by Tanya Hanson
“Me? Because I’m a paniola?” Her face brightened, fingers tightened.
“No.” He had to hold back his feelings but be honest as well. “No. Because you’re you.” He tried to relax against the hard back of the bench, but their clasping hands made it impossible. “Thought of you every day.”
Her blush made him crazy. Reminded him of how she’d looked after their first kiss.
“So how’s business?” She broke the moment but kept their hands intact.
“Aw, even selling online, the company folded. Too much competition. I’m actually here in Colorado. For good.” Well, maybe.
“Why here? Your grandfather’s in Malibu. Your mom, the Upper West Side.”
His throat tightened. “Mother’s in rehab.”
“Ouch.” Chelsea grimaced. “Dutton, I’m so sorry.”
He held tight as he wiggled away the sting of her neglect. “Looking back, we should have seen the signs. But she’ll be all right.”
In time he’d tell her of his true errand, finding out how profitable horizontal drilling might be on those five hundred acres, but right now Dutton didn’t have the heart. Then, she gave him a half-smile and squeezed the hand she hadn’t let go. “But how…I mean, I’m just surprised you’re here. Without even a text or an email.”
Should he tell her about countless times he’d stopped himself from hitting send on a keyboard? Would he sound weak and needy? But some of the truth was in order. “After the explosion, when all was said and done with Gramps’s lawyers, I’ve got some land of my own near the Colorado-Idaho border.”
“Colorado? You’re kidding.” Her eyes widened like blue moons.
“Nope. Big surprise to me, too.”
“A lot of land?”
“Five hundred acres set up by my grandma. Nothing as grand as Hearts Crossing Ranch.”
“Well, what do you plan to do?” Chelsea finally released his hand. He breathed deep, taking in her slow movement, feeling cold without her warmth. Nobody said it would be easy getting her back, but he had to hope she wouldn’t let him go. “Sell? Ranch?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he hedged, swallowed guilt. “I’m on my way there now, after, you know, this little vacation stop here at Hearts Crossing. The land’s got a lot of potential.” And he had thought about it. To Gramps’s disapproval.
His words set some kind of spark. “Well, do good, whatever you do. I just finished an internship, part of which dealt with the impact of development on wild lands.”
“I know,” he admitted. .
“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed.
“I keep up. I check out the Hearts Crossing website.” Had since Day One. “I get the e-mail newsletter. And I’m a Hearts Crossing fan on Facebook.”
For a moment, he thought she shuddered, but her smile was real. “I sure hope you’re not stalking me,” she said, voice light.
“Nope. But I did come to get you back.”
“Oh, Dutton.” She frowned and stood. “You said this was a pit stop on your way to your land. Don’t be silly. I was never yours to get back. We want completely different things.”
“I’ve changed, Chels.”
She gripped his forearm. “It’s over. We were good together when I was homesick. When you led all of us around Europe.”
That magic trip. Of course he remembered. “Chels, we were in love. You said so yourself.” The only time in his twenty six years anybody had told him those three wonderful words.
She flushed. “Maybe then. But not the real kind. It was just Paris. I mean, that’s what you do, what you feel, what you say, in Paris. Besides, sometimes love isn’t enough to fix things.”
And you have a lot to fix. He heard her words again, and heat swam in his veins. Well, he’d done his part since then, pulling up the boot straps. He didn’t just long for her. He ached for a family, something else he’d never had. And she’d had a whole grand mess of one.
“Now, I’ve got things to do,” she rushed before he could get a word in edgewise. “And so do you. You need to go listen to your wagon master.” She gestured to the modern-day Conestogas parked along the gravel drive. “I’ll be wrangling on the wagon train, so of course, we’ll be seeing each other a lot because it’s close quarters, and I can’t help it for the next three days. I want you to have fun, and I truly wish you well. But that’s all.” She placed her hands on her hips. “And I mean it, Dutton.”
She walked away, and his heart both broke and healed. She just said it herself. They’d be seeing each other. A lot.
Close quarters for three whole days.
2
Dutton Morse.
