Hearts Crossing Ranch Anthology

by Tanya Hanson

  “I’m a fan of The Last Real Rancher,” someone called out. “That reality show. When Doyle married Elaine, I looked up Hearts Crossing ranch online, and voila. The rest is history. I’m from Philly. And I’m having a real good time.”

  And so it went until the turn came to Dutton. Chelsea fully expected one of his clever one-liners, but his fingers tightened in a way that had her heartstrings strumming.

  “I came because of this beautiful lady at my side. A few years ago, I messed up and let her go. Well, I’m here to get her back.”

  “Looks like it worked,” Edmund Kramer said.

  The loudest to clap was John Baxter, but Chelsea, even as she grinned and blushed, wondered what the next move would be. Would Dutton open his heart to the Truth and the Way? Or…at least practice the patience to leave his heart open long enough for the Lord’s timing?

  “We’ll see,” she murmured into Dutton’s shoulder just as Kenn helped her out and began a sing-songy drawl as he spun a yarn.

  Snowy handed out marshmallows, pointing out the fixin’s for Hearts Crossing style S’mores which included homegrown blueberries and homemade graham flatbread. While Chelsea knew she ought to get up and help, sitting at Dutton’s side was simply the only place she wanted to be. She reckoned Snowy would understand.

  After several rousing camp songs, folks began to turn in. Pure mountain air, hours jostling in the wagon trail or atop a saddle, and full bellies started a contagion of yawns.

  Hooper stood and cleared his throat. “We’re so glad y’all are here. And I bid you a good night. But if anybody has a mind —no obligation or pressure here, to hang on a few more minutes, I’ll be leading a quick evening devotion.”

  A few moms with exhausted little ones bowed out, but most everybody else stayed, and Chelsea’s heart melted when Dutton didn’t leave her side.

  Maybe. Just maybe…

  Hooper sat back down. His voice could touch even the hardest heart. “Tonight, my friends, with mountains and hills all around us, I’m going to talk about my favorite Bible verse. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from when cometh my help.” He looked straight at Dutton. “This verse has become such a part of me I guess folks might think it a cliché. But a few years ago, I was stricken with a life-threatening illness. All my life I’ve seen mountains around me. Chased cattle through the hills. Led groups like you up and down their trails.”

  He gazed off toward the shadows, all eyes following. Like a line graph, the tips of trees atop hills darkened against the gray of dusk. An owl hooted, way off, so soft nobody else likely heard.

  “During my chemo treatments, which lasted all day, the nurses gave me a room with a full view of the mountains. This verse would surge through my heart a hundred times a day. And then some. In my heart, I know Who my Help was. My Lord and Savior. Because long ago, on another green hill, far away, He hung on a cross to help save me. It was His decision, His Will that I regained my earthly health. And now I look forward to my salvation beside Him in heaven.”

  Chelsea felt a flash of shame. God knew everything she didn’t. That’s why she was supposed to trust in Him. Everything would be all right. Including Ezra. She had to talk to Hooper.

  Dutton. Her blood thrummed through her veins.

  To a rippling of light applause, her brother Bragg started gently, pensively, on his harmonica. Without hesitation, everyone started to sing along with the music to Amazing Grace.

  Afterward, the worshipers chained hands for Hooper’s quick closing prayer. All is well. Safely rest, God is nigh…

  Chelsea knew it for real. Maybe Dutton did, too. In the firelight, she saw a peaceful smile flicker across his face.

  ****

  Dutton held tight to Chelsea’s hand as he walked her away from the fire. It felt cold without the flames flickering just a few feet away, but warmed as he pulled her closer. All is well.

  “I meant it, Chels, back there. I’ll try.”

  “I know. But we’ve got some hurdles.” Her lips were close and warm.

  Safely rest. “Yeah. I’m working on it, though. You have my word.”

  “You could pray for us, too. You and me, I mean. Together, you know.” She stumbled over the phrases like a kid in junior high. It meant a lot to her. He owed God a chance because of her.

