by Tanya Hanson
Murmuring water changed the track of her thoughts. Hawk Creek and its rainbow trout. Good subject.
“The rainbow trout was introduced here in the 1880’s, and fishermen love them,” she said loudly over the hooves moving through tufts of grass. “You can find them in most mountain lakes and streams.”
“Why are they called rainbow trout?” Norma asked.
“They’ve got a reddish stripe and dark spots on a light body.”
“Can we go fishing?” Norma’s son called out, two horses ahead, likely unwilling to turn back in his saddle to face her.
“Yep. You like fishing?” Chelsea asked.
“Wade’s never gone,” Norma said, somewhat sadly. “All this is one reason we’re here.”
“Well, any of the wranglers can help with whatever you need. Flies, bait. Lures. But catch and release only, Wade.”
The trail led the riders toward a small gully running with a couple inches of last night’s rainwater, and all conversation ceased. The newbie riders had to pay strict attention going downhill as they crossed the streamlet.
“Lean back in your saddles,” Chelsea called out a reminder. “You’ll do fine. Just don’t let your horse stop to drink or eat. It seems mean, but they need to keep moving.” As the last word left her mouth, Copper defiantly bent down to nab a shrub, and Chelsea pulled the reins up hard. The horses would have plenty of refreshment when they made camp.
“Oh, you are so good, Chelsea girl.” Dutton’s stage-whisper was loud enough over the wind in the trees that lined the gully, and her tummy tumbled. His saddle creaked as he leaned toward her. “You belong here right as rain. No English rose.”
She couldn’t help a preen as she reined next to him. “I’ve always been interested in the flowers, the bugs. The trees. The elk that overwinter here. That’s Elk Grove.” She pointed to a far-off stand of trees. “And the wolves. Such a much maligned species. They mate for life. I just love them.”
“I guess you were born in the right place at the right time.” His voice lowered with a wistfulness she’d heard many times, in England, in France. The other European countries they’d visited. Even then she’d sensed his longing for what she’d always taken for granted. Hearth, land. Family, hard work. God.
Her heart saddened a little. He said he’d reached out for the Lord, and He’d left Dutton hanging. Well, that didn’t sound like the God she knew.
Maybe, just maybe, He’d led Dutton here so he could find a spiritual home.
Or had He led Dutton here for Him and for her? Did she want something more, something more than these three days? Her pounding veins said yes. Dutton had once walked away from her, true, but she’d told him to go and never called back. She grunted, took her place in the single line, and kneed Copper to keep up. Even if she did want him, Dutton’s spiritual void would have to be filled before she could even consider it. Consider him.
Pounding veins or not.
To screams and guffaws from the guests, Dutton deftly dismounted to retrieve somebody’s hat that had blown off in the wind. Chelsea tossed him a ready smile. Maybe it was good that he fit in. Else he’d hurry back wherever he came from. It would be nice if he found God before he did.
Something up ahead got the horses starting on a little trot, and the tenderfeet began to panic.
“Now, just stand up in your stirrups. You’ll be fine,” Chelsea shouted and demonstrated as she rode along the trail next to the group. “You’ll have the ride of your life.” The wind in her face and the delighted cries of the riders made this a day worth living.
Keeping up alongside, Dutton leaned down from his saddle to move a tempting, juicy branch from Amigo’s reach, and something from his pocket plopped to the ground.
His smart phone.
He jumped off to retrieve it, then remounted, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“See? Told you so. You shouldn’t have brought that,” she chided with a grin as he and John reminded the riders to pull back on the reins and slow their horses.
“That was fun!” Norma shrieked, and Dutton pointed vaguely toward the hills.
“Y’all wanna trot to camp?” John called out to a resounding no.
The rest of the way to the overnight campsite at Hawk Meadow was a trail she’d ridden dozens of other times, but today was different, special, because Dutton was at her side. She had to admit it.
****
Camp blazed with activity, and Dutton ended up in the thick of it. Hooper Martin had welcomed anybody with any kind of interest or know-how to help set up. Full-on, down-home, real-life, hands-on experiences were the goal of any Hearts Crossing Ranch activity.
