Heart Patch
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It was a good thing there were two horses; otherwise, the ranch hands would have had to make three trips to get all our belongings back. When I stepped up onto the wagon bed for the last time and looked at the house through a veil of tears, it seemed so much smaller than when we first arrived in this wild land.
The place that had been home now felt like an unwelcome stranger, one who had taken something from us without permission—our way of life. In spite of its size, I thought the cabin might collapse with such an emotional weight on my heart. It was no longer what I wanted it to be because we weren’t what it wanted us to be anymore either.
I climbed down from the wagon bed after everyone left. My feet landed awkwardly on the ground. I hadn’t expected to feel so lost, but now that we were here, nothing about living in a small town was comfortable. We didn’t belong. Even if we’d been offered work, how could we accept?
For months, every decision made by our family revolved around the future of our ranch. Now that we couldn’t live by that plan, how did anyone expect us to find another one?
“You look awful,” John told me. He helped unload boxes while I sat under the wagon and waited for his return. “Why are you crying?”
I wiped my eyes with a dirty handkerchief. “Forget it.”
John lifted some of the smaller items off the wagon bed to put them on the floor inside the house. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just a lot of things.” I took a deep breath and tried to think of a solution, any solution. Maybe it was selfish to want us to go somewhere else, but where was it written that only families with children should choose their livelihood as ranchers or homesteaders? Where was it written that men shouldn’t run a saloon?
“I’m not sure what else we can do besides sell everything we own,” I said sadly.
A loud crash sounded behind me, followed by cursing. I turned around to see Johnny bent over and clutching a broken bottle against his thigh. “Oh—” That was an understatement. The bottle had hit him hard enough to break it completely. I rushed forward. He looked up at me, surprised. Blood dripped down his leg.
“Are you all right? You cut yourself pretty badly.” I pressed the cloth against the wound, which already had started bleeding profusely. If it was deeper, I knew he needed stitches immediately. But I wasn’t going to take the time to drive to a doctor, not in this unfamiliar place where I knew no one.
There was no telling how far away someone could be in these wide-open spaces. And then we still wouldn’t know how much the injury cost to treat. It wasn’t worth it. I’d just keep applying pressure to slow the flow.
“It’s just a scratch.” His voice was strained. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“Then why won’t you let me apply more bandages?” I asked.
“Just give me a minute. Let me walk around and try to move the muscles a little bit.”
His voice sounded odd. A moment later, he stumbled. His knees buckled before he caught himself. “Hold on,” he told me and reached for my arm. Then he pulled me out of reach, stumbling in the process. I dropped the rag in shock.
We both fell into the wagon. I managed to catch myself, but John’s fall sent us sliding across the floorboards until we crashed onto the ground in front of the wagon bed. I pushed him over to protect him from the sharp wood edge and scrambled to help him sit upright.
But even after we both got up, we remained in each other’s arms. It seemed impossible that we could touch without wanting to kiss. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just sex we were sharing, but I feared it would embarrass him, so instead, I kept quiet.
“How are you feeling now?” I asked after a while.
“Much better,” he admitted reluctantly. “Let’s try moving around again.”
He picked up his knife from where I’d dropped it and handed it to me. “Here, hold this. Don’t let go of it, okay?” He stood up slowly and hobbled to the wagon bed. He placed a box of books atop the wood. It was heavy. I watched him bend over to pick up another item.
I was worried now, but when his hand brushed against mine, I knew instantly that he was all right. It was just a temporary weakness brought on by the pain. We’d both need some rest before we could do anything else.
I followed John around the house, picking up the last of our boxes. After we moved the wagon back inside, we unloaded everything and put it away, including the stove and the mattress in the corner of the kitchen that Johnny had built for me to sleep on.
We also set up our belongings in the bedroom closest to the door so they’d be close at hand when we woke up in the morning. Our lives here consisted mainly of eating and sleeping. No wonder people came to small towns looking for work. It was exhausting living alone on a ranch or homesteading for years.
Johnny’s eyes kept darting toward my body, and I knew he felt awkward about the situation between us. At first, I thought he was trying to avoid saying something, but then I realized he couldn’t speak yet. My heart ached for him. This was the only home either of us had ever known, and now neither of us felt comfortable sharing it.
By late afternoon, the sun was hot, and I wished that there was a way for us to cool off. The nearest source of water was miles away, and Johnny didn’t feel well enough to walk that far. “You shouldn’t have to carry anymore,” I said as we walked past the barn toward the corral fence. “I’ll go fill the jug.”
“There is no reason why you should do all this.”
“Don’t say that.” I tried to stop him by grabbing his arm. When he didn’t budge, I grabbed his hands. “John—”
“No, don’t,” he said with a sigh. “I can manage on my own.”
My eyes filled with tears. I released him and turned away. I knew what he meant, but it wasn’t easy to accept it. How could I ever convince him otherwise if he wouldn’t let me?
***
The next morning, after breakfast, I helped John bathe. Although he insisted on doing most of the washing, he didn’t argue anymore when I did a few of his chores. I washed his hair, which took a while because he had such long, thick strands of hair.