  “I will. I promise. What Hooper said, about the hills and help coming. I won’t deny it touched me. He actually mentioned something kind of like it earlier today.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. I guess he saw me floundering and thought to send a life preserver.” He smiled but his serious tone took over. “Chelsea, I’ve felt something out there, my whole life, climbing down a big wave. Base-jumping an alp. I guess I just needed you to put a name on it. Him.”

  She hugged him from the side. “Then I’m likely to welcome you back. Now, we’ve got another very busy day tomorrow. I think Hooper considers you one of the crew, said you broke records putting up those tents. Hope you can take them down as fast in the morning. We’re off to Old Joe’s Hole.”

  “I remember you talking about it.” More than that, he’d seen pictures of it on the site, in the newsletter. Pretty stream-fed lake. Couldn’t wait to dip his toes. More and more, Dutton Morse was feeling right at home.

  “OK then, nighty night. I’m off to brush my teeth. But first…”

  Dutton’s blood surged while he waited for the kiss he was sure would happen next. But Chelsea grabbed his hands, folding his inside her own. “Dear Lord.” Her voice was soft over the crackles of the fire, the snuffles of sleeping horses, and the last chatters of the night. “‘I pray whatever wrongs I’ve done, You will forgive me every one. Be near me when I wake again, and bless everyone I love. Amen.’”

  He could barely find breath as the words flowed over him. “That was awesome, Chelsea,” he managed finally. “Amen.”

  “It’s a lullaby prayer our Grim-Gram taught me when I was little.”

  “I liked it.” He gulped grabbed his courage. He had to know. “Am I one of those you love, Chelsea? Or could I be?”

  She stepped up on tiptoe and held his head down to brush his lips. Quick, sweet. “Yes, you could. Good night. That’s it for now.”

  “Good night, mmm…” He swallowed the “my love” as he headed for his duffel bag. Sounded trite even though he meant it. Most of the cowboys slept outside under the stars, and he’d be joining them. Wasn’t the first time he’d be sleeping directly under the stars, and he preferred it to the confines of a tiny tent.

  All washed up, he slid out of his boots on a bedroll, head on his duffel for a pillow. There was a green hill long ago and far away yet close at hand, right here on Dutton’s horizon. Dutton knew for sure now. Tonight as he closed his eyes, he saw the cross, saw the Man hanging on it in pain. Saw the Father reaching down and promising salvation and giving that amazing grace free of charge to everybody.

  He hoped for a future with Chelsea, making better what they’d found three years ago and building a firm foundation for their love. He’d come here both to make his life and find his future. His faith? The duffel bag hard under his head made no difference to his softening heart.

  There was hope for his mother, too. She might not have the warm character of Snowy September, but with the Lord’s help, she’d be well soon. God was a God of healing, peace, and love. Dutton had started to learn that years ago when he first met Chelsea. He was certain of it now, and would do his utmost to help reconcile his mom with Gramps.

  Gramps! Serenity started jumping around in Dutton’s mind. He owed the old man something. Gramps might have been misguided at times, but he’d done what he thought best for his grandson. If drilling those five hundred helped Gramps with a new start, shouldn’t Dutton see it done? His mom might be in rehab, but Gramps was in need, too. Not until just now, with his love for Chelsea real and their future possible, could Dutton assess the man’s stumbling grief upon losing his beloved wife and only son all at once twenty years ago.

  Some
how, tomorrow, Dutton would have to let Chelsea know everything. Feel her out. Make up his mind for certain what to do with his land.

  In the crisp night air, her brother Bragg still played softly on the harmonica, and Chelsea’s prayer repeated in Dutton’s mind. Made sense in his heart.

  I pray whatever wrongs I’ve done, You will forgive me every one. Be near me when I wake again, and bless everyone I love, Amen.

  “Dear Lord,” he said so quiet only God Himself could hear. “Bless Mom. Gramps. Please help her get better and stay strong. Lead Gramps to peace. Lead them both to faith and guidance. Let me be a better person. Help me make a good decision. If oil’s here on my land, it can’t be a bad thing, can it? Not if I go about it responsibly?”

  As the campfire waned, other wranglers finished nightly tasks and huddled nearby. It felt right, outside, with those hills and mountains holding everybody close. Bad things might happen and did every day, but Dutton knew with God, he would be all right when they did. He’d ask for help and guidance every night, and did so now for the first time as he burrowed into his jacket.

