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

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  Rose Marie pressed her hands to her suddenly queasy stomach—her fingers squishing into the mud and sap still on the front of her dress. Looking down at the mess, she heaved a defeated sigh. How pathetic she must look. She didn't want the one woman her impetuous behavior had caused so many problems for, to see her this way. She wanted to clean up. The need was strong to look more presentable than she did right now. Most people would call that vanity, but in truth, she hated her own looks. Oh, she used them to her benefit. What else could she do? But, it turned her stomach that her beauty made her dangerous. That good people were hurt whenever she was around.

  And now Jessica was one of those people. Someone should have warned the pure-of-heart, plain young woman that she didn't have a prayer of surviving anywhere near the dazzling, villainous Rose Marie. You are the touch of death to all things good, she admonished herself.

  Johnnie's hands whisked over the buckles of Bonnie's harness, every movement precise and deadly fast. Not once did he glance at Rose Marie. No, it was obvious his thoughts were wholly directed toward the only thing standing between him and a headlong rush into the cabin to see Jessica. Rose Marie's jealousy flared its ugly head again. She despised herself for it. What she would give to be anywhere but here. But her traitorous body had frozen so solidly in place, she could hardly breathe much less step off the buckboard.

  Johnnie led Bonnie and Jessica's gray mare into the lean-to. Rose Marie stared at his back, watching his well-honed muscles perform as he quickly unsaddled the mare and pulled fresh hay from a split bale for both animals. He hurriedly gave Bonnie a few strokes with the brush, then, without a look in Rose Marie's direction, jammed his hat further on his head and veered off for the cabin.

  "Johnnie."

  He stopped, crooked his head toward her as if he'd forgotten she was there, an overt look of impatience registering on his face.

  "Where can I clean up outside?" she called out to him.

  Looking more chafed, he retraced his steps back to her. "No place. You can't go down to the stream alone at this time of night, so you need to come in. You can clean up in there. Let's go."

  When she didn't move, he huffed a breath and tread up to the buckboard. He hooked one of his large hands around her waist, and slid her toward him. She squeaked, but before she could open her mouth to protest he had both hands on her, lifting her with ease off the seat and to the ground. She stumbled when her feet hit not so squarely on the dirt. He kept a hand to her waist until she was steady then released her and shifted as if to go.

  Rose Marie caught his forearm. He turned back and glared down at her hand then up to her face, waiting for an explanation as to why she detained him this time. "I won't go in all muddy like this." A gentle breeze caught a clump of her mud-strewn hair and blew it in her face, driving her point home. She pushed the dirty lock back with equally dirty hands.

  Looking genuinely confused, he asked, "Why not?"

  "I can't go in like this . . . in front of . . . in front of Jessica." She lifted her chin to keep it from quivering. Clenching her teeth, she held his unblinking stare like a tightrope walker trying not to topple in the wind.

  The confused look was gone in a flash as Johnnie's whole body stiffened.

  Startled, her hand slid off his arm. Oh no, he doesn't understand. She swallowed hard as she took the impact of his frosty glare. Glancing around, she made to escape, but it was too late. He grasped her upper arm and pulled her to the buckboard's side. She squirmed in his hold, unsure of his intent.

  Johnnie took a good look at her and grimaced. "Be still. You have this crud all over you. In your hair, your face . . . " His gaze trailed down the front of her dress. "Gad, it's everywhere. What'd you do, roll in it?" With his free hand, he seized the water jug from behind the seat and opened it.

  "Oh no you don't," she said, a shiver of dread spiraling up her spine. "You are not dumping that on me."

  He looked momentarily wounded, like she'd struck a harmful blow to his character. Recovering quickly, he said, "Stop squirming and bend over."

  "What? Why?" A stark, terrifying memory leapt into the forefront of her mind.

  "Bend over Rose Marie. We'll start with your hair."

  "No!"

  He released her then, so fast it made her head spin. He thrust the jug at her; water sloshed and mixed with the sludge on her front. "Fine, here's the water. Take care of it yourself. I'm going in."

  Breathing through the passing fright he had evoked, she first reminded herself this is Johnnie. He would never hurt you. On the tail of that thought came her second: Why was he in such a hurry to abandon her and go to Jessica? An irrational need to keep him from Jessica sent unchecked words racing out of her mouth, "Wait, why aren't you willing to help me? I can't do this myself."

  He kept walking.

  "Johnnie!"