By the end of the day, his wounds weren’t healing very well. He looked awful: pale, weak, and miserable. I hated seeing him like that. I decided not to ask him for any more bandages, hoping that the heat of the day might speed up the scabbing process. Instead, I made a mixture of vinegar and water to soak them in and applied it to his skin.
After a week of living in isolation and solitude, we were both getting bored. Neither of us had brought many books or magazines; we’d been too busy with the ranch work for months before our arrival. So we sat together on the porch and talked for hours, talking about anything and everything.
But soon the conversation turned to what would happen to us if we never found a buyer for the cattle. Would we live out our lives here? What if nobody came to see us, or if someone did, but they decided to buy nothing? I’d heard of ranches that closed down because their owner failed to find a buyer or ran out of funds and couldn’t afford to run the place.
Or perhaps, since this was such a remote area, we might starve, unable to sell enough meat to survive. We talked about it over and over again, and we never reached an agreement. We just stared into each other’s eyes, helplessly wondering how we’d ever come to this.
As the days passed, John became more restless than ever. His mood swung wildly, ranging from calm to violent, and back again. He seemed unable to sit still. If we hadn’t been in such isolation, I was sure he would’ve gone insane.
When I saw John sitting on the front porch, head resting on his hands, staring up at the sky, I knew he was having a bad dream. I hurried outside and knelt beside him. He lifted his head and gave me a puzzled look when I spoke. “What is it?” I asked softly.
“Nothing,” he muttered as his gaze returned to the stars. He sighed. “We should leave.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because…” He paused as if searching for words. “I think it’s time.”
“Where would we go? We don’t even have money.”
He smiled grimly. “Money isn’t important. There is another place where we’ll be safe—a better place.”
“How can you know that? It’s probably thousands of miles away.”
“No, it’s closer than that,” he said without looking at me.
“Where? Where are we going to go?”
“Somewhere no one will bother us.” His lips curled into a smile. “It’s a beautiful world.”
I wanted to tell him that he didn’t really believe that. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t seem so certain anymore.
Instead, I said quietly, “You’re wrong.”
His smile vanished. “Who says I’m wrong?”
“Everyone does. You know that.” I stood and stepped away from him. “Maybe we can stay here for a little longer.”
“You mean, until your father gets home?”
I nodded, and he shook his head, then sighed and got to his feet. He started pacing the floor again, muttering, “We have to get out of here. I want to go somewhere else; anywhere else!”
I waited till I was certain that he was asleep before leaving him alone in his room. That night, I slept better than I had in weeks, despite the nightmares.
***
On Wednesday morning, while John was still sleeping, I went outside. The sky was bright blue with puffy white clouds. Birds chirped loudly as they flew overhead. It looked like it would be another hot day. I wondered how much longer we had before winter arrived.
I thought about the things I wanted to do before we left. First, there was my father. I needed to talk with him, and explain all of the problems we’d encountered in trying to keep the ranch running, especially since he was now facing financial difficulties.
And, I wanted to thank him for sending me to this isolated area. Maybe he’d done it intentionally to protect me, although he’d never admit it.
While the sun beat down on the roof, I walked along the path toward town. I hoped to visit the mercantile, and maybe buy some supplies. Then I’d need to call ahead for a meal. I planned on inviting my father to join us, though it wasn’t something either of us wanted.
It wouldn’t take long, and after that, we could visit the sheriff. I’d been meaning to tell John about the murders for weeks; it might help ease his mind about those who had come to kill him. After that, we might drive to Lonesome Dove to check out the old saloon. John seemed fascinated by that story.
The sun felt warm on my back. The air was crisp, making breathing easy. A few trees grew along the way, but mostly we were surrounded by sagebrush and small patches of grass. I stopped to watch a flock of wild turkeys waddle through a field of tall grass. Some of them eyed me curiously and pecked the ground. I watched them for a while, thinking about what I would say to my father.
I continued walking when I heard the clop-clop sound of hooves behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and froze. John sat astride his horse, staring at me with his piercing gray eyes. “Did you ride all this way just to see me?” I asked.
“Yes.” He dismounted, then pulled me into his arms. “Let’s go home.”
My heart pounded as I pressed myself against him. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in town?”
John laughed. “Of course not.” He leaned forward and kissed me. When his hand found mine, I smiled at him as his fingers tightened around mine. We started walking together, heading in the direction of the ranch house.
A half mile later, John broke our kiss and turned his attention to the horses.
I followed him inside the barn, where he saddled the gelding. He led him out through the gate and mounted up as soon as he reached the road that ran past our land. We rode in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company. The heat of the afternoon made the air feel stuffy, so I rolled down the window of the buggy and breathed in the clean country air.
As we approached our land, the green hills gave way to yellow grass. I saw the ranch house nestled between two large cottonwoods and realized why the area had reminded me of a park. There weren’t any cottages or houses nearby, nothing that would make it seem as if anyone lived there except us.
We rode through the yard and across the bridge. As soon as we entered the front door, I knew we hadn’t gone far enough. It smelled musty inside; it was dusty too, with cobwebs everywhere. John set the reins down, then grabbed me and pulled me into an embrace, pressing his lips against mine as he kissed me again and again.
