by Tanya Hanson
Squinting, he tightened lips she almost ached to kiss, longed as well to raise a hand to his cheek. “I guess I didn’t.” His long fingers moved to his backside where he patted the phone.
“We don’t get cell reception out here anyway.” She chuckled. “Come on. Let’s get some more chairs.”
Over the whickers of the horses, Snowy’s jingly little tune, and the wind tussling with the tree tops, Chelsea worked next to Dutton in a silence that was anything but uncomfortable. They were a team.
“Dutton, why are you here? Really?” she asked as he handed her one of the last two chairs. “I know it’s not just me. Because I’ve been here all along.”
Carefully, she unfolded the chair, moving it for better balance when one leg hit a rock imbedded in the ground. He steadied her while she looked at him. Goodness, he was tall. Maybe he’d grown in the last few years, although she reckoned a man his age was done with growth spurts. Warmth flooded her under his direct gaze. His beautiful, bountiful lips started to move, slowly, and she had no defense against recalling their first kiss. Sweet, soft, and perfect, just like the Paris afternoon.
How would he taste here in her homeland? Would she give him the chance to find out? Tempted, sorely tempted, but she shook away the desire. These three days with him would be fine, fun, but her heart would squirm in upheaval after he left. Like it had before.
“Why, Dutton?”
He cleared his throat and righted the last chair. Looking past him, Chelsea realized the wagons were almost upon them, so at least she’d have a distraction in a few minutes.
“I have some land I didn’t know about. Like I told you, I need a new start.”
He hung his head, and sympathy swarmed over her. Hearts Crossing Ranch had faced failure and disaster too many times for her to take a man’s financial ruin lightly. Especially when the man had a soft place in her heart and no faith in God.
He’d said he tried, though. Was he possibly here so she could guide him further with the Lord’s help? Had their love those years ago been meant for a higher purpose?
“Well, there’s a lot you could do with your land. Maybe start up a wind farming company.” she said. “Or you could research how to develop sustainable natural products and then, with your degree, plan the marketing strategies to sell them. You might be able to acquire research grants from a place like IFI. “
“IFI?”
“Integrated Forestry Institute. I just finished an internship there. My roommate was working on developing cross-laminated timber building materials. I could give you some contact names.”
He raised his face to her, jaw tensed. Ah, she got it.
“OK, say no more.” She shook her head. “You’ve got woodland. So you’re thinking about starting up hunting tours. Or tearing down trees for snowmobiling trails. I get it. You’ve got to get a head start on winter.”
Her disdain seemed to bring him to life. “No. Those enterprises never entered my head. But I’ve got to do something. With my life as well as the land. And it just wasn’t out of the way to spend a few days here at Hearts Crossing.”
“There are many other wagon train tours and guest ranches. Why this one?” She asked but knew the answer and felt flattered even with his reluctance to be honest.
“Because of you. Simple as that.”
“Then, be honest with me. About your plans. But please understand if I can’t be part of them.” she said, although her last remark was the furthest from the truth. The fact that he’d be gone from Hearts Crossing in three days hurt somehow. She missed him already. The reality that he’d be relatively close on his five hundred acres stirred emotions deep down that she almost wanted to feel.
“All right. My grandfather’s pretty much ruined. But I have five hundred acres that my grandmother had entailed to me when I was born. Legally, he can’t touch it. I never knew about it before now. And after his fall, he tried to make peace with my mom. She would have none of it, and I feel so bad for him. I know he believed she married my dad for his money, but honest, the only fighting I remember is Mom and Gramps. And I just feel I need to do something to help him. Something...” he slowed down. “Something profitable. And I don’t just mean money. I mean, something to give Gramps back some of his life. My mom is on the way to recovery, but he, he just has no spirit any more. He’s nothing like the man I grew up with.”
She rubbed his hair. “I’m so sorry, Dutton. It sounds like a rough couple of years. But he—and you—can find comfort in God. I promise.”
“How can you promise? How can you be sure?” Dutton’s voice clogged with uncertainty.