As she walked away, Chelsea waved like she always did at the tourists waiting for their western adventure. But her heart throbbed so hard it hurt. Three years ago during her study abroad, Dutton had been everything to her. Until he’d been nothing at all.
And now he was here.
Dutton, here at the ranch, something she’d never expected in a million years.
Dutton here, the same day...the same day she’d also gotten bad news she didn’t expect. She swallowed hard. The job at the forestry institute had gone to somebody else. After spending the last two years as a paid intern there, she’d been in line for the full-time position in resource management. What next? Desolation? Acceptance? Excitement? No single word described her mood.
At the corral, Chelsea placed the saddle gently over the blanket on Copper’s back as she blinked away a tear. Dutton, the job. Ezra, the wounded miniature horse she’d rescued. Just what was it she wept for?
Her ten-year old niece ran up behind her, and she welcomed the distraction. “Hi Ella. What’s up?”
“Aunt Chelsea, how old you have to be to have a boyfriend?”
Chelsea choked. The question shot her back into reality at least.
“We-ell...” She took her time tightening the girth, then peered at Ella’s bright freckled face. “It all depends. Your gramma sure had fun dating PawPaw Doyle a while back.” Both long widowed, her mother had wed a nearby rancher making two families very happy. “Why?”
“I don’t mean grammas.” Ella snorted. “How old do regular people have to be?”
Dutton flashed in her head. She’d been almost twenty one. “Why? Do you have somebody in mind?”
Ella’s face scrunched, and she blushed a little. “Maybe Eric Olsen. I really miss him, with school out for the summer.”
“I bet you do. But I gotta say you need to wait quite a few years.” Chelsea yanked on Ella’s ponytail. “Wait for somebody worth waiting for.”
“You mean like John?” Ella persisted. “John and you?”
Breathing out slow, Chelsea almost wished John Baxter did get her heart thrumming. It would solve a lot. Her gaze roamed the yard where wranglers readied the horses for the tourists, landing on John’s broad shoulders. He had hired on this summer. With a contentious stepbrother inheriting the ranch where John had lived since age three, her former beau needed money and direction.
They’d dated in high school and a little during college vacations. No magic, though they had history and heritage in common. But no. Her heart started a fast pace thinking of Dutton and the beauty of his mouth. Compared to him, most men were a sad puddle of candle wax left behind by the glorious flame. “John’s a good guy, but we’re better off friends.”
But Dutton? Try as she might otherwise, her gaze landed next on him as he listened, intent, as her oldest brother Hooper addressed the city slickers. Dutton’s blond sun-streaked hair curling atop shoulders reminded her more of ocean waves than mountain peaks, and she clenched fingers that longed to run through it.
“So if John isn’t, do you have one?” Ella jumped down. “A boyfriend, I mean?”
Of course Chelsea knew exactly that Ella meant. Her heart did a funny little bounce.
“No. I don’t.” Her lips were firm over the words. Dutton might be close at hand for a few days, but he was a paying customer. That was all. With faith and time, he
r heart had healed, and these days, Chelsea had a lot to do before settling down. Ma had never pushed any of her girls toward early marriage, insisted each got a college degree. Now at almost twenty four, Chelsea felt no family pressure. “I have other things on my mind right now than boyfriends. I want to get a job, get some money saved.”
“So are you staying at home now?” Blessedly, Ella was off the boyfriend subject.
“Yeah. For the summer, I’ll be helping with the wagon train adventures.” Chelsea absently rubbed Copper’s nose, peered around the ranch where she’d been born, and purposely bypassed Dutton this time. Hearts Crossing definitely held allure, but hopefully one of the other jobs she’d applied for would pull through. She opened the corral gate, Copper ready to go.
The Forest Service, maybe. BLM. Or the wind farm in Weld County. The ranch kept everybody busy, but she wanted a job in her field, and now there was Ezra. Chelsea needed money to help Doc Harlan up north with veterinary expenses and the horse’s rehabilitation and board.
