Ride With Me (A Quaking Heart Novel - Book One)
RIDE With Me
A Quaking Heart Novel - Book One
An Inspirational Romance Story
Janith Hooper
6th Street Design and Publishing
Copyright 2013 Janith Hooper
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Credits
Edited by
Mick Silva
Dr. Holly Smit
Cover design by P and N Graphics
Cover cowboy art by Joyce Geleynse
Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com
RIDE With Me
Jessica Harper is a sweet but innocent woman, held back from a life of her own. She only daydreams of escaping her demanding family. So when her Uncle Roy begs her to come to his large cattle ranch in Montana to help Mabel, his cantankerous cook, she jumps at the chance. Once Jessica arrives, the cook isn’t her only problem. Right out of the chute she meets the compelling, handsome ranch foreman. Though she recognizes him as her life-long dream, she must face the fact that they are not a matched set. He’s much too… everything, for her. Yet, Jessica can’t seem to keep her mind or her eyes off him. Her desire runs rampant, her faith is tested, her courage fails her, and that’s all before an unforeseen disaster strikes.
Clint Wilkins, the rugged, stand alone foreman—and Gallatin County’s most sought-after bachelor—has successfully fought off marriage for years. But, before he knows it, Jessica’s sweet nature and strong character burrow under his skin, blazing a path straight for his philandering heart. When he finds himself poleaxed by the wholesome Jessie, he must re-evaluate his calloused lifestyle. But, as he tries to change, he is reminded how damaged and used up he is, and how pure she remains. Yet, he can’t seem to resist her powerful tug on his reins. When Clint’s vow to never marry and his attraction to Jessie square off, Clint finds himself at a life-altering crossroads. Will he take her innocence… or her heart, and change both their lives forever.
Dedication
To Bob Hooper (Hoop), my wonderful husband of forty years and counting. In spite of the years it took to publish this first book, you have always believed in me. Thank you for your spiritual leadership and your support in my writing process. It is because you are my rock that my mind and spirit are free to write. I do it for you and I do it for God.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Credits
Dedication
Begin Reading
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Author's Note
Excerpt of Book Two: Stay With Me
Chapter 1
Montana. Wild country. Still untamed, so she'd heard. Mostly from fellow Californians. She didn't believe it, of course. This was 1959, after all, not the 1800's before law and order took shape. Cowboy territory. That thought made her smile.
Jessica settled back in the rigid train seat and tried to imagine life on Uncle Roy's cattle ranch. She hoped her decision to come here had been a good one, even if only to escape her mother's badgering about husbands for a while. Since the day Mom had approached her with her uncle's request, from that point until now Jessica's heart nearly raced out of her chest at even the thought of Montana. Yet, as nerve-wracking as this bold feat was for her, something momentous seemed to lure her here.
She gazed out the window to blurred Idaho flatlands. Sun seeped through the glass, warming her face. The train rocked with a steady rhythm, and the clacking of the wheels against the tracks lulled her into a welcomed numbness.
Out of the corner of her eye, a shape appeared on the plains. She sprang upright. Laying her palms against the cold pane, she squinted out the window. A black horse and rider raced a few yards off, parallel with the train. They rode fast to keep pace, yet the man's powerful body, hunching over the animal's withers, seemed to roll effortlessly with the motion. He turned his head toward her, tapped his hat in a two-fingered salute, and flashed a brilliant smile.
She glanced behind her to the aisle. No one there. She peered back at him with brows raised and pointed at herself. Me? she mouthed.
He gave a nod, spurred his horse in the flank, and shot forward. The long-sleeved white shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and flapped at his back. Fascinated, Jessica strained to watch, but soon he was out of sight.
A high pitched squeal of brakes disrupted her admiration. Why are we stopping? The train lurched, heaving Jessica forward, then back as the train came to a halt. A silhouette filled the doorway of the day coach. The man.
His gaze roamed over the travelers until it landed on her with a swell of intensity that made her heart skip. He strode forward, eyes locked to hers. He seemed to double in size as he approached. Dusty boots, worn blue jeans, dark stubble beneath his battered Stetson, and oozing inborn masculinity.
