by MylaJackson
"No, Jesse. You don't fit in here. You're a cowboy, used to wide-open countryside and working with the horses and cattle. You don't belong here."
His frown deepened. "I told you, I'll make it work."
"You shouldn't have to. You belong in Texas. I know you miss your family and your horse." She leaned her forehead on his chest, her heart hurting so badly, she thought it would stop.
"I love you more than my horse, Ella." He pulled her close, his arms like iron bands.
She wanted him to hold her forever, forget all she'd said and just love her. "Tomorrow," she whispered and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.
He stared, his mouth opened then closed. "Are you sure that's how you want it?"
Ella nodded, unable to speak at that point, afraid if she opened her mouth, she'd break into sobs, taking back everything she'd said.
"Can I at least think about it and give you my answer tomorrow?"
Ella didn't think she could take another conversation like this one, but she nodded.
"Is it okay if I stay tonight and hold you one last time?" he whispered into her hair.
Her arms circled his waist, and she hugged him close, her eyes dry, her heart in ruins. She'd just asked the only man she ever loved to leave. How would she go on in this big, lonely city full of strangers without her cowboy?
For the rest of the night, she lay in his arms, afraid to sleep and miss even a moment more with Jesse. When morning dawned, Ella had to get up and go to rehearsal.
Jesse rose before her and had breakfast waiting on the tiny dinette table. He didn't meet her gaze, his face, dark and brooding.
When the time came to leave, her hand froze on the doorknob. She couldn't twist it.
Jesse stepped up behind her and gripped her shoulders, turning her in his arms. Then with the familiar tenderness he always showed, he kissed her, his lips moving over hers as if she was a delicate flower whose petals he could only sip from. His arms circled Ella's waist and he crushed her to his chest.
Ella clung to him, her breathing ragged, sobs rising up her throat.
After a long moment, he tipped up her chin. "Meet me at the corner of Central Park South and 5th Avenue at noon, during your lunch break."
She stared at him, searching for a clue in his expression, reluctant to commit.
He shook her arms gently. "Promise?"
Afraid she'd fall apart, Ella could only nod. Then she tore herself away and ran through the door without looking back.
That day at rehearsal, she stumbled, forgot lines, and cried when she should have laughed.
The director threw the script at her and called for a two-hour lunch break. "Come back with your head screwed on straight, or don't come back at all."
Mortified, Ella slinked away from the theater, sure she'd be fired by the end of the day and not caring one bit. After walking for several blocks, she realized she'd lost the most important person in her life and beyond that, acting was so inconsequential it didn't matter anymore. At that point she began to run. Only the distance was too far to run all the way to Central Park and make it by noon.
Racing to the corner, Ella tried waving down a taxi, but every last one was full. Frantic now, she stepped in front of a bicycle courier and almost made him wreck.
"I'll give you..." She dug in her pocket for her last two twenties. "Forty dollars to get me to Central Park by noon."
His lips turned down into a grimace. "Are you crazy? It's already eleven fifty-five. I'd barely make it riding alone."
She held up the bills. "Forty bucks says you can get me there."
The cyclist hesitated, staring at the two twenties. After ten agonizing seconds, he scooted down off his seat and jerked his head backward. "You can have the seat. Hold on tight, I'll be making some tight corners."
Ella jumped on, wrapped her arms around his skinny waist and prayed as he pushed out into the insane Manhattan traffic.
The courier pumped the pedals like a maniac, his body rising and falling, his weight adding thrust to their forward motion. Soon they were zipping between stalled taxis stuck in gridlock, bumped up on sidewalks when they had to, and narrowly missed being struck by vehicles running red lights. Horns honked, drivers cursed and breath lodged tight in her chest, Ella saw her life pass before her eyes more times than she cared to count.
At noon, they crossed Central Park South, wove through the pedestrians and stopped at Grand Army Plaza. Ella cursed the bright sunny day that brought New Yorkers out by the thousands for a chance to escape their dreary offices. How was she supposed to find Jesse in the crowd?
The courier snatched the twenties she held out and kicked off, heading back in the direction he'd come, claiming he was late for a delivery.
Ella glanced at her watch. She'd missed the time by five minutes. Would he have waited or decided she wasn't coming and left?
After pushing her way through the crowd on either side of the corner for half a block, Ella worked her way back to lean against the base of the golden statue of General Sherman, her hopes diminishing by the second, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. She didn't have time now to go back to their apartment and check for him there. Her feet dragged along the concrete. She'd miss afternoon practice all together.
So?
Ella straightened and was about to run toward the street and throw herself in front of a taxi when a stir in the crowd captured her attention. People stopped and pointed toward the park behind her, their eyes round, smiles lighting their faces.
Though in a hurry, she chanced a quick glance over her shoulder and ground to a halt.
Four mounted patrolmen approached on horseback. They stopped within twenty feet of Ella, leaving space for a fifth rider to pass between.
