eyes to gaze at her. He brought her hand to his lips and gave a warm, tender kiss to her palm. "Come here." He opened up his arm.
Surprised by the invitation, Jessica looked over the bed. Could it hold both of them? He was so large. But when he scooted over, keeping his arm out, she couldn't resist. She slipped in beside him and snuggled close in order to fit. He closed his powerful arm around her, and it felt so right.
Then he told her of his childhood. He didn't look at her. She understood that. The sympathy in her eyes would make it hard to tell his story. She tentatively slid her arm across his ribs, and tried not to move a muscle as she listened.
"My dad died when I was twelve," he spoke into the room, above her head, "and Mom remarried when I was thirteen." His hard swallow reverberated clear through her. "He was a preacher, my stepdad. He liked my sisters, but he hardly tolerated me."
Twilight had begun, and shadows were forming. Jessica stared into the corner where one shadow crept across the room, like a relic of Clint's past trudging along with his spilled memories. She pulled in a little closer, trying hard not to let tears fall against his bare chest.
"I'm sure I was a handful, still angry at God for taking my dad. My stepfather hated it when my mom tried to console me. Thought I should grow up. Be a man. Get over it. One day he found a picture of my dad in my mom's apron pocket. He was so furious she still carried it that he started taking it out on me."
Jessica tilted her head back to look inquisitively into his eyes. He read her thoughts. "I look just like my dad."
"Oh, my gosh, Clint." Her resolve broke, and her tears let loose down her cheeks. She whisked them off before they dampened his skin.
They both stared straight ahead then. "He began by giving me tasks—many tasks—to do around the place. For a while I was able to keep up. But he kept adding more—or worse yet, he'd say he'd told me to do something when he hadn't. It was his way of finding reasons to—"
He swallowed twice in a row. Jessica waited for him to regain his control.
"He . . . uh . . ."
She heard the lump in his throat.
"He began with hitting me across the face. At first with an open hand. Later with fists."
Jessica covered her mouth with a hand and pressed hard to keep the sobs from escaping. She had to let him get through this. He continued, though his voice had become so pinched she wouldn't have heard him at all if she hadn't been so near.
"Later he decided fists weren't enough, so he used his belt on me. He always made sure he wore the old one where the leather had become hard and brittle. It left deeper gouges. He . . ." Clint stopped, tried to clear his throat. He raised a hand to his head and pressed his fingers into his temple. The pain in his head must have become intolerable since she was sure his blood pressure had ris
en. Regret seized her. She wanted to stop him, but it was far too late for that.
"He . . . he would beat me and then throw me in our shed. In the summer it became unbearable, and I would pass out. Mom would finally come and get me." He sounded bitter now. "As soon as he allowed her to."
That was all she could take. A huge sob exploded from her mouth, and he stopped while she cried uncontrollably for several minutes. He embraced her and pulled her up so her head rested under his chin. His pulse beat like wildfire in his neck where she rested her cheek. He inhaled a deep breath in her hair, kissed the top of her head. Warm tears hit her scalp and she wept all the more.
For a while neither spoke, just held the other tight. Finally he finished his tale. "When the second June arrived, I knew I couldn't make it through another summer in that shed, so I ran. Ran and never looked back. It took me several weeks to make it to West Yellowstone. Roy found me behind a restaurant unconscious, nearly dead."
Jessica gasped and looked up into his face. His eyes were red-rimmed. She knew hers were worse. She stretched up, and pressed her lips into his. She wanted to console him, reach to his very soul and soothe the damage that had been done there. Words couldn't begin to say how she felt. She hoped the touch of her mouth could deliver the message. She gave him all she knew how to give, hoping and praying it was enough. The kiss became ferocious, deep and demanding, mingling with their salty tears as if fervor alone could scrub away the pain of the past.
He broke the kiss off and lifted his head to look into her eyes. "Jessie." His voice was thick and his breathing erratic. "So compassionate." He tried to smile, though weakly. "And passionate." His big hand covered the side of her face. He ran his thumb lightly over her lips as he gazed into her eyes.
One side of his mouth tilted up in that dreamy, crooked smile of his, making liquid of her insides. "I'm in love with you, sweet girl."
Her heart skipped, then hammered. She couldn't have been more shocked if God had lifted the roof and smiled down at them. He was in love with her? She was stunned beyond speech. And it must have shown clearly on her face.
His smile broadened, and he chuckled. "Surprised?"
Her eyes widened, and all she could do was nod.
His face took on a look of contentment, and with each blink his eyes lowered a little more. Soon, he dozed off. She stayed next to him in his secure hold until his arms loosened in deep sleep. She slid out of his bed, covered him with the sheet, and collapsed weak-legged into the old cushioned chair. Her mind reeled. He's in love with me? Was she dreaming?
