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In awe, she stopped to stare for a moment. Tristan was nailing the boards together alongside Clint and Jeb. Her brother didn’t even look her way, but Clint did. A smile pulled on his lips as he set his hammer down and walked across the pen, meeting her near the gate.
“How on earth have you managed that?” She gestured toward her brother.
“Eye-hand coordination. If you can’t hit a nail on the head, you’ll never shoot a coin out of the air.”
Tristan let out a yelp, and shook one hand, before he started hammering again. Astonished, Doreena pointed a finger at Clint. “You’re quite amazing, Clint Turnquist.”
“So are you, Doreena Buckman.”
A rush of warmth flooded her system, and when he winked at her, a tornado set down inside her, stealing the very air she breathed.
He nodded toward Tristan and Jeb. “They have this covered. Do you have time to ride with me to where we saw that light last night?”
A bubble of excitement popped inside her windpipe. “Yeah.” She sucked in air, and repeated more clearly, “Yes, I do.”
He twisted about. “Then let’s go.”
Her work dress wasn’t the best for riding, but she’d done it before, and once she had the skirt twisted about her legs, they trotted out of the barn.
As the well-worn path out of the yard narrowed, Clint steered his mount left. “Let’s go this way.”
“But the light came from over here.” She pointed to the right.
“I know,” he said, “we’ll circle around to there.”
She nudged Scout into the tall grass. “This’ll be a roundabout way.”
“I know, but whoever’s watching will think we aren’t headed their way,” he explained.
She studied Clint for several seconds, taking in his confidence. “I bet you’ve outsmarted a fox or two.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t always work, but I’m counting on it this time.”
“Me, too.” The significance of her agreement filled Doreena. She’d been cautious of people for a long time, but here she was, barely a day after meeting the man, riding across the countryside with him and counting on him to solve her burdening problems. It should be perplexing, but in short, her intuition told her Clint Turnquist was the answer to her prayers. And she believed it.
They rode through the open prairie, side by side, silently, until she asked, “Do you have any family?”
His back stiffened.
She hesitated, but then couldn’t stop from continuing, “You said your mother died, but is there anyone else? Siblings? Your father?”
“He died when I was little.” Clint tipped his hat brim, glancing at the horizon before adding, “So it was just the two of us.”
“How’d she die?”
They came upon a cluster of trees that lined the creek, and Clint picked a trail near the underbrush.
Having lived on the ranch her entire life, Doreena knew most every inch of her property, yet, she’d never traveled the creek bed, didn’t know exactly how it twisted and curved through the land. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious,” she added, following in his wake.
At a spot where the trees hung over the water, Clint steered them across the shallow creek and up the bank on the other side. “She had consumption,” he said finally when they rode side by side again.
“My mother, too,” Doreena offered.
Clint glanced her way. She shook her head, not wishing to recall the past, yet it was there and wanted out. “She was sick for so long, a part of me wished it would just end for her.” Fearful he’d think she was callous, she quickly admitted, “I’ve never told anyone that. It’s not something I’m proud of.”
He reached over and laid a hand atop hers. “I know just how you felt. It was the same for me.”
“It was?”
“Yes, it was.” He squeezed her hand. “And a part of me was glad when she died, knowing it was over for her.”
His touch was much more than simple comfort; it held a deep connection she’d never felt before. “Me, too,” she whispered. “Me, too.”
After giving her hand a final squeeze, he let loose and kneed his horse ahead. She followed, pressing her warm and tingling hand to her chest, lost in thought. Had she just confessed her most personal sentiments to a stranger? He didn’t feel like a stranger. More like a friend she could tell anything to, and not be condemned.
A short time later, after rounding a sharp bend, Clint twisted and held a finger to his lips. The action made her pulse quicken. He eased out of his saddle and gestured for her to do the same. “We’ll walk from here,” he whispered, tying the horses to a tree.