So immediately Dutton helped riders dismount, some for the first time, or explained what to do for others who wanted to do it themselves. He smiled the whole time. Those pre-teen summers at Camp Forest Notch were sure paying off. As well as trail rides on the Big Island. Then came leading the horses to a small corral and spreading out bales of hay, obviously stockpiled in a small shed for the wagon train tours. Other tasks he remembered from his childhood.
Seeing Chelsea unhitch the team of glorious black Percherons from the chuck wagon, he dashed to assist.
“What magnificent animals,” he breathed in real respect.
“That they are. Kelley started out with a team of mules, but we use those guys and gals for our mountain man pack adventures into the wilderness. Now, that sounds like something you might like.”
“I’ll think on it. But right now, I’ve got some tents to put up, and I just might offer my culinary skills to Snowy.”
“You learned to cook?” Her adorable mouth opened like a rose blooming and once again, Paris pounded in his mind along with the blood in his veins. Their lips meeting might as well have been nuclear fusion.
He took a deep breath, wondering if he’d be able to speak at all. “I have learned a lot of things these past years, Chelsea.”
Whatever message she may have read in his eyes or heard in his tone, the one he wanted her to know, was that he’d learned he loved her for real. She turned away, and his heart panged. Would he ever be able to invite her see into his heart?
“Come on, you take Gun. I’ll take Smoke.” Handing him a lead, she started for the corral with the giant, gorgeous horse. But not before their hands touched, just for a fleeting second, and his heart came back to life.
“Gun. Smoke. You’re kidding.” He followed, leading the magnificent black horse.
She turned to face him, gaze coy this time. “What, you didn’t learn that from the movies? They’re named in teams. And Gun is always on the left.”
After tending the animals in sync as though they’d done it together many times, he considered his next move. Cooking with Snowy, starting the campfire, staking tents. The move depended on Chelsea. Standing next to her in the corral, he smelled peaches again.
Likely a good thing. Some mucking would be required soon.
“Dutton, why don’t you go check the tents?” Chelsea asked, hat in hand. Her long red hair weaved down her back. “Some of the guests like to put them up all by themselves. Please take a peek that they’re doing it right. I’ll wash up and help Snowy start supper. You’re in for a real treat.” She looked up at him sideways. “And by the way, I hope your contraband smartphone survived its tumble.”
“I suppose it did.” He ached to flirt. “But you lied to me, cowgirl.”
“What? I never did!” In shock, her mouth opened, adorable and inviting.
“You said there’s no cell reception around here. Back at Shadow Ridge, I’m sure I saw a cell tower shaped like a tree.”
“Oh, that.” Her face flushed again. “That’s a sore subject around here.”
“Folks aren’t ready for progress?”
“Of course. Of course. Nobody’s a Luddite. It’s important to have good safety communications, and residents need good service. And I have to admit they did camouflage that tower nicely. One requirement was that it be ‘visually inconspicuous
.’” She chuckled but sobered quick. “Leave it to you to see it. Art and Lula Krueger made good money leasing twenty acres to a private communication company.” She shrugged. “I can’t blame them. They’re good people with kids to put through college.”
Dutton tossed one last flake of hay to the horses.
“The tower exceeded all county conditions, such as being at least a quarter mile from any trail, highway, river, lake or stream,” Chelsea said, idly winding a hay straw around her finger. “And the company even planted five hundred mixed-conifer seedlings. But Mountain Cove opposed it, nonetheless.”
“I’m not getting it.” Dutton shrugged, fingering his phone through his back pocket. “Seems a good thing.”
“Well, not long ago, we had no cell service on this trail, but yeah, I fibbed ya little, because now we do in some places. Hoop has always asked that our guests not bring electronic devices along on the trips. You know. So they can live in true nature away from the rat race for a few days. Not get distracted by the world they’re leaving behind. But there seem to be health concerns, you know. About cell towers.”