Her heart thundered when he stopped at her row. With two long fingers he pushed up his hat brim.
Her breath hitched.
Disarming green eyes sparkled with amusement. He stretched out a hand. "Ride with me," his deep voice rumbled.
She looked at his hand, then back to his face and fluttered a blink. Somehow her hand found his, and he guided her upright. With one lithe move he encircled her waist, curled her against his chest, and dipped his head. Her pulse sped as her gaze abandoned his eyes for his descending mouth.
She hiccuped.
He drew back, a corner of his mouth tipping up. "Do you need a pillow, ma'am?" he asked.
Jessica's eyes snapped open, her right eyelashes catching for a moment against unyielding glass. She tried to focus. Arid prairie still slipped by. A pillow?
"We won't arrive in West Yellowstone for another hour. You look mighty uncomfortable."
Yellowstone? She jerked back and stiffened. Drool slid down the window. Wiping first her mouth, then the window, she turned toward a gray-haired man wearing a conductor's hat. He looked amused. Instant heat infused her face.
"Ma'am?" he repeated, holding out a pillow.
She eyed the man. Old, with a paunch lapping over his belt. Nothing like the brawny cowboy who'd nearly locked his lips to hers. She shook her head to clear it and took the pillow with a shaky hand. "Thank you."
He smiled and walked on.
A dream? Hallucination? So real. She stared at the empty aisle beside her. A hollow ache rose from deep inside, making her nearly swoon. She slumped back and for a few minutes counted her breaths to calm the odd thumping in her chest.
Her gaze caught on a carving on the seatback in front of her. Bending forward she saw a small heart notched into the wood, encompassing two sets of letters. She traced it with a fingertip, and a new heaviness pressed in on her chest. She'd never before had her initials joined with a boy's.
Jessica sighed and sank back in the seat. She was far too old for such youthful foolishness. Or for daydreams of sturdy cowboys. Rubbing her stiff neck, she spotted several people stealing glances at her. Did she still have drool on her chin? She swiped a hand across it. Dry. Exhaling a big breath, she tried to reclaim a degree of poise.
Why exactly had she agreed to come here—to serve food to hungry cowhands as Mabel's new assistant? She thought of what Mom had said. All those men and no competition, maybe her old maid daughter would finally snag a husband. Of course, she hadn't actually said the words old maid.
But Mom wasn't the reason she was here, she had to rem
ind herself. Uncle Roy needed her. Desperate for someone reliable since six helpers had quit in less than two months. She'd be expected to handle a task that many had bungled before her. Her stomach spun another revolution at the thought.
She rubbed a hand against her heart, remembering the embrace of the handsome hero in her dream. Maybe things would be different in cowboy country—
A whistle blew, startling her out of her thoughts. Wheels scraped against the tracks, and the train pitched. The jumpy little man across the aisle squeezed the paper cup he held. Helpless to stop it, she watched as liquid arced in her direction and landed square on her chest. She sucked in a quick breath and looked down. Heavily creamed coffee inched across her white blouse.
"Sorry, missy! Didn't mean fer that ta happen."
Jessica grimaced. A sticky mess. Figures this old timer would dump a bowl of sugar in the brew. He leaned toward her, glanced at her chest and smiled sheepishly. Half his teeth were missing and the other half were blackened by chewing tobacco he had tucked under his lower lip.
"It's okay." She snatched her purse from the floor and scavenged for tissues. As she dabbed at the stain, hysterical laughter welled up inside her. This just figured. Her life seemed to take these unprecedented turns—likely why she'd built so much character thus far.
The train's whistle sounded again, announcing their arrival. She gave up the useless task of making herself more presentable, stuffing the sodden tissues back in her purse.
The little man eyed the stain on her blouse, and shrugged another apology.