Clint slept through the night and into the next day. Doc came in and out periodically, bringing Jessica food and checking on his patient. Jessica became worried. When the doctor came in around noon, she delayed him. "Doc. Shouldn't he be awake by now?"
The doctor glanced at Clint, but looked unfazed. He smiled and patted her arm. "Jessica, he's had a major trauma to his head and jolt to his brain. I'm watching him closely. So far he hasn't developed any complications. It seems to me he's sleeping peacefully for a change. No more nightmares?"
She thought about that for a minute and smiled weakly. "No." She wondered if Clint's confession had eased his mind. She hoped it had. She prayed that was all.
But, by three in the afternoon nothing had changed. Jessica decided to go down the hall to freshen up. When she returned, he was still asleep. Worry crawled up her throat. She would not allow worry to unseat her faith, so she decided touch might work on him again. She took his left hand and stroked it. He moaned in his sleep. Encouraged, she squeezed a little harder, and held his knuckles to her lips, planting tiny kisses across them.
Closing her eyes, she prayed. When her lids opened, she saw his eyes on her. A small smile deepened the creases at the corners of his mouth.
Jessica sucked in an audible breath of relief. Without any more thought, and not able to form words anyway, she leaned in and planted a greedy kiss on that appealing mouth.
After many long moments she broke off the kiss and, mimicking his favorite action with her, pressed her brow to his. "Clint. Don't ever scare me like that again."
He laughed, though weakly—a deep, gravelly sound. It bathed her in its richness, delighting her senses. "I'll do my best, little one."
She leaned back and noticed that the amused expression had left his face to be replaced by a solemn one. She studied him while his gaze seemed to cherish each feature of her face before it returned to her eyes. His look wasn't of pain, but more of worry. Was he thinking about the last thing she'd told him at the train station? By his expression, she thought so. A question lingered there between them, and she had caused it. If she could go back, before their confrontation, before she had given him reason to think she could live without him. If she could just take it all back . . .
He reached up with both hands, pushed her hair back, and held her face. His stare entangled hers. "Marry me."
Oh, my gosh! Yes! But before she could say it, she noticed—really noticed—the apprehension and worry in his eyes. This was a new experience for him. He'd been shot. He'd endured nightmares and confessed the atrocities of his past. And yet, the importance of this moment—to him—unraveled all the fears from around her own heart. She wanted to hold him, to love him, to tell him she would never leave his side. She wanted to remove the fear he'd harbored his whole adult life of having a lifelong relationship with just one woman; the fear that held him back from commitment such as he was offering her now. Somehow a simple yes wouldn't do.
Blinking to clear her vision, she cupped her small hands around his face and looked into his magnificent eyes. "Clint. I love you with every fiber of my being. I think I've loved you from the first moment I saw you, and that love deepened with every moment we spent together thereafter, good and bad. I don't want to live this life without you. And, I trust you. I do. With my very life. And, you can trust me. With your life. With your heart. With your soul. So, the answer is yes. I will share my life with you. I'm yours forever."
His expression showed such vast relief, he looked as if he might break down and shed those tears that were swimming in his eyes. Not wanting even a remote chance he might embarrass himself, she gave him a mock look of annoyance. "But, I must say, this was a pretty dramatic way to convince me."
His laugh was rich and full, and his smile dazzling.
He expelled a sudden whoop, then immediately grimaced and squeezed his eyes tight. His breath came on small, ragged gasps.
"Oh no!" Jessica breathed out, then sucked in another breath and held it. When he didn't seem to recover, she turned her face toward the door. "Doc!" she shouted.
Clint flinched at the noise. Tiny streams of tears squeezed out from the corners of his eyes, pooled briefly at his crow's feet, then slid down into his ears.
Doc slammed through the door, saw Clint's face, and went straight to his cabinet. Bringing a shot of pain killer, he administered it while Jessica brushed the backs of her fingers across Clint's cheek and spoke in low, soothing tones.
Clint's jaw muscles bunched, and his cheeks were taut, but he never said a word. He lay with eyes shut tight, trying to breathe deeply. Jessica watched his whole body quiver in painful tension. She prayed and waited for the worst to be over.
It seemed like an eternity before he began to breathe easier. He opened his eyes. She expected to hear how excruciating the onslaught of pain had been. Instead, his eyes locked onto hers with the intensity only Clint could command. He took a deep ragged breath and whispered, "Don't make me wait too long."
She furrowed her brows. "What?"
His eyes closed as if that would help him regain the strength to speak again. Opening them, he tried again. "Marry me soon," he said in a wisp of a breath.
