Read Ride With Me (A Quaking Heart Novel - Book One) Page 3

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  Clint felt a jolt, like a touch to an electric fence. Warmth from the sun was on his face, his belly—why am I lying flat? He tried to rise but a spike of pain rammed through the back of his head. He stopped cold, ears ringing. Trying to pry his eyes open he struggled to sit up.

  Someone put a hand to his shoulder. He wrenched his eyes open. Focus. He saw a face—hazy—couldn't quite get a fix on it. The mouth was moving but Clint couldn't make out a word.

  Finally, he caught a sound. ". . . all right, son?" A man's voice.

  Clint blinked and squinted, not sure who spoke.

  "Clint . . . it's Roy. Can you hear me?"

  "Roy," he rasped. "Help me up."

  "Dang it all. Don't go movin' till we know what's busted. Anything hurtin'?"

  "What happened?"

  "Don't you remember the cat? Knocked you clean off your horse. You got a piece of its ear, looked like. Left a small trail of blood."

  "Get me up, Roy."

  "Hold your horses." Roy plied strong fingers to Clint's neck, forcing more pain into his temples with each probe. "Does this hurt at all?"

  "No," Clint lied.

  The pain was there all right, but it wouldn't kill him. This whole trip had given him grief. All he'd wanted was to find and eliminate that killer cat. And all Roy had done was needle him about marriage until he about burst. He welcomed the humiliation over the cat besting him in front of his men, since maybe that'd stop Roy.

  Roy took hold of one of Clint's arms, shoved a hand to his back, and hauled him to a sitting position.

  Clint gripped his thighs, white-knuckled, until the stabbing pain faded. His gaze shifted to Roy. "Is my horse all right?"

  "He's fine, son."

  He motioned toward the up-side-down Stetson. "Grab my hat, will you?"

  One of his men chuckled and said to the others, "Ah, he's all right. Back to barkin' orders."

  Roy offered his hand. Clint grabbed his forearm, and Roy tugged him to his feet. A wave of dizziness swept over him.

  Roy stayed close. "Better?"

  "Yeah . . . sure."

  Clint reached up and touched the back of his head where the ache seemed to center. A knot had formed. Sucking in a deep breath, he ambled to his gelding, took hold of the reins, grabbed his hat—held out to him by one of the men—and mounted with ease in spite of his aching head.

  Turning his horse, he faced his men. "The cat's long gone. We're heading home . . . for now."

  Carefully settling his hat back on his head, ignoring the pinch of pain there, he reined around to the path that led home. Without a word, the rest followed.

  Clint tried to quiet his mind. Thoughts of the event that had brought them here resurfaced. That beast had killed one of his favorite geldings. His gut crawled at how his horse had suffered before they found him and had to put him down. The cat had run them around in circles for three days, but he determined to find it and make sure it never touched another living thing on Harper Ranch. Just not today.

  If only the cougar was my sole problem.

  "Heads up!" Roy hollered, just before a low branch of a knotty pine smacked Clint in the face. Roy rode up next to him. "Your mind must be a hundred miles away."

  Clint growled low in his throat.

  "You actin' mute now? What's up with you anyways?"

  Clint darted a glance at Roy, then pulled his gaze back to the path. "Nothing time won't heal, if that's what you're after."

  Roy cocked his head. "We've been together, what? Sixteen, seventeen years now? Too long for you to fool me." Roy seemed to study his face. "You still sore for what that cat did to your horse? We'll get him, son, sooner or later."

  Clint bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that once Roy started jabbering he'd dig into that other subject any minute now.

  "Veronica supposed to be waiting for you?" Roy ventured.

  And, there it was. "Dang it, Roy." Clint doubled his fists. If the old coot didn't back off with the woman stuff, he couldn't be responsible, even if it was Roy.

  "Just figuring—"

  "No," Clint snarled. "And I won't be asking her to marry me anytime soon"—though, he knew he should—"in case you're just figuring that as well."

  Clint tugged on the reins to slow up. He didn't want this conversation . . . again. Remorse already plagued him everyday concerning Veronica. He'd hoped this trip would have given him a respite.

  He watched the older man pull a kerchief up from his neck and run it over his glistening face. Roy slowed his horse. "I understand. But a fine looking lady like that can make a man pretty happy. Why wait?"

  "You want her?" Clint fired back. Shame, like a fiery torch, burned away at his conscience. Veronica was beautiful. And he owed her. He mustn't forget that. She'd gotten him to put a halt to the fifteen year pattern of self-destruction he'd carved out for himself since the moment he'd hit puberty. He met her just over three years ago, and it had taken a year for her to drag him into a more normal life.

  And then, he'd done a terrible thing. He'd torn out of the relationship and left her behind, adding yet another notch on his despicable behavior belt. All for a new path that had been just as destructive.

  He'd kept her near, though. Out of obligation. Or just plain guilt.

  He knew he should marry her. He owed her that. He wasn't worried about his heart. It had been dead and buried a long time ago. Didn't plan on love either. But, he couldn't quite wrap his mind around marriage. Not to anyone.

  Roy smirked. "The trail can get pretty lonely. Promise you'll think on it."

  Clint kept his eyes straight ahead. "Like I've told you before, Roy, I promise nothing. Only that if she's made of glass, she might break."