4

Whew. Chelsea’s breath hitched, and it had nothing to do with the brisk ride. What a sight, Dutton backdropped by the curving mountains. Dark Stetson, well-loved jeans, green shirt matching the trees. He looked like he belonged here, but he didn’t, not really. But could he?

No. And why was he here? Not a word in three years, and the silence had broken her heart further. She had to admit it, no matter how doomed their relationship. No matter the breakup had been wholly her idea. He hadn’t tried once to find her or change her mind. So why now?

But seeing Snowy give Dutton a hug touched her heart. From what she’d gleaned about him in England, his mother hadn’t had a loving presence in his life. Contentious, yes. Possessive, yes. But loving, no. Her own mother came to mind. No matter Ma lived at her second husband’s ranch an hour away, she scheduled equal, ample time for them both at her ancestral ranch. And Chelsea, during her internship, came home to both ranches whenever she could free up a couple of days.

However, Dutton hadn’t had a modicum of family life, divided between his mother and rancorous grandfather in bicoastal luxury homes, then scattered here and there and every which way for surfing competitions. No wonder he hadn’t quite found God. He’d never been in a stable place, physically or mentally, long enough to calm his rootlessness and find peace. Her heart slapped against her ribs just watching him.

Reining in Copper next to Amigo under a shady oak, Chelsea dismounted, conscious of Dutton’s gaze on her. He had started a fire both in that well-used grill as well as her heart. And she didn’t want to douse it, not yet. Even if she knew better.

“Hey, Dutton. Hi Snowy,” she said, holding down the shakes in her voice as well as she could. Snowy was wise, though, and winked at her. Chelsea rolled her eyes in response.

“What can I do?” She tried for normality. “Hooper sent me on ahead to help with lunch. We’ve got thirty-two this time.” That was a nice, big bunch. It was an unwritten rule to learn guests’ names, and quick. Chelsea would make good use of the noon stopover to get her homework done.

“Got more folding chairs in the wagon,” Snowy said. “Folks can eat in the Conestogas as well, if they want.”

“Okey doke.” Chelsea rubbed the horses’ noses, promising them carrots soon as she could.

“Here you go.” Dutton handed her a rattletrap folding chair as easily as a paperback book, then picked up three of his own. Watching his arm muscles move beneath the green shirt pleased her so much she had to change her train of thoughts, quick. His back pocket stuffed with a smart phone was the perfect switch.

“No electronics allowed,” she told him with a quick smile as they headed to the picnic area to unload and unfold.

“What?” Dutton stopped mid-chair, eyes half-closing as an overhead shaft of sun sneaked beneath his brim. “No what?”

“You’re in the wilderness, city dude. You have to live the entire experience. Didn’t you read the brochure when you signed up? We do have rules beyond close-toed shoes and sunscreen. No electronics. No ear buds. No phones, smart or otherwise.”

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 tonight, 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.