Dutton wasn’t crazy about her serious tone, but he did want to know. Did want to know everything about her that he’d missed these past three years. “I know there’s a movement that feels cell phones and towers pose health risks, but do they, really, Chels? I mean, somebody’s always protesting about something.”
Chelsea shrugged, rubbing Smoke’s nose. “Well, the risks might be real. Dairy cattle feeding near a tower have been shown to produce less milk in certain areas. And you can find research that suggests the radiation can mess up human sleep patterns and immune systems. And nobody yet knows if towers impact wild animals on the range or woodland.”
Dutton raised his eyebrows. “Honest? I never realized.”
“You and most everybody else.” Her sweet smile bore no condescension. “Myself included, until I attended a weekend seminar on environmental hazards.”
Her smile hitched his breath.
“And I’m not going to deny I have a cell phone of my own. Now, I gotta get busy,” Chelsea said. “So do you. I’ll find you soon.”
And she better. Already he missed her as she walked twenty feet away.
5
Warmth surrounded the cooking area, both from the fire and the mountain wind mixing it up with afternoon sun. Chelsea fanned her face as she came to help, watched as Snowy carefully placed glowing coals on the lids of three Dutch ovens sitting on a grate. Standing, Snowy pointed and counted. Tough leather gloves guarded her hands.
“You amaze me with those big black pots,” Chelsea teased. “I just don’t get it.”
“Indeed, darlin’. I fear using a Dutch oven is a lost art. Or skill. I think a little of both.” Snowy’s lips tightened into a pout. “Somehow folks think it a forbidding way to cook. Me, I love it.”
“I’d say that is a lost art.”
Snowy’s hands slid to her hips as they laughed together. “One can even use modern-day silicone gloves, but not me.”
A flash of sadness brushed Chelsea. This important technique from the past was shrugged off by modern people with their microwaves and fancy barbeques. Yet, environmentalist that she fancied herself, she preferred Ma’s big convection oven. Not to mention the microwave. She could admit that free and clear. Hmmm. And if somebody tonight took ill or got injured on the trail, a cell phone could quickly bring emergency aid into the wild so a life could be saved. Chelsea kicked a rock across the clearing. Thought hard. True, she might be sad over the by-gone method of cooking that had fed her ancestors, but folks like Snowy kept it alive. Something faster, better had taken its place. Indeed, without the twenty-first century and its amazing medical advancements, Hoop wouldn’t be here, and Ezra would be a goner.
Her precious Ezra. Surely she’d get to him this weekend.
Thinking of cell towers brought Dutton firmly back into her mind. When would he be back at her side? When he left again, would he...keep in touch?
More important, would she?
Her pulse thumped, and she shook her head, jumping back to the present. “Sloppies, right?” she asked, meaning both regular and vegetarian versions.
“Main dishes in those two.” Snowy’s leathery fingers pointed to two enormous, well-used Dutch ovens, then to a bit smaller one. “In that one, a dried apple pie worth dying for.”
“Mmmmm, good.” Chelsea’s mouth actually watered. No matter she’d ridden on dozens of wagon trains. The bracing outdoor air, the hustle and bustle, the glorious scenery and staying on top of the guests’ nerves and inexperience rustled up a tremendous appetite every time. She might be missing Dutton, but he hadn’t halted her need for food. “What can I do?”
So much for love causing appetite loss. Love? She choked as she swallowed. Had it happened? Or had it happened three years ago? She fought for breath.
“Slice the bread,” Snowy ordered. “Fresh baked this morning back at the ranch.”
Chelsea nodded, forcing herself back to normality. She knew where to find any and every kitchen implement in the rustic but orderly chuck wagon. But longed to show Dutton every nook and cranny anyway.
“Then dish up little dabs of raspberry butter in those mini muffin papers.” Snowy pointed even though Chelsea already knew.
“All righty. I’ll get the cup line put up, too.” Chelsea set to work. The muffin papers would burn easily in the campfire after supper, along with paper bowls and plates. Then she tied a thin rope studded with clothespins between two trees. Here the guests would recycle their paper cups from supper to use again at breakfast before tossing into the campfire. Trash from each adventure was either carefully burned or, if it couldn’t be, carried back home.