When I tried to speak, he kissed me harder, silencing my words. His hands moved down my body as his mouth devoured mine.
It only took seconds before I forgot all of our problems, and everything became focused on the man before me. His touch excited me, and the desire for him was strong, almost overwhelming. I pulled away from him to catch my breath.
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, barely able to breathe. My skin was flushed and tingly, and my heart raced.
John laughed quietly as he stared down at me with his intense blue eyes. He brushed my hair aside, exposing my neck. “You’re asking me that?” he said, kissing my throat. “I’m the one who should be asking you that.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing him closer to me. “Please don’t stop,” I begged. “I need this more than anything else in the world right now.”
With that, he captured my lips again. Then suddenly he pulled away from me, holding me at arm’s length. His chest heaved from exertion. “What is it?” I asked, feeling disappointed that I had interrupted such a wonderful moment.
He grinned at me mischievously. “There’s something wrong with your leg.” He stepped back, looking down at me. “Let me look.”
His voice sounded worried, so I let him inspect me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t explain why I needed to remove my pants, but I did, and then held my legs apart as he looked at the swelling below my knee. “Is there any pain?” he asked. “Any redness? You have been favoring the leg lately, haven’t you?”
“I… yes, it hurt today,” I admitted.
John nodded. “Well, it looks like you’ve got the beginnings of a sprain.” He turned to leave and walked straight toward the stairs to the bedroom. I followed him upstairs, watching as he gathered some medical supplies from a drawer.
He handed me a towel, which I used to wipe the sweat off my face, then returned to his task. After several minutes of checking on my foot, he finished wrapping my leg.
“How will you get the swelling down?” I asked as I hobbled to the bed to rest until John’s work was done. “Should I soak it?”
John sat on the edge of the mattress and began untying his boots. He tossed one onto the floor, then removed his shirt and undershirt. I admired his well-built physique for a moment, wishing that I could see him fully naked.
“Lie down and prop your leg on pillows,” he ordered. “Then wrap some ice around that foot for twenty minutes every four hours for three days.” He stood up and walked to the closet where he pulled out a fresh pair of black trousers. With his hat in hand, he went outside and closed the door behind him.
The next day when we woke, we found ourselves alone. John had left early to tend the horses and cattle.
Our conversation that morning started with my leg injury, and then quickly evolved into a discussion about marriage. It wasn’t until lunch that John mentioned the letter he had written to his father and brothers.
“If I go back home, they’ll try to talk me out of it,” John said as he sliced meat from the chuck roast I’d cooked for our midday meal. “But even if I don’t listen to them, I can still make life easier for myself if I marry someone who understands how to run a ranch like ours. Someone who appreciates what we do here.”
“Someone like me?” I asked. “Do you mean me to be your wife?”
“Yes!” he answered, cutting himself a piece of the meat before adding, “And not because of some silly old superstition.”
“No, of course not,” I replied. “I’m sure that the only reason you want to marry me has nothing to do with my family.”
He chuckled at me. “Don’t be so sure,” he warned me. “A few things I heard while we were traveling here convinced me otherwise.”
“Oh, you mean gossip? That sort of thing?” I teased him gently.
“I meant something else.” His expression darkened, and I knew there was no joking around with John when he talked about the subject that concerned him most—the people he loved.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he finally admitted. “You’re smart, beautiful, funny, compassionate, kind-hearted, and very determined. You also have an iron will, and I like that about you.” He paused and then added, “You’re a real spitfire.”
My cheeks reddened as I tried to keep myself from smiling.
He continued. “That’s probably why I liked you so much right off the bat.” His voice grew quieter, and he stared at me intently. “And the way you handled yourself during our trip down here proved that you would make a fine addition to the Clements family.
But I have another good reason to marry you.” He took my hand and squeezed it between both of his. “When it comes to you, I just can’t help myself.”
We sat quietly eating lunch in companionable silence, each lost in our own thoughts. When John’s horse wandered away from us and came close enough to graze near mine, he noticed my injured leg. As he watched me hobble over to the fence, he frowned.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t take it easy today?” he asked as he lifted the corner of my shirt to check my wound.
“I need to walk around,” I told him as I reached up and patted his cheek. “Otherwise, all that time I spend lying around will only cause my ankle to swell more.”
I climbed the fence and walked along beside the horse for a while. The animal stopped grazing once my weight shifted to my uninjured foot, but I was too weak to get on its back again so I walked alongside it.
After about ten minutes, John joined me, walking next to me instead of riding. I looked at him in surprise, wondering why he hadn’t taken the horse and gone inside to finish his chores.
“There’s a good reason,” he whispered. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to show you.”
I followed him back to the house, where we took a seat in front of the fireplace to rest after our morning walk.
“What did you say?” I asked, surprised by his response.
“I said,” he corrected, “that I wanted to marry you because of your stubbornness.”
I laughed. “I guess I am pretty stubborn sometimes.”
“I think so,” he agreed with a smile. “But it’s one of the things I love most about you.”
The End