She wanted to make it on her own without advice she didn’t ask for, without raised eyebrows and snickering. Or money she hadn’t earned herself. Plus, she’d too often been teased about being the saint of lost causes. At six years old, tucking an abandoned duck egg beside her in bed to keep it warm. Cuddling the hopeless litter of kittens with distemper. Sneaking the newborn squirrel to high school to feed it between classes. Not to mention the six-legged calf.
Yep, St. Chelsea was legend. No way could she bring a three-legged horse home until he was rehabilitated enough to earn his keep. He’d be the perfect mascot for Hearts Crossing’s therapy riding program for disabled children.
So she’d kept quiet about Ezra, not wanted her brothers’ getting guilted into giving her money. Or worst yet, chuckling while they did so.
“Well, what kind of job do you want to do?” Ella snapped Chelsea back to now as she jumped down to open the corral gate. Chelsea led Copper toward the busy crew, Ella skipping at her side along the gravel path.
“My degree is in Environmental Sciences, so something that helps nature,” Chelsea said. “I just worked on a project about the bark beetle that’s so harmful to the forests here in the west, so maybe something like that.” Again the pang of disappointment burned at the job that hadn’t materialized. Despite her high evaluations during the internship, somebody else had had more experience. “But I’m also interested in how wind and solar power can help the way people live. And yet keep flying animals like bats and birds safe, too.”
A goal and philosophy poles-apart from the ones shared by the grandson of an oil magnate. But Dutton had never quite left her imagination even when she’d shut her heart. She had to admit it now. Her spirits thrilled at just the thought of him.
The breeze turned suddenly colder and slapped her cheek. Her boots kicked up dust, and memories shimmered in the motes. Ah, there had been much good, that semester of study broad in England. Fellow student Dutton picking up some grad credits was a Californian who’d helped her feel a little less homesick for the West those first lonely days. He’d known the ropes about travel in Europe and had led their little group of ten friends around the continent during spring break. Then, his kisses had seemed to promise a future.
He’d taken her heart gladly. Only to stomp on it. And she’d never understand his attitude that the environment was simply there to serve man. But worse: he didn’t believe in God. Yet, the good-bye, while necessary, had left scars, had burned deep. Had taken months, make that years, to heal. But it had been the only way, even if she still saw his face every time she closed her eyes.
Even if she still prayed for him every night.
She and John Baxter had drifted together. John was predictable and comfy, a man of faith and conviction, handsome and gentle, and sounding better all the time. Maybe it wasn’t just coincidence, him being displaced from the land he loved and riding on a wagon train with her the next three days. God did work in mysterious ways to perform His wonders.
But Dutton was here as well. For the same three days. Her heart thrashed against her throat, and she coughed, hard.
On the gravel road leading to the big ranch house, her oldest brother and ranch foreman Hooper waved his arms enthusiastically to the group gathered for the next Hearts Crossing wagon train adventure. The canvas covers of the Conestogas flapped in the brisk morning breeze, a sight that never failed to lighten Chelsea’s mood no matter how muddled.
Three days with Dutton? She swiped a wayward nerve. Nightmare and miracle both. Had Hooper known?
Hooper was already amped up, getting ready to head out, and he tried to wave her off as she approached.
“Please, Hoop. I need a minute.”
“All righty. If you hurry.” He pulled off his hat to fan his face. As always, the June morning was quickly turning into full summer.
Her fingers clenched against her thighs. “Did you know he was on this wagon train—Dutton Morse?”
Her brother shrugged, but looked away. “Yeah. We don’t discriminate against old boyfriends.” He looked back at her. “Dutton told me about you right away when he signed up for the trip. But we’re in the hospitality business, little sister. I’m not going to refuse a customer because he dated you. This is a business. You’re gonna have to deal with it.”
Hooper shifted his gaze to the group of tourists and the herd of trail horses, and hers followed. Most city slickers weren’t comfortable riding horses right off. Until the spirit hit, most settled in the covered wagons with the padded seats and rubber tires. But Dutton mounted the brawny mustang Amigo like he’d done it a hundred times.