Jessica offered a reassuring smile, then quickly made her way down the aisle to the small steps, and out onto the platform. After retrieving her suitcases, she stood with one in each hand as she looked around uneasily for the uncle she hadn't seen in over twelve years. Would he look the same? Jessica watched as families embraced one another. Several businessmen, briefcases in hand, shuffled through the crowded mass and into the train station. She noted most of the women wore pants and boots, and some even cowboy-type hats. So unlike the women back in Sacramento who wore dresses with pearls at their necks. She glanced down at her wranglers, and breathed a sigh of relief for her foresight.
Jessica checked the group again. Where was Uncle Roy? A stab of dread pierced her. Not allowing herself to dwell on the negative, she followed the last of the group into the depot. She perused the bustling station. No towering men with wide shoulders. Feeling forgotten and still a little soggy, she struggled out the front doors. Only strangers occupied the bench seat that fastened to the wall under a sign: Union Pacific Railroad of West Yellowstone. She scanned the lawn, the parked cars, and the street. No familiar faces.
Moving to the bench she plunked down her heavy bags, collapsed onto the seat, and waited. She crossed her legs, scratched a fingernail on her thigh, uncrossed her legs, and read an abandoned newspaper. The sun drifted across the sky a few degrees while disillusionment closed in, merging with apprehension—like the sweat mingling with the coffee on her blouse. This always happened to her. Ever-faithful, amenable Jessica Harper, waiting for people who desperately needed her help.
If it was so all-fired urgent, why aren't they here?
This absurd idea had been too good to be true. She'd give them an hour, maybe two. Then if they still weren't here, she'd buy a ticket and head back home.
But, to what? she found herself wondering. She loved her family, she truly did. But sometimes—actually, most times—she felt used and unappreciated as the housekeeper and sole caregiver for five younger brothers and sisters, while her mom flitted about doing community ventures, and her dad worked more hours than any man should.
Okay, so she wouldn't go back. At least she could escape her demanding life for the summer. Besides, she would never knowingly disappoint anyone. Least of all an uncle she hadn't seen for over a decade.
Leaning forward, she rubbed her lower back, never taking her eyes off the corner where Yellowstone Avenue intersected Canyon Street. A watched pot . . .
A shiny blue and white Edsel motored around the corner. It passed in front of her, smiling faces of a family of four inside. Happy, right where they belonged, probably off to vacation in the park. A sharp yearning nearly overpowered her. She inhaled deeply, feeling bone tired. Her round-the-clock bus then train trip from California had been draining. The longer she waited the louder her heart beat in her ears, clicking off minutes audibly, rubbing her nerves raw. She pressed fingertips to her temples to ease the throbbing.
Down at the intersection, the unmistakable clopping of hooves against pavement reached her. A wagon pulled by a huge chestnut horse with a single rider rounded the corner. A horse-drawn wagon? The slight man with bent shoulders and a cowboy hat too large for his build was perched atop the wagon's bench seat.
Right away she noticed the little man's attention was locked to the front of the hotel across the street. Jessica swung her gaze there and saw a man dressed like a lumberjack—big as one too—who'd stomped out of the hotel and was in hot pursuit of a fleeing woman in a skimpy dress and high heels. He reached her in a few long strides, grabbed her arm, and swung her around to face him, nearly throwing her off her feet. His face was beet red, and he was swaying like a drunk and shouting, though Jessica couldn't hear his exact words. The woman looked terrified. When she tried to escape, he grabbed a wad of her hair and yanked her back. Jessica jerked in reaction and her mouth dropped in open horror.
There was little doubt the lumberjack was enraged with the . . . strumpet?—could the hotel include a brothel? What kind of place was this Montana?
The scene was one out of an old western movie, only without the hero. Jessica glanced around at the dazed people standing in small groups. They were stilted, frozen to the sidewalk and lawn, mouths agape. No one stirred.
Well, for pity's sake. What are people made of here?
A memory of saving her little brother from a young bully flashed in her mind, giving her courage. No thought for her suitcases, she bolted to her feet, ran down the pathway to slip between two cars, and dashed across the street.
