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.”

“Let’s do it.” He tightened his grip.

Fresh air. With him. Nothing had ever sounded better.

****

As they strolled from the campsite, Dutton held Chelsea’s hand like a precious treasure. The wagons had formed the traditional circle, but tents sprouted here and there, every which way inside the circle and out. Wisps from the campfire drifted through the tall evergreen trees and slender aspen that stood guard.

At least the old easiness between them hadn’t come back. They didn’t say much, and the silence wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

The sun slid behind a silver steeple of mountaintop, its last rays shuddered into shadows. For a second, Dutton felt like he and Chelsea were the only two people in the world. Even with the shouts of excited kids going on around them, and the deep laughter from happy parents having a good time in the background.

On the wind came sounds and smells of horses. Chelsea leaned against him, not quite the old days but enough to remind him she’d promised him three days. He could only hope for more. Hope for forever. Then a buzz vibrated against his thigh. Blast that new cell tower. His smart phone had survived its fall.

“I heard that.” Chelsea pursed her lips in fake disgust. “If you gotta check your phone, well, mea culpa.”

“Mia who?” He teased but relief tickled, rather than guilt weighing down. He checked the long text while Chelsea circumspectly waited under a tree.

Gramps. Call me, he’d written. Dutton harrumphed, not wanting to. Still, he was impressed that someone seventy-five years old hadn’t wasted any time learning new technology. The message wasn’t good, though. Lost two more rulings about spill damages. Judge stated our insurance insufficient against oil pollution risks. Get Colorado assessed and step up horizontal drilling, kiddo.

Dutton’s spirits ground themselves up inside his belly. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. Make that…whatever Dutton decided was going to happen would happen much sooner than he’d intended. If Chelsea already worried about a cell tower’s harm to milk cows and wild animals, if she cautioned him only to do good with his woodlands, she’d never understand why he sought to spoil the Colorado landscape with derricks.

But Gramps was broke. He was barely hanging on to his home. This might be his last chance.

“Or my only chance,” Dutton muttered as his nod to her nudged her back to his side.

“What was that?” Chelsea asked softly, coming close. Then she drew away as if she knew he was keeping a secret. Or, more realistically, she didn’t want to intrude.

“Oh, nothing. Just Gramps in a snit.” He chuckled, using Hooper’s word, then moved his shoulders up and back. They set off down the path. “He’s fine. Really. And me, I’m just needing a good stretch. It’s so beautiful here. Even better than you explained, you know. And great as the website is, nothing compares to this. Except you.” He cleared his throat and slowed his feet. That was lame.

Her cheeks pinked and her bright eyes told him everything when she stopped next to him. “ Dutton, I’m really glad you’re here.”

His heart thudded with dreams coming true. “Why is that?”

“Well, I’ve never forgotten you. Forgotten what we had. I…” Her eyelids lowered, inviting a kiss he was sure. “I still see you at night when I shut my eyes. I still feel your lips.”

On cue, Dutton leaned in. But instead of locking his lips to hers in a kiss like the ones he remembered, she held back. Disappointment curled his toes.

“But more than that, Dutton. I think you were led here for a reason.”

“Led here? What do you mean?” Despite this peek into her heart and his own erupting joy, he couldn’t help a smidge of wariness. She’d had an uncanny knack for reading his mind way back when, but she couldn’t know, couldn’t sense—could she? About the proposed oil drilling? He relaxed a little. No, she was a modern woman who’d just had a mea culpa. Surely she’d realized that oil, like the cell tower, was a necessity and any discomfort it might cause was vastly outweighed by the need for day-to-day survival. For progress and advancement. She did drive a car…And since she’d studied environmental science, surely she’d learned that drilling could be done responsibly.

Ah. He bit the lip that longed to meld with hers.

“Dutton, I honestly think God led us here together, so I could help you find your way.” Her soft voice cuddled his ears, but ruffled his skin. She was so close he smelled the peaches.

He squeezed her hand, but more in frustration than anything. “Chels, we’ve been down this road. I already tried. And believe me. I always did listen to you. Back in Brighton.”