“Because...” She stroked his back. She knew the answer. “When you get to the bottom of the bucket, it’s there, waiting for you.”
“What is?”
“The Water of Life. The giver of it. God.”
“Ah, Chels.” He pulled away and shook his head. “I already told you. I tried. I reached for God, and it was the same as always. Me on my own. I’m sorry I told you, if you’re going to go all God on me. Let’s just have fun, all right?”
“Hello, camp.” Hooper’s wagon master drawl filled the air, and Chelsea welcomed the interruption. The excited shouts from the wagons kept her hurt at bay. Well, God’s word never came back void.
“Welcome, wagons,” she called out in unison with Snowy. Glancing at Dutton, she saw his face, tanned and split with a smile for the newcomers like the past five minutes had never happened.
****
“Everybody, before you grab a plate—” Hooper directed the excited bunch. “We’ve got a tradition here at Hearts Crossing, saying grace before we eat. Now, nobody need partake if they don’t wish. But we find most folks like our little custom. Now, I’m asking any who want to fold your hands…”
As the wagon master prayed a simple grace, Dutton found the words soothing and not discomfiting at all. Well, if the food tasted good, maybe prayer did work. Maybe he’d try again. In fact, likely he already had when he shouted a firm Amen along with everybody else.
Under the trees’ sweet shade, with the breeze singing in his ears and aroma of luscious food mixing in the air, Dutton almost felt content. Folks and kids gabbed and laughed, horses sloshed at the water trough or guzzled from the nearby creek. The camp dog, a brown mongrel everybody called Buddy, dashed from here to there, seeking table scraps.
Dutton almost offered to help Snowy serve the folks their lunch even though he was a guest himself, but his stomach was starting to eat itself and needed to be filled. Maybe he should have helped serve the meal after all. He grumbled. The only spot he found to sit—on a log balancing his plate on his knees—had him positioned straight across from Chelsea. The woman he loved sat with a cowhand, laughing her head off as though she’d known the guy forever. Probably had. Probably shared memories and kisses.
The wrangler she’d dated in high school. No doubt. Dutton’s heart turned green. He’d bared his heart to her, and now she was chatting it up with some cowboy from her past.
But he had no right to be angry. The guy was somebody from her world. Not somebody who had disappeared on her for three years. Likely they shared the same God. Beneath the bandana, the cowpoke wore a silver crucifix that glinted in the sun from time to time.
What was it with these folks and God? How come they had it so easy? He’d tried, tried hard, and nada. The garbage just didn’t stop dumping on him. Forget the amen of five minutes ago.
Suddenly the food grew tasteless, and he commandeered Buddy to scarf down the leftovers. Then he got up to deposit his trash. Maybe a walk would help clear his head until the wagons broke camp.
Unless he helped Snowy.
“I’ll do the washing,” he announced from the trash bag. It sure wasn’t a task he’d ever done growing up, but he’d learned quick.
Snowy looked up from a pan of suds and gave him a knowing once-over. Did his feelings shine that bright?
“Sure. Come on over.” She held up a soapy rag. “If you need a shower tonig
ht, there’s water heating up from the sun in that big black bag”—She pointed to a contraption with a shower nozzle that hung on the side of the chuck wagon—”but most folks tussy up with wet wipes.” She gave him a wise glare. “As for that wrangler with Chelsea, John Baxter, I hear they dated in high school. But no longer. He’s here ‘cuz he’s hired on as a hand for the summertime. He’s not the one for her. He’s just an old sock. This is a girl who’s traveled the world. She may not wear designer shoes, but she likes ‘em.”
“I know all about designer shoes,” he said dry, unsure how else to respond. “My mother had plenty.”
“I hope you mother does well. She’s got a fine son.” Snowy sloshed a plate through the water, then shooed him off. “Second thought, you go check out the scenery. I’m fine here.” After placing the dish on a dry towel, she leaned close and gave him another hug. “Those mountains, well, just watch what God made and pray for a while. You’ll find your answers.”
Watching what God made? Praying? Crazy. At her gentle shove, Dutton walked off. Snowy had used a motherly, matter-of-fact tone even when throwing in the information about Chelsea. Still, the sight of her with John Baxter troubled him because it looked so right.