By now, the lumberjack had a solid hold, and Jessica was surprised the victim wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs. She would be. And kicking and squirming too. She figured the strumpet's insides had frozen into a lump of panic.
Afraid to get too close yet unwilling to let this go on, Jessica yelled from a few yards away. "Hey, mister! Let her go!"
No such luck today. This bully didn't even look at her.
In an instant, Jessica was back in sixth grade taking on Billy Renshaw, the school tormentor, who'd chosen her little brother as his next target. She tried to take Billy on, but had only managed to get in the way of his elbow and wear a black eye for days. Still, her intervention had been enough to make Billy stop.
Jessica brushed a finger under her right eye. Was she willing to get another elbow in the face if it saved the woman? But this man was no elementary school bully, and something far worse than a black eye would be Jessica's reward this time around.
Frantic, she examined the by-standers. There were too many men just watching. Disgusted at their lack of involvement, she raced up to a solid-looking man she thought could do the job. "Can't you do something? Has someone gone for the Sheriff?"
Just then the rickety hitch wagon she'd seen at the corner pulled up even with the brute. In one fluid motion, the driver set the brake, threw off his hat, and leapt onto the ruffian's back. He rode the guy like a bucking bronco. Only, the newcomer was no John Wayne, but a scrawny old man.
The lumberjack roared. He dropped his hands from the woman and thrashed behind him, trying to land a solid punch. But, the little champion nimbly evaded each attempt.
In the next moment Jessica glimpsed the little man's face. Is that . . .? Walt! Walt had been Uncle Roy's most loyal ranch hand for as long as Jessica could remember. Had to be in his seventies by now. What was he thinking, attacking a man a third his age and twice his size?
The beast backed hard i
nto a support post. Jessica jumped as if she'd taken the blow herself. Walt grunted but kept his arms locked. The lumberjack's face flushed crimson, his movements slogged. He stumbled, once, twice, and then collapsed to his knees. Walt's boots hit the boardwalk. He released the brawny neck and caught the man's shoulders to keep him from slamming face first into the planks. Done.
Walt extended a hand to the petrified woman who'd been standing wide eyed and stone still. Her small hand lay on her chest as if her very breath had stopped, and Jessica could see her trembling. Walt touched her elbow. She flinched then smiled weakly at him.
"Why don't we go find someone ta fetch the Sheriff?" Walt carefully took hold of her elbow to escort her inside.
When he returned, he scrubbed his palms down his pants, bent to retrieve his hat to settle it on his head, and then squinted in the direction of the train depot.
"Walt," Jessica said from behind him.
He twisted to look over a bony shoulder.
"Walt?" She waved a hesitant hand.
Turning fully, he studied her face. "Jess-girl? That you?"
Somehow words eluded her as she stared at him. Other than more gray hair, deeper lines in his leathery face, and a little more bowed, he looked the same as when she was twelve. Half a lifetime ago.
Finally, she forced out, "How'd you do that?"
"What?" He hiked a thumb toward the vacated fight scene. "That?"
Still in a daze, she nodded.
Walt swatted a hand through the air. "Twernt nothin'. Growin' up ya either fought back or got yerself locked in the outhouse." He threw his head back and guffawed. "I fought."
Jessica tried to keep from grinning, but didn't quite succeed. "You do this kind of thing often?"
He rubbed his hands together. "Ah . . . well, sorry 'bout that. Probably aren't much used to that kind of thing in California, eh?"
She shrugged and shook her head.
He seemed to remember himself then and ambled to her, grasping her by the shoulders. "Well tarnation, girl, let's have a look at ya. You look differnt. All growed up and purty as yer momma with those big green eyes." He pulled her into an embrace. "Don't they feed ya, though?"
She smiled. This was the Walt she remembered. Though she wondered why Uncle Roy hadn't come for her, for the first time since she left California she unwound a little in Walt's care.
"We need to git. Mabel's needin' ya back at the ranch ta help put on the grub, and if we're late we may's well camp out fer a spell—like fer life, if ya know what I mean." He wheezed and slapped his knee.