“Back in Brighton. Sounds like a book title.”

“Well, maybe it could be.” His heart lightened at the memory of those days. “Maybe we could write a really happy ending.”

“Don’t you think I want that?” Chelsea’s voice rose and she looked him straight on. “I wanted it back then. I wanted you. Then, and now. Yes, now! I want you. But you’re missing a huge component. God. You keep saying you tried. Nothing happened. But how do you know? Did you expect a thunderbolt or something? Sometimes God comes quietly.”

He shrugged, heat rising, heart pounding. Yet he’d heard correctly. She wanted him. Him. Every cell, every molecule, wanted to scream her name. Against all odds, he calmed himself.

“Yeah.” His words shook. “I did expect something. I don’t know what. But something.”

“Well, God has His own timetable because He knows best.”

He looked away. “If He wants me so bad, He sure has a poor way of showing it.” Jaw tight, he had said it all.

She chortled in surprise. “So that’s it? Like the first time you surfed and fell off your board. That was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t stop, did you? You climbed back on, rode to the top.”

She was right, of course she was right, but the analogy wasn’t the same, not one single bit. Leaves crunching beneath his foots, he set off faster.

“You don’t get it, Chelsea. Or maybe I don’t get it. Maybe when my grandfather started making peace with my mother, your God could have opened a door. Helped them along. But nothing good happened. I think Gramps is right, and I admit my mom wasn’t much of a hands on mother, but I love her. I love them both. I want them both to...” His voice lowered almost to nothing. The words were almost too painful to voice.

She squeezed his hand. “I am so sorry for your pain. Dutton, I can’t begin to imagine such tumult. But God knows about it. He always has. And you’re missing the point.”

“I guess I am. If it’s such a hard point to get, God must not want me around very bad.”

“Dutton, life at Hearts Crossing hasn’t always been a bed of roses. My family has faced some dreadful times, piled on thick and thicker. and it seemed we couldn’t bear any more. But through Christ, those layers of wounds get peeled away, like the layers of an onion. And you know what that means. The inner layers are the most tender. The most vulnerable. That’s when we must open up and let the healing begin.”

“I don’t get you, Chelsea. When I’m rock bottom and calling out…”

“God is there, Dutton. He always is, and He always has been. He knows your heart, your anxieties. He promises so, in the Psalms. He searches us. He knows. Once your relationship with Him takes off, the healing becomes less painful.”

“Well, what gets that relationship to take off?”

“Trust. Complete trust. It’s hard. I know. I know you’re a guy who wants answers fast. But that’s human stubbornness, our pride. God wants an intimate relationship with you, and He won’t shut any door. But He does it His way, His time. And He won’t let you down. It’s kind of a chorus around here at Hearts Crossing, and maybe it does sound lame. But…let go. Let God.”

“I thought I’d tried.”

“Then try again. He’s calling you. Maybe calling you through me. Lean harder.”

Taking her literally, he leaned close, the wind singing a kind of hymn. Her words soothed, and maybe God was inspiring her to say them, but Dutton Morse wasn’t a man to give in easily. “I still don’t get the Son thing. Sacrificing His own Son.”

“It’s not for us to understand divine wisdom. Just trust Him. It was His plan in the beginning.” Her blue eyes, so earnest, brushed a gaze over his face that told him volumes, maybe even that happy ending. But he needed time. He sure hadn’t intended this casual walk to turn into a sermon.

“All right. I’ll think about it,” was all he could promise. The chattering, laughing families gathering around the picnic table were the perfect change of subject. With a grunt, he gave an upward toss of his chin. “Looks like we better head back for the feeding frenzy.”

“OK.” She smiled, lips tender and sweet and ready for a kiss…if she hadn’t been preaching. Yet, she almost made sense. And he couldn’t resist holding her hand all the way back to camp through a stand of breeze-filled alder trees. He recognized the invisible elastic bands that swung them back and forth together and his heart eased a bit.

Until he thought of Gramps.