  He, Dutton Morse, asking God for help. It felt so right. Soon daybreak yawned in his face with the sounds in his ears of the camp coming to life. Well, there was no sleeping in on the trail. Dawn came hard and fast for the group, along with the rush for the solitary outhouse. After a quick warm-up at the blazing campfire, city slickers of every age and size waited to sit down to another of Snowy’s glorious meals, and then set about with true pioneer spirit for another amazing day.

  Dutton gulped. An amazing day until he had to confide in Chelsea. His heart bounced suddenly, wishing he didn’t have to face any conflict here in the morning’s perfect world. Of course she’d understand. He needed to make a living, too. Martins helped each other. Surely she’d understand any aid to his grandfather.

  “Come on.” Her voice was the only one he heard above the din, and his blood roared and breath hitched. Even in yesterday’s dusty shirt, she was magnificent, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. From her blush, he suspected she thought the same. “There’s coffee ready. Snowy’s been up and at it long before anybody. Get some and chase the sleep out of your eyes.”

  As soon as he heard her words, he rubbed his eyes like a kid, opening them to see another dazzling smile. He ached to take her in his arms, to warm away the morning chill for them both, and he might have any other time, but too many people bustled about. Including John Baxter. She and John had quite a conversation last night at supper, and while Dutton wasn’t exactly jealous, he couldn’t help wishing he knew what had engaged them so. John seemed a good guy, though, and Dutton couldn’t help liking him. Knew he and Chels had a history.

  “Good morning to you.” Knees somehow weak, he ambled toward her.

  “Backatcha.” She grinned as every inch of his skeletal system turned rubbery. “I’m hitching the teams right now if you want to help. Go grab a quick bite first. And I’ll be driving a wagon today, if you wanna join me.”

  Getting jostled for hours in a mammoth Conestoga wagon seemed just the thing so long as he could sit right by her. And it might present a chance to confide what he needed to…confess.

  “You’re on,” he said and watched her walk away before snatching a biscuit stuffed with bacon with one hand, a cup of coffee with the other. If he had his way, he’d never be watching her walk away again. But his spirits sagged a bit. Gramps’s occupation had caused an environmental disaster not long ago. Would Chelsea accept that that his family’s livelihood could be done with responsibility and care?

  He didn’t have a chance to talk to her, or much of a chance to talk at all. The large wagon wasn’t driven from a seat in front of the canvas frame like in pioneer movies he’d seen. The horses were directed from inside, with Chelsea holding the reins and sitting on the sideways bench.

  “Step up,” she commanded the four noble animals pulling the load of fifteen or so greenhorns. Sore from their horseback jaunt yesterday, the folks wanted to take it easy today.

  Easy? Easier, maybe. The horses were sure-footed, the wagon sturdy, but the huge wheels grabbed at every rut and mini-boulder on the unmanicured road. Dutton slid across the seat from time to time and mashed elbows with his neighbors. Even still, he managed to calm down in spite of what lay ahead. Because the hills reminded him of Hooper’s devotion last night, and that reminded him of Chelsea’s night time prayer. All was good in this little corner of the world. And it was all God.

  He sneaked a tantalizing peek at Chelsea. Friendly with the passengers seated nearby, she chatted and chuckled. But at that second, she met his gaze, and he read clear as dawn, the feelings in her eyes. He wanted to reach for her hand. Breathing hard, he managed a smile, and then tried to distract himself. Past the tumbling hills rose the Rockies, silver and tall and better than any man-made skyscraper he’d ever seen in Dubai, Manhattan, Kuala Lumpur. Although he couldn’t hear the babble of Hawk Creek, he watched Buddy the dog stop over for a drink or dip as the morning heated up. A tiny squirrel hop-scotched through an aspen grove next to a huddle of boulders the size of Easter Island heads and took cover in panic when both the thundering horses and nimble Buddy rounded a curve.

  He felt like that squirrel, worried about something coming down on him.

  “Everything OK, Dutton?” Chelsea asked over the rumbling wagon.

  Everything wasn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Yep. Right as rain.”