Then without Snowy asking, Chelsea dumped cold-water tea bags in a large beverage cooler. Folks would have to make do with room-temperature, though; the dry ice keeping the food fresh wouldn’t be used until the last day for a homemade root beer that always had the folks cheering. Water was brought in, too. Even though the icy creek flowed nearby, the seemingly fresh water could carry bacteria.
As Chelsea absently stirred sugar into the cooler to make sweet tea, Dutton caught her eye. Couldn’t help it, John was with him, too, as they tied down a tent. She couldn’t help comparing them, and realized it wasn’t fair to do so. Each was special. Both had had a part in her life, helped her become the woman she’d grown into. Both had family issues that tore their hearts, as well as hers— John’s relationship with God shielded and strengthened him. Yet, Dutton was the man who had curled up once again inside her heart. Without God alongside, to be sure.
But there was still room.
“He’s quite the man, that Dutton,” Snowy said softly, coming up behind her. Before starting the meal, she’d changed into a pair of coal-darkened overalls.
“Yeah.” Chelsea nodded. She had to agree, even if doubt roiled. Was it OK—might it be OK, to accept her growing feelings for him, knowing that he didn’t have a relationship with the Lord?
Maybe so. He had come to get her back. Her heart pounded.
“Chels, he’s in love with you.”
And I’m in love with him. Chelsea admitted it, breath heaving. Her blood pressure settled although a tingle raced up and down her spine just hearing the words. Both Snowy’s and the ones inside her head.
“Aw, Snowy, I know. Well, I mean, he thinks he is. But we’re just not in the same place. You know? I think he could be in love with…what we have here at Hearts Crossing.” She reached out to take Snowy’s hand. “Family. Tradition. Heritage. Stability. Strong marriages. Things he’s never known.” She sighed.
Snowy dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “But we can’t see into one’s heart. Only God can. And you don’t know what work our Lord might already have going on. He didn’t lead Dutton here by accident.”
“I do know that. And I do know Dutton stirs me like nobody else.”
“Then you ought to let it happen.”
Ought to let it
happen. God didn’t steer people wrong, Chelsea knew. Maybe she just needed to relax and let things proceed however He intended. He had steered Dutton here for a purpose that she could give.
She gave Snowy a massive hug. “To to hear such trust and faith from someone who found her way not too long ago really helps strengthen me.”
“Aw, Chels, I am truly humbled.”
Something almost like contentment settled on Chelsea just as the camp smoke wafted up her nose. But even if Snowy was right, rumination would have to wait. Chelsea had a meal to get ready.
“You have room on the fire to start a pot of Arbuckle’s?” she asked after a quick prayer that had no words. Folks liked coffee even on a hot day.
“Yep.” Snowy tossed a knowing smile and pointed to a massive spatterware coffeepot. “Seems you know what I need before I do. Same as me with you.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes and dug in the chuck wagon for the coffee grounds.
The rest of the waning afternoon had guests, wranglers, and crew dashing about like squirrels readying for winter. The newbies groomed the horses and treated them to carrots. Two or three young girls took additional riding lessons. Some of the boys learned to fish. And John Baxter hustled a bunch off on a hike along the stream. As if by those elastic cords, Dutton appeared at Chelsea’s side as she finished the prep for supper.
Well, he didn’t just appear. She’d felt his gaze on her all afternoon, skin heating as if his fingers ran over it.
“Taking a break?” she asked Dutton, somehow breathless, as they both sank on a log bench carved with a hundred initials. “We’ll probably eat in fifteen minutes.”
Hooper had already started a campfire in a circle of small boulders, for the group would gather around it later on, to sing and tell stories, roast marshmallows and enjoy hot cider and coffee.
“I need a break. This isn’t a vacation. It’s work.” Dutton teased.
“Well, pioneering ain’t easy,” she drawled. “Wasn’t back then, ain’t now.” Unable to stop herself, she slid her fingers around his, grabbed for breath. “Yeah, let’s take a walk. I’d love to stretch my legs and take in some fresh air. With you.”
