With Open Arms

by Cindy Nord

  Jackson rarely worried, but darkness drew near. The woman could handle herself and her ranch. She’d obviously been doing so for years. So why did her absence at dinner fill him with an unnamed disquiet?

  Jeezus Christ. Women were supposed to crochet and bake crumpets and attend tea parties, not rove across some desert chasing wild animals. And he damned well knew they shouldn’t curse like men and ride astride for hours on end.

  A mumbled oath fell from his lips and drifted out into the desert to mingle with the dancing dust. Coddling women had been his hallmark. And every single one he’d ever known had been predictable and easily conquered.

  Until Callie.

  How exactly did a man deal with someone so headstrong? The direct approach? A tit for a tat? He’d supposed he could try that next. Anything was preferable to this bullshit. For the briefest instant, Jackson recalled wrestling her to the ground, recalled the golden curls spreading across the sand, a curtain of shimmering softness upon a woman as hard as stone.

  A sobering thought indeed.

  The breeze brushed across Jackson’s face, rolling the lush scents of the desert around his tired body. He clamped his hands into fists to stop his tingling fingertips from recalling each one of the hellion’s curves.

  Jackson refocused on the lengthening shadows. To his left, slipping away on streaks of golden light, the setting sun sizzled from his view.

  Concern for his maverick partner returned.

  Just when the distant mountains swallowed the day’s last rays, Jackson spotted a lone rider guiding her horse across a sandy wash; her lithe, little shoulders hunched forward. Her exhaustion reflected her Achilles’ heel, and Jackson’s heart hitched a beat as he thumbed up the brim of his hat. At least she was back safe and he could stop worrying.

  He pushed away from the wooden post and stepped from the porch.

  Straining under the weight of the saddle, Callie pulled the sturdy leather from Diego’s back and settled it onto the storage rack. She knocked dried mud from the wooden stirrups, then smoothed her hand over the cantle. This splendid piece freighted all the way from the Hermann Heiser Saddlery in Denver had been her first, presented to her for her ninth birthday.

  Supple and solid, the low roper’s saddle horn had held many a lassoed horse in place since then. She grimaced as her fingers dropped from the leather. Those were happier times.

  Turning, Callie unbuckled her worn chaps and stepped out of the leggings, tossing them onto a nearby table. A few swipes with a stiff-bristled brush removed dust and debris from Diego’s coat before Callie led her trusty gelding to his stall and to the bucket of fresh water and food. Gus paid more attention to the horses’ comfort than he did his own.

  She patted Diego on the rump and left the stall.

  Her gloves landed on top of the workbench along with her hat. Inhaling deeply, Callie ran a hand over her head to shove the tangled strands of hair behind her ear. Exhaustion and a full day in the saddle cramped her muscles, but even her exhaustion couldn’t dampen the feelings radiating from inside her.

  Accompanied by her vaqueros, she’d tracked the wild stallion up into the Rincon Mountains. With each step that brought her closer to the magnificent brute, she marveled at the animal’s strength and spirit. At around three this afternoon, they’d finally cornered the ebony beast in the canyon of the needle-eye.

  Tears gathered behind her spiky eyelashes. He was a breathtaking creature. So full of life. So resilient to the cruelties of this world. Callie had spent all her strength, and that of the three vaqueros who’d ridden with her, to lasso him and just bring him back to the double-fenced corral at Angel Creek.

  A deep voice ricocheted through the stable like a bullet to shatter Callie’s thoughts. “Gus told me about the stallion. He still causing you trouble?”

  She turned toward the sound. The shadowed image of Jackson Neale stood just inside the doorway, a dark, disturbing mountain of a man who twisted her emotions as nothing else had ever done. The concerned tone in his question rankled against her somersaulting emotions, their last encounter still fresh in her mind.

  Jackson moved closer and Callie tensed. A flush of warmth rushed over her cheeks. He came to a stop in front of her, and she drove away the sharp sensation his presence evoked.