  7

  Chelsea had ached to sit close, to touch his hand all during the ride. At their destination Old Joe’s Hole, Dutton helped her from the wagon even though she’d jumped down a million times all by herself. After all, he’d delegated himself to be Sir Walter Raleigh for all the other ladies. She wasn’t about to be left out of the fun.

  Of course, she wangled it so she was last to debark. And oh, she loved his touch, felt it down every inch of her spine. Everybody hustled off ahead of her, so she had the chance to tighten her fingers through his, linger against his chest as she stepped down.

  “Howdy. That was quite a ride,” he muttered as he drew her so close her hat, tied with a leather strap, bounced against her back.

  “Too long of a ride,” she murmured back. “I’ve been wanting this all day.” Too many onlookers.

  “Same here. At the same time, I liked watching you drive the wagon. Such a pretty little cowgirl controlling that thundering team and mighty wagon.”

  She laughed at his drawl and his nonsense, delighted in his nearness, but pulled away. Too many onlookers again. “Thanks for the compliment, but not to douse your high opinion of me, Hooper taught me to drive a wagon when I was eleven.” She winked at her brother who didn’t notice, busy as he was corralling the trail horses. “Let’s see if he’s as agreeable with his own daughter.”

  “Good heavens, you drove one of these when you were a little girl?” Dutton’s awe widened his sun-squinted eyes.

  “Oh, no. He just showed me how, that’s all. I think I drove about fifty feet. Just saying.”

  “What’s next up?”

  Several of the wranglers unhitched the team while she and Dutton spent that lovely minute all goo-goo-eyed, so she actually was free, at least until suppertime. At breakfast, Norma Kramer had insisted she and Edmund would help Snowy set out the fixin’s for Chuck Wagon Salad, a version of chef’s salad, with chopped veggies fresh from the ranch’s kitchen garden and Hearts Crossing’s own homemade HC Ranch dressing. The Kramers were also on board to help make lunch’s Dutch oven jalapeño corn bread and to learn how to prepare the homemade root beer which was the upcoming highlight for supper.

  “I do have a little break. And this is the place to take it.” She took Dutton’s hand, the simple gesture stopping her heart and sending her blood screaming. They walked down the path to the lovely little lake with its small dock and rowboats, and trees hung with hammocks and a tire-swing. Kids were already screaming to their moms for their swim clothes.

  Dutton’s shook his head as he took in the si
ght. “Awesome.”

  “And this from a man who’s been to Lake Baikal and, what, Lake Tanganyika,” she teased.

  “For one thing...” He pretended umbrage. “Those trips were under duress. Mom’s idea of spring break. Second of all, I did not have you at my side.”

  “All righty. You have some choices to make. You can fish.” She pointed to Bragg who was already doling out poles and gear.

  “Nope. Too slimy.” Dutton batted his eyelashes.

  “Tire swing or swim?” She pointed to the shore already teeming with kids.

  “Too noisy.”

  “Might be a good time for a bath. No shower facilities.” She grinned.

  “Brought my wet wipes. Unless that’s a way of saying I stink.”

  Oh, he didn’t. The scent of him, hardworking man mixed with pine and cloud, was something she wished she could bottle.

  “No indeed.” She flirted, wrinkling her nose. “Just saying…”

  His smoldering look seared her bones. The last three years without him seemed a desert wasteland. He belonged with her; she could feel it in those same bones. Melding with the landscape, handling horses like he’d been born here, mixing with her brothers—and John—like long-lost friends. How good was God?

  She finally managed her tongue. “Or a trail ride to the other side of the lake. A rowboat?”

  His Adam’s apple displayed a hard swallow, as if he shared and understood all she was feeling. If God’s Hand had truly touched Dutton as it so seemed last night, they had everything bright ahead of them.

  “A boat ride it is.” His voice shook a little, and she couldn’t hold back a smidge of triumph. He loved her, and he believed. All was right in her world.

  But would it be, back in the real time when the trail ride was over? For a flash, she was certain his jaw tensed. As if something else was bothering him deeper down than he’d let on. Around Old Joe’s Hole, mountains stretched tall behind cuddling hills spiked with pine trees, and the sky turned a color most folks never saw.