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-friendly 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.

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.