  He turned back, a blistering scowl twisting his handsome features. It was clear by his expression that he didn't believe her, but he was contemplating something. High color filled his neck, then his cheeks, before he stomped the few steps back to her and grabbed the jug out of her hands. He slammed it down on the wagon seat then pressed his fingertips to her stomach, effectively pushing her up against the buckboard.

  He looked exhausted and exasperated and at his limit. Okay, so she shouldn't have provoked the man, or lied to him. Now, he was about to do something to her, but what? She twisted to get out of his reach, but in a flurry of movement, Johnnie clamped a hand to one of hers, yanked her forward to grasp her other, and fed them both to one of his behind her back.

  Unreasonable fear triggered her instinct to protect herself. Getting a leg in position she tried to trip him. It wasn't happening. He was too strong.

  Johnnie reached over with his free hand and snatched the water jug from the seat. Guessing what was coming next she tried to jump to the side, but couldn't budge the man. "It's caked in your hair, Rose Marie. Bend over so I can rinse it out, or I'll take care of this the easy way."

  She was too stunned to speak. He wouldn't . . .

  But, she was wrong. When she hesitated too long, he tilted the heavy jug, dumping icy water over her head. She turned away as far as her arms would allow. A stripe of pain burned into both shoulders. He tugged her back toward him, holding the jug in place as it glugged great gulps over her head and down her front and his.

  She screeched and tried to squirm out of his iron-fisted hold. "Johmmbie! Haw cou'd byouu?" her words bubbled past the stream of liquid.

  Water sluiced down her body and slopped at her feet. She sucked in a needed breath only to choke on water. Was he going to drown her, standing up? Rose Marie tried to get his attention. The hard angles of Johnnie's face showed through the blur. His exasperation seemed to have crossed over to white hot rage. She always seemed to push him too far. She didn't know what compelled her to test his patience at every turn, but she couldn't seem to get a handle on how to interact with him.

  But then again, why was his fuse so short when it came to her?

  In the next instant her own fury rose, shoving her victim status away. Who does he think he is to treat me like this? She turned to one side, risking more pain, and kicked with all her might. She caught him in the shin with the hard sole of her boot.

  "Yeow!" he hollered, shocked.

  But the assault had caused him to loosen his hold. She seized the moment. Doubling up a small fist, she punched him with the force of her entire one-hundred-twenty-seven-pound frame, right in the solar plexus.

  With a hardy curse, he doubled over.

  Deftly, she rotated out of his hold.

  Johnnie staggered back a step, astonished. His gaze caught hers, and he gaped. For some unexplained reason the rage on his face seemed to have shifted to bewildered amusement.

  But, it wasn't over. To her dismay, he took another solid hold on her arm. How does he do that so quickly?

  Fist still clenched, she swung at his jaw, but he was ready for her. He caught her fist, slid
his other hand down her arm, and clasped both her hands at her back again. He was so fast, she didn't detect the feat until it was done. He tightened his embrace, squeezing her hard against his chest. Tilting his head down, he brought his nose to within inches of hers. She sucked in a quick breath. It stopped up in her throat. Water dripped steadily into her eyes, forcing her to blink continually. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks.

  His rage was back, blacker than ever. Deep breaths through his nose tickled her lips, and she could see fire in his eyes. His hold was painfully firm. She knew getting out of this would be nearly impossible. She should stop trying. That's all he wanted. But she couldn't.

  Slowly, she maneuvered one leg up between his while he was busy glowering at her and then stomped the heel of her boot onto his toes. Johnnie winced, but didn't say a word or move a muscle.

  Dread struck her. When her eyes went wide in fear she berated herself for giving away what she was feeling. She tried to say something but all that squeezed out was a whimper.

  Johnnie shuffled them backwards to the wagon's edge again—both her hands still imprisoned in one of his behind her back—and grabbed the blanket they had used at the meadow. He scrubbed it roughly across her face, neck and front.

  She shrieked at his boldness, squirmed, grunted, and complained, but the solid muscles she'd admired earlier were now in full combat against her. He threw the cloth over her head and rubbed hard, drying off her hair.

  Finally, when her strength had ebbed and her humiliation was at its peak, he dropped the blanket back into the buggy. He grasped her shoulders and pushed himself back from her. "There. Now you're presentable," he said, then threw his arms in the air with a flourish, and strode back to the cabin.

  "You arrogant, self-righteous—oooh!" she hollered at his retreating back, then stamped a foot with a splat.