“Let’s start loading up,” Hooper called to the throng. “We’re pulling out in ten minutes.”
Dutton wanted to find his answers, so maybe he ought to go watch those mountains. Seemed Snowy was a good one for handing out advice.
Standing next to Amigo, Dutton talked horse nonsense in the warm summer wind while he rubbed the mustang’s neck. Beneath his brim, the view of Hearts Crossing and its neighboring national forest gleamed in the sun. Raising his eyes, the silver mountains beckoned, the warm green hills started their summer tan and invited him to nestle.
Invited him to watch.
“Quite a sight.” Hooper Martin’s voice, usually firm and authoritative, came softly behind him.
“It is that,” Dutton replied. “I’ve seen the Alps. Kilimanjaro. I’ve seen the Sierras. The Rockies are a special place.”
“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help.”
Dutton’s brows pulled together in curiosity, and he turned to Chelsea’s big brother. “What? What does that mean?”
“It’s from my favorite Psalm. Helps and has helped me through some tough times. I guess it’s seeing the strength of the mountains, but knowing God is even stronger.”
Not again. Dutton clenched his jaw, but he liked the man and faced him. “It sounds great. But I’m not religious. Chelsea’s probably mentioned it.”
Hooper shrugged. “I’m not trying to proselytize. That’s not our way here at Hearts Crossing. We live our faith, and if it rubs off, then it does. If it doesn’t, well, God has another timetable. Thing is, Chelsea was annoyed with me for letting you on the trip. And I saw you ride after her. I sense you’re both going through some kind of snit. I’m not trying to get you two together or to keep you apart. Just sharing that Scripture because it just might help you along. If you let it.” With a friendly tap on Dutton’s shoulder, Hoop loped off with another gathering shout.
Unable to halt a grin, Dutton realized the man was just being a good, responsible big brother. That’s all. Hooper wasn’t preaching at him. Just sharing a line of great literature.
I will lift up mine eyes to the hills… Dutton’s gaze rose, from the rolling range up the huddle of hills, then to a silver ridgeline wearing a squiggle of tree tops.
…from whence cometh my help.
Watch the mountains. He suddenly understood Snowy’s advice.
The beats of his heavy heart lightened somehow. Then, Chelsea rode off next to John Baxter, and Dutton clamped his teeth so hard they hurt. Giving himself the luxury of one more peek at the hills, he mounted up and took off after them.
“Wait up,” he called out into their dust, and amazingly, both riders obeyed. “Hi,” he said, polite but jaw tense. “I’m Dutton Morse.”
“Dutton, this is John Baxter,” Chelsea piped in while Baxter two-fingered his hat’s brim.
“Pleased meeting you,” John said.
“Mind if I ride alongside?” Dutton returned John’s gesture.
Did he imagine Baxter’s face darkening? At least Chelsea’s smile seemed real and all right.
“Welcome,” Baxter said. “We’re following the creek to Hawk Meadow, and we’ll set up camp there for tonight. It’s a beautiful trail.”
“Baxter?” A now familiar voice called out over the breeze and rushing stream, and John perked up. Hooper Martin gestured to a gaggle of horses set with tourists.
“Guess Hoop wants me to lead the greenhorns.” John’s voice and expression didn’t show disappointment, but Dutton figured that was the professionalism of a cowboy in the hospitality business. Dutton would be irate to leave Chelsea’s side, no matter what, and likely his displeasure would show.
“I see a bunch of them got the fever and want to ride.” John’s voice trailed off.
“It happens every time,” Chelsea admitted, sharing her smile with them both. “We’ve got great horses, though. They can take a lot of tenderfoot abuse. Come on, Dutton. We’ll follow behind, together. There’s always somebody who drops their camera or has their hat blow off.”
Together. Well, that word did it for him. “You got it. Catch up with ya later, Baxter.”
“Sure enough.”