Her heart swelled so large it could have completely enveloped them both. Happy tears let loose, tracking her cheeks. He shook off her grip from his hand, reached up, and brushed the wetness away with his thumb. His large hand curled around her nape and brought her mouth to his.
/> The kiss was tender, and sweet, and filled with the hope of a grand future.
Epilogue
Clint swung the screen door open, stomped his feet on the porch mat, and sauntered into the kitchen. He glanced around. "Mabel, where's my bride?"
"Gal's up in your room workin' on thank you notes."
Thinking of their wedding brought a smile to his face. He was amazed at how Jessie had pulled together the blessed event in less than three weeks, complete with her entire family . . . and his. Jessie had known that when Clint saw his mother in this setting, a form of healing would begin. And it had—for the first time in almost two decades.
The ranch house had been decorated with every kind of flower imaginable. Even the deer head above the mantel had worn fancy ribbons draped from its antlers.
He still remembered the joy that sped his heart and stole his breath when Jessie had come into view at the top of the staircase in the extraordinary white dress, affirming her innocence. The breath had squeezed out of his lungs, and his heart had tumbled all over itself. Her dad hesitated only long enough for the crowd below to view the beauty of his daughter—the bride.
His Jessie. His bride.
Jessie's eyes had locked to his, and he'd seen the depth of her love mirroring his own. His heart had nearly burst with love for her and the anticipation of a life spent with her by his side.
And now, here he was. Two weeks later. A man wildly in love. And it surprised and pleased him every single day. If anyone had told him, six short months ago, that he'd fall in love and get married, he'd have called them a bald-faced liar. Now he couldn't imagine life any other way.
Clint took the stairs two at a time, heading for the master bedroom. The door was open, exposing the one room that had been closed off to everyone since Roy's father and mother had occupied it decades ago. Roy had been eager to hand it off to Clint and his new bride. Jessie. His love. The one God had hand-picked for him.
Still smiling, he peeked in to catch a glimpse before saying hello. Jessie sat cross-legged on their bed reading through the many letters of congratulations that had flooded in from California. His heart swelled at the equal mix of concentration and delight on her face.
He leaned a shoulder against the door casing and crossed his arms to take in the sight of his sweet, remarkable wife. She seemed content, like she belonged here. With her Wranglers, sky blue blouse with silver snaps, and low ponytail, she looked ready for anything a cattle ranch—or he—could demand of her.
A swell of desire enveloped him. He eyed the pile of congratulation notes taking up space on the bedspread and cocked his head. But no. He had other plans for this afternoon.
For the longest time she was too preoccupied to even notice him. One letter caused her to laugh, and when she did, her head came up and her eyes caught him standing there.
She gasped a quick breath and beamed at him as she inspected him from his weather-worn Stetson to his equally worn boots. "Now there's a sight I'll never tire of."
He chuckled. "Same here, little one. You're delectable sitting there covered in mail. Must have lots of friends. I haven't received anything like that." He pushed off the casing and in two steps he was at her side. He took her by the hands and whisked her up into his arms, delighting in the feel of her.
"That's because all your friends live here," she whispered in his ear. "My ears are still ringing from all the whoops and whistles we got the night of our announcement."
He set her down and gave her a lopsided grin. "Do you have a couple hours to spare? I want to show you something."
She stole his breath as she dazzled him with another smile. "You don't have to ask me twice, cowboy. I'll follow you anywhere." She pulled out of his embrace and crossed the room to stuff her stockinged feet into her boots. He swiveled her to face him. Pulling the rubber band out of her ponytail, he loosened her hair with his fingers, clutched her head for a brief, hard kiss, and then tugged her by the hand down the stairs.
He lifted her coat off the hook, helped her on with it, and stuffed on his hat. Only his horse waited, tied to the porch railing. Jessie took one look at Shadow, made a display of glancing past him for a second horse, and then gasped in mock horror. Amused, he watched as her feigned gape transformed into one of her adoring smiles. She smiled a lot these days, and he drank in every proffered gift.
Clint mounted, and pulled her up in front of him. They took their time—as only newlyweds could get away with—to meander down to the stream Jessie had grown to love. They proceeded quite a ways until rounding a bend to the sight of green as far as the eye could see. Only a smattering of brightly colored wildflowers was left dotting the countryside.
"Shadow loves the tall grass. Winter's getting a late start, so some of it's still around."
"It's beautiful here, Clint." She snuggled in closer as an October breeze lifted her loose hair and whipped it about. "I've never come this far before."
"Used to come here when I wanted to get away. It's quiet and secluded. Always been a great place to think. Now it's a great place to pray." He tenderly brushed a hand down her hair and kissed the top of her head. Bending an elbow, he waited for her to link her arm through, then gently lowered her to the ground.