A sudden sapping of strength made Jessica's knees wobble. Walt grasped her elbow and held for a beat, then helped her up to the wagon seat. "You must be plumb tuckered, girl. What ya need is a relaxin' wagon ride. Let's get movin'."
Jessica gripped the wooden bench as the wagon lurched forward. Walt took a wide turn on the street, jumped down to gather the suitcases Jessica had abandoned at the depot, and then proceeded to the center of town.
Jessica looked over at Walt. "You still use wagons here."
His mouth crinkled into a grin as he handed her a canteen. "Yer in Montana now. Bessie 'n me's been around a long time together, ain't that right, girl?" The old horse seemed to toss her head in reply. The wagon rattled along. Walt turned them onto Canyon Street and headed out the northern end of town.
"Sure glad you'll be helping 'ole Mabel in the kitchen. She's been goin' through one helper after 'nother. She says it's cuz they get taken in by our good-lookin' foreman. I don't know about any of that, but she's definitely been meaner'n usual." He glanced at Jessica out of the corner of his eye and elbowed her lightly. "Kinda hopin' she's not spittin' in the soup."
Jessica glanced away; sure that her smile looked more like a grimace. Our good-lookin' foreman, Walt had said, reminding her of her mom's clear-cut goal for her: 'Find a handsome cowboy and catch him any way you can.' But, Jessica had agreed to come here to help Uncle Roy and Mabel—and yes, to get away from Mom and the family for a time. Certainly not to glom on to the first man she saw.
"Jess-girl, tell me 'bout yerself. Is Jesus your Lord?"
Stunned by the blunt question she chuckled, until she noticed him waiting for her answer. "Why yes, Walt. Yes, He is. How about you?"
"Yes ma'am, fer most of my life." Walt's shoulders sagged a bit. "Been tryin to share with the cowpokes here for years. But ain't dun no good."
His sadness touched her heart. Jessica found herself wanting to hug the little man. In spite of the rising desire to help Walt in his endeavors, her stomach churned. Would anyone understand her apprehension in joining the crew at Harper ranch? She was a Californian, after all. She already knew how unwelcome her lot was in Montana. Maybe she should tell Walt about her concerns. He'd likely understand. She shook her head. No. She wouldn't burden him with her petty fears.
She twisted in her seat to catch a final glimpse of receding West Yellowstone and her last chance at easy escape. Just past Walt's shoulder she caught sight of a big body of water off in the distance. Keeping his eyes on the road, Walt answered her unasked question. "That's Lake Hebgen. It's a beaute, ain't it?"
"Shore is," she teased, trying to slough off her anxiety.
A new smile brightened his kind face.
"I'm sure you've made a big difference with the men, Walt. God's Word never returns void." Tough crowd, cowboys.
"Me and Roy are the only ones on the ranch who love Jesus. After all this time." He seemed deep in thought. "Still it's my ole heart's desire the rest find God. Hopin' jest livin' right will rub off on 'em, if ya know what I mean. Not as young as I used ta be though, so don't have much time left on this here green earth to make a diff'rence."
Jessica pondered his comment, recognizing Walt as a kindred spirit. She often shared the good news with others and knew its unparalleled joy, but also the disappointments.
The chestnut mare snorted, bobbing her head with every step, and pulled harder to make it up a small incline. Since the wagon's pace was slow, Jessica took in everything; the ruts in the road, a ground squirrel dashing through the prairie grasses, puffy white clouds overhead, the absence of telephone poles. No telephone poles. That's right. Mom had mentioned they didn't have telephones or TV's on the ranch. How did they keep up with the world? Would they know, or even care, that Alaska and Hawaii had just become the 49th and 50th states?
Life would certainly be different here.
The entrance to Harper ranch came into view. Framed by three large timbers, the Big 'H' symbol hung centered at the top of the structure like the gateway to a more serene way of life. Though, thinking about what Walt had to say about a sourpuss Mabel, when the wagon passed through it, she was anything but serene.