As they trotted off, Dutton had to wonder, with some glee, why Hooper had called for Baxter, not Chelsea, to do the guiding. Whatever the reason, Dutton wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. He’d come to get her back. Hope, patience, the future…everything merged, and he looked up to those hills where help would come. As he scanned the landscape above him, something odd caught his eye. In a saddle pass, a tree off in the distance looked slightly different from any others, too perfect. Too plastic.
Ah. A cell tower disguised as a tree to fit into the ridgeline of the forest. He patted his back pocket. He could really make her smile now.
4
Caught between a rock and a hard place. Chelsea shook her head as she guided Copper to the end of the line of riders.
Rock John vs. Hard Place Dutton. With John, she knew what to expect and had for years. The peaceableness, if there was such a word, with John was kind of inviting.
With Dutton, turmoil was her middle name. But if truth be told, it was a delicious sort of tumult, and she honestly wouldn’t mind more of it.
Most of all, for some reason, God must want her riding along with Dutton right now, and He didn’t make mistakes. She best take advantage of the situation. Slightly behind her, he sat his horse like one born to the saddle shouting out “Man of the West.” And he kind of was, a Californian who now owned land in Colorado. Her heart thudded at the sight of him.
“You having fun?” she asked a guest as she passed by for one final check of stirrup length. She shook away the new uproar inside her caused by Dutton in her eyeshot and reined in Copper next to a guest. Chelsea’s mind ground to a halt, and heat rose in her face. Who was this lady? At lunch, she and John had memorized names and quizzed each other. How could she have forgotten the woman’s name already?
A cardinal rule of the Hearts Crossing adventures was befriending everybody as soon as possible, and that included knowing first names. Shame ran across her skin. This trip wasn’t about her. It was about the fine people around her, and it was about time she realized it.
The forty-ish woman smiled at her with nervous eyes as she tried to keep calm atop gentle Peach Cobbler.
“You’re looking good,” Chelsea comforted.
“I’m game.” The woman grinned. “I’m from Connecticut. I’m not coming all the way to the Wild West and not get on a horse.”
Chelsea grinned back. “You’ll do fine. Our horses are very user friendly.” She decided to get out of her own pickle and reached out a hand. “Welcome. I’m Chelsea Martin.”
“Thanks. Norma Kramer.”
“About user-frie
ndly horses.” Dalton stroked Amigo’s mane. “I hear pretty Peachy there belongs to the lady of the manor. Chelsea’s mom, and I doubt she’d put up with a cantankerous equine.”
“Well, I can’t wait.” Norma’s pretty face crinkled. “Although the kids and I are worried about that darling dog.” She waved at a flash of brown. “He’s underfoot.”
“Buddy?” Chelsea burst into laughter. “No worries. He can wind his way throughout, in and out, over and under a herd of thundering horses like you wouldn’t believe.”
Chelsea grinned at Dutton. After a nod to Norma and her brood, they took their places at the end.
She knew John was a great tour guide up front, telling folks about this landmark or that, but in such a large group, he wouldn’t be heard back here, so she stepped up. The meadow bursting with flowers and named for the glorious hawks was a good place to start. Without sounding like a school teacher, she pointed out her favorite plants and shared facts folks always seemed to like about the local wildlife—how the yellow-legged Swainson’s hawk migrated all the way down to Brazil, how the yellow-eyed Cooper lived in woodland trees, how the red tail hawk females were so large they were often mistaken for eagles.
“You might see one early in the afternoon, swooping around for lunch,” Dutton said loudly behind her. She wondered how he knew that, then figured it out. The Hearts Crossing website. A thrill rushed her. In his own way, he’d kept part of her life.
When a rider pointed out what looked to be a stand of fall-colored trees on a distant hill, Chelsea’s heart broke. The coloration was beautiful, but it stood for death. “Those are the effects of the bark beetle that’s devastating forests in the west,” she explained. “When the tree weakens due to drought, the beetle moves right in…and the tree slowly dies.”
Desperately, she moved on to another subject. Not only did the bark beetle remind her of the lost job—well, the job she’d wanted that had gone to a better-qualified applicant—but also her heart ached at the loss of millions of trees.