He looked so good doing it. Chelsea’s blood started to pour quick and hot through her veins. Dutton, in the here and now. No longer a memory both good and bad. Flesh and blood for the three whole days. Here, on her turf, looking like he belonged here, and acting like it as well.
“You’re right. I’ll deal with it.” She sighed and hugged her brother. She’d deal, and earn some money at the same time. “I’ll bring up the rear.”
“Nope.” Hooper shook his head. “You ride on ahead and help set up lunch.”
Chelsea nodded, disappointed. She was good at following directions, but hustling ahead to help ready a meal wouldn’t let her get into a slow, thoughtful ride moseying next to the wagons, something easy to clear her head and relieve her troubled thoughts. Relive memories.
And let visions of Dutton back in. But Hoop was boss. Waving her hat at the excited tourists, she headed Copper out in a trot. Maybe some fast-paced alone time would do just as well.
Wind sang in her ears. Memories of Dutton roiled. Her heart pummeled itself. As she passed underneath the gate stamped with the Hearts Crossing brand, she slowed her horse and looked back. It always got to her, that brand. Two hearts intersecting with a cross in the middle. Love and faith, the ranch’s theme. Well, she’d had enough of love, but faith? The beautiful logo and its righteous message stabbed her gut. God was the vision she needed to get inside her mind. Shame heated her face as much as the warming breeze.
God always led the Martins. Any straying was their own fault, but He always pulled them back. He’d led her to the wilderness where she’d found Ezra. Just in time. And He’d guided her to the closest veterinarian Dr. Harlan in Ezra’s darkest hour. The abandoned and injured little horse would never have survived the journey to Hearts Crossing, and wasn’t strong enough even now.
Yes, just in time. So why not let Him guide her now? Dutton said he’d changed. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d found God.
Maybe she could give him a chance. For three days.
“Hold up, cowgirl.” Dutton called out to her as if he’d read her thoughts.
Her heart jumped into her throat as she slowed and turned in the saddle. He’d had that way about him, even before, as if they were joined by stretchy elastic ropes and you never entirely got away. The past thrilled once again, and his presence, physical and real, caught her breath so tight her heart stopped.
> She watched him, almost one with a horse he barely knew, firm thighs clad in long denim, not the baggy board shorts that had been his costume even during a chilly English springtime. Green button up shirt could have belonged to her cowboy brothers.
“Hey.” He slowed to keep pace. The gravel road was wide enough to ride side by side.
“Hey backatcha. Where’s you learn to ride like that? You turn paniolo after all?” she teased.
“Nope.” His lopsided grin would have brought her to her knees if she’d been standing on the ground. “Maybe I forgot to mention back then. I spent every summer at a camp in New Hampshire as a kid. Learned to ride English style, but I switched over pretty quick.” He touched the saddle horn. “Did a little riding in Hawaii.”
She smiled and meant it. Not just she was in the hospitality business but also because of the past.
“Beautiful, huh?” Dutton said, eyes warm enough for him to realize he meant her. She flushed under his gaze, liked it.
She pretended he meant the scenery and sighed, glanced up at the hills wrapped around the ranch, indeed the whole community of Mountain Cove with its ranches and small town. “It is. I…I always seem to find myself. Find things I never knew I’d lost.”
“Hmmm.” He muttered wordless into the wind, and she reckoned he hoped the same happened to him. She prayed it might, that he let the Lord in.
Taller peaks still glistened with the silver of leftover snow. Dotted lines of cattle grazed the green hills and range, and the meadow before them brimmed with wildflowers whose names she knew and talked about to the guests sometimes over the campfire at night. For a second, she tried to keep her mind off him. Rocky Mountain bee plant. Broadleaf arnica. Yarrow, the blue monkshood. Pink paintbrush. Coral root from the orchid family. Each one more important to her than fancy jewels.
It slid into her mind then, soft and sweet, the memories of the day she completed a botany class assignment. Sitting in an English garden in Brighton, sketching specimens while Dutton dozed at her side.
Her heart gave a firm thud, Dutton now beside her once again. She could deal with this and enjoy it, too. And why not? It was just three days.