  “He’s been nothin’ but trouble these last few weeks,” she snapped, fighting to still her pounding heart, tripped even faster by his nearness. A scalding rush of words pushed into the shadows between them. “But I’ve finally caught the sonofabitch.” Her chin rose to convey her victory. “After all this time, I’ve finally caught him.”

  “I’d like to see him. If you’re free tomorrow, I’d also like to see the rest of the ranch.”

  Callie barely tolerated breathing the same air with this vagrant outsider. Spending an entire day with him was unthinkable.

  “I’ll have Gus show you around. I don’t have time.”

  “Make time,” he said, stepping closer.

  “Look, I have more important things to do than mess with you.”

  He leaned forward, and his dark gaze nailed hers. “Your rancor’s wearing mighty thin.”

  “Is it?” She tipped her head sideways and glared up into his eyes. “Then I suggest you pack up and ride back east if you’re lookin’ for a more exemplary style.” Callie attempted to push past him but his hand softly wrapped her shoulder to stop her.

  Her lips pulled taut and she dampened them, the acrid taste of the desert meeting her tongue. Jackson’s scent drifted closer, hinting of leather, horses and the unbridled musk of man.

  He leaned over, his lips a hair’s breadth from the curve of her ear. “I will be part of this ranch, Callie-girl,” he whispered, and the brush of his words sent an immediate wash of tingles down her back. “You don’t have to like it, but in time you’ll concede. And come tomorrow morning, it’ll be you and me riding the length of this property. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  As smoothly as he’d stopped her, his hand dropped away.

  Callie swayed in the darkness.

  That he should use her nickname so intimately augmented the chaos pounding through her veins. Seconds later, his steps sounded through the darkness toward the stable entrance before fading off into the night.

  Chapter Five

  Callie pointed to the craggy peaks that shimmered brownish-pink beneath the wash of morning light. “My land extends north all the way to the Rincon Mountains.” She twisted in the saddle, her hand continuing the sweep of Dos Caballos. “It then goes east about fifteen miles toward the San Pedro River over there.” She turned, continuing with her outline of the ranch’s immense scope. “And then old Fort Buchanan marks the southeastern boundary in that direction. The army moved out when the war started, so the place sits abandoned now.” She swiveled and pointed southward. “And then we butt up against the Santa Ritas…that range of gray mountains there in the distance.” She darted a quick glance to Jackson. “Not much there but a few deserted mines and dilapidated shacks along Angel Creek. And, before you even ask, the silver’s been played out years ago.” Callie settled back into her saddle and stared straight ahead. A smirk tightened her lips. “There, that’s the ranch, all fifty thousand acres of it.”

  Jackson scanned the horizon. “An amazing spread.”

  “Yep. One of the ten largest in the territory. And the Angel winds through most of it to provide water for the mares. Keeps the well filled at the hacienda, too, which makes Pilar happy.”

  Jackson smiled, pleased with the enormity of his purchase. Before him, a rocky incline tumbled downward, settling into a basin filled with cacti and sagebrush. The flush of springtime flowers brightened the scene. In the far distance, a pale and polished oasis, the hacienda, hovered on the vista. Warmth radiated through Jackson and he recalled the many hours he’d spent listening to Reece describe Dos Caballos. His friend hadn’t exaggerated
one damn bit. A man could fall in love with the stark beauty of this land.

  A bewildering sense of completeness settled over Jackson, paling everything that came before. Again, he renewed his vow to work toward developing a joint venture with this…woman. A bewitching landscape beckoned before him, unlike the nearby hellion who neither welcomed, nor wanted, him here.

  He glanced at Callie.

  God knows it isn’t you compelling me to stay.

  He would never have chosen this one to occupy a great portion of his future. His kind of woman entertained guests with a trayful of pastries. She didn’t cram them into her mouth with both hands.

  Jackson shook off the discomforting image, hoping to keep their conversation flowing. At least they were talking in a civilized tone now. That, in and of itself, was progress. “Must take every inch of the ranch to sustain a herd, since there’s so little feed.”