Riding a dappled gray gelding that looked suspiciously like Paddy and wearing the navy blue uniform of a New York City police officer, Jesse James O'Brien pulled off his helmet as he reined in his mount.
Ella couldn't catch her breath. Her heart skipped several beats then settled into a rapid, raucous rhythm, and she thought she might hyperventilate. "Jesse?"
He smiled, dismounted and closed the distance between them. He didn't touch her or hold her.
Every fiber of Ella's being wanted to throw herself into his arms and call herself every kind of fool for telling him to go home, but all she could do was stand there and stare. In a uniform or jeans and cowboy hat, he was the most handsome man she'd ever met.
"What's all this?" she asked, her words coming out in a breathless squeak. She waved at his uniform and the other men on horseback.
"Last night I tried to tell you, but you seemed hell bent on sending me away, instead." His shoulders straightened and he stood tall. "I found a job."
"You did?" Her words were short, breathy. "How? When?"
"I'd been working on it for weeks. Did I mention I have family here in New York City?"
Ella nodded, vaguely remembering he'd come from a long line of Irish immigrants who'd landed on Ellis Island.
"They helped me get an interview and start my training. This," he waved at the uniform and Paddy, "is only temporary until I complete all the requirements. But I wanted this day to be special, so they helped me out."
Ella touched the dappled gray's nose. "How did you get Paddy here?"
Jesse grinned. "Gabe brought him all the way from Texas." He looked back over his shoulder and waved.
Gabe O'Brien stepped out from beneath the shadow of a tree and lifted a hand.
Too stunned to speak, Ella shook her head.
"I was waiting for Paddy to arrive." Jesse reached out and held her hand. "I wanted to surprise you."
"But why all the secrecy?"
He chuckled. "I knew you thought I couldn't fit in, but I wanted to have proof, to show you that I could. I have family and I have my horse and a job." He dropped down on one knee. "The only thing I don't have is you." He pulled the little blue box from his pocket and held it out. "If you still don't want me to go home, would y
ou consider marrying this New York City cowboy and putting him out of his misery? I've missed you for five long hours. I don't know if I can go another five minutes without knowing you’re in my life. Will you be my wife?"
A sigh rose from the crowd that had gathered around the horses and police officers.
"Say yes!" a woman shouted.
"Say yes!" called another woman.
Before long, everyone standing in the vicinity chanted Yes! Yes! Yes!
Tears streaked down Ella's face, and she kneeled and flung her arms around Jesse's neck. "I thought I'd lost you." She hiccoughed and cried. "I don't care if I ever perform on Broadway again. I'd go back to Texas today, if you wanted me to."
"Baby, I want you to stay here." He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "You have a gift. I wouldn't ever ask you to give it up."
"But what about home...Texas.?" She buried her face in his neck, her tears staining his crisp blue collar.
"My home is with you, wherever we are."
"Hey lady, my lunch break is almost over. Would ya say yes already?" a dark-haired, and somewhat harried, woman stood over Ella and Jesse, her arms crossed over her chest, her brows narrowed.
Ella laughed and hugged Jesse around the neck then raised her voice for all to hear, "Yes!"
A cheer went up, startling the horses. Paddy stamped his feet.
Jesse rose, bringing her with him, his arm around her waist. "I love you, Ella."
"You're my one, my only...and you are truly amazing." Ella flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love my New York City cowboy."
About the Author
Twenty years of livin' and lovin' on a South Texas ranch raising horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus left an indelible impression on Myla Jackson, one she likes to instill into her red-hot stories. Myla pens wildly sexy, fun adventures of all genres including historical westerns, medieval tales, romantic suspense, contemporary romance and paranormal beasties of all shapes and sexy sizes. When she's not busy writing, she spends time with her family, boating, skiing and riding four-wheelers. She lives in the tree-covered hills of Northwest Arkansas with her husband of more than 20 years and her muses—the human-wanna-be canines—Chewy and Sweetpea.
To learn more about Myla Jackson and her stories visit her website at www.mylajackson.com
Other Titles by Myla Jackson
Trouble With Harry (Tomb Raider Trouble #1)
Trouble With Will (Tomb Raider Trouble #2)
Trouble With Mitch (Tomb Raider Trouble #3)
Sex, Lies & Vampire Hunters (Night Shift #1)
Night of the Jaguar (New Orleans Nights #1)
That Voodoo You Do (New Orleans Nights #2)
Dirty Tricks: One Up On You
Dirty Tricks: Two Can Play That Game
Dirty Tricks: Three's A Charm
Dirty Tricks: Four Play
Dirty Tricks: Five-Second Seduction
Dirty Tricks: Six Degrees of Desperation
Sex Ed
Boots and Chaps
Boots and Leather
Boots and Bareback
Boots and Lace
Honor Bound
Duty Bound
River Bound
Naked Prey
Jacq's Warlord
Shewolf
Thorn's Kiss
Fit to Be Tied