  Callie nodded. “A hundred acres per head, and more during the dry times.” She plucked at the reins in her hand. “The desert doesn’t make things easy…for anyone.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I provide for the mares we’ve corralled, but the wild ones, well…they’re on their own. Been like this for hundreds of years though, so I’d say they’re gettin’ by.”

  “I’m used to the lush pastureland back east; it’s hard to imagine where they’d find enough to eat out here.” A silent breeze capered between them, lifting the ever-present tendrils of hair escaping Callie’s heavy braid. How soft would the rebellious curls feel sliding through his fingers? She turned to face him, and he shifted his gaze back over the desert.

  Jeezus, stop looking at her.

  “I sell only prime, well-fed stock. Been doing so for years without anyone’s damn interference.”

  Her sharp words fragmented the ludicrous urge to touch her. Yet, somewhere on the perplexing fringes of Jackson’s mind, Callie’s golden-hued hair…the only amazingly soft thing about her…continued to mesmerize him. If they were to have any chance of this partnership working, then the maturity and patience must come from him.

  He straightened, stacking his gloved hands over the saddle’s swell. “And you’ve done an excellent job, I might add. This talent must surge strongly through the Cutteridge veins. Your brother’s doing the same thing back east now—raising horses and selling them, I mean.”

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed her jaw clench, saw her gauntlet-covered hand twist the reins. “Well, he should’ve come back here to do that,” she snapped, anger lacing her words.

  Jackson kicked up his lips into a grin, choosing his words carefully now. “Falling in love is a powerful pull…on any man. Your brother is no exception.”

  Picked up by the breeze, a gilded curl whisked across her face and whispered to him again. Callie pushed the strand behind her ear, then turned to glare at him, her hand flattening over her eyes into a sunshade.

  “All love does is hurt people, Mr. Neale.”

  He stared out across the desert. “Love is what life is all about.”

  “Well then I guess I must be dead, ’cause I’m real careful not to love anything anymore.” She dropped her hand back to the saddle with a smack.

  “Well…that’s not entirely true,” he challenged. “You love your ranch and your horses, don’t you? And though you’re upset with your brother right now, you still love him.” He tipped his head and looked at her. “I’m certain he loves you.”

  Though only God knows why.

  She reached behind her shoulders and jerked her hat into place atop her head. Her eyes brightened with animosity as she threw him a curt glance. “Well now, it looks like you’ve just got all the answers, doesn’t it?” The shadow cast by the wide brim couldn’t hide the pain welling into a shimmer across her eyes.

  He’d seen it before. Her protection.

  His gaze dropped to the lanyard spilling down the front of her shirt, the leather strand flowing alongside the soft swell of her breasts. His chest tightened and he issued a terse laugh. “I don’t know everything, but I do know there are some things in life worth loving.”

  “I refuse to continue this pointless conversation when I’ve got better things to do.” Her rush of disgust wrenched apart the mood, leaving only the ribbon of wind to tie them together now. Rocking back in the saddle, she glared at him. “I’m headin’ over to the Angel. If you want to see the mares, you’d better keep up.” Her mount sidestepped. “I’d love nothing better than to leave you behind in my dust.”

  “Know what I think?” Jackson said, causing her to pull up short on the reins. Her saddle creaked as she turned back to stare at him. His gaze shifted again to the hazy ranch house. “You’re terrified of something, though I’m not quite sure yet what that is. Maybe it’s me? Could that be it, Callie? Are you afraid of me?”

  “Look, Mr. Neale—”

  “Jackson.” His gaze cut back to hers. “Remember, I asked you to call me Jackson.”

  “I’m not afraid of one damn thing, Jackson. And I’m sure as hell not interested in your opinions on love.”

  He shook his head, trying to contain a smirk. “You must wake up being difficult. I guess that’s it.” For a brief moment, Jackson tried to imagine how her laughter might sound. Would it be deep and throaty? Or light? Playful? “You know, hellion, if you’d just relax a bit we might become friends.”

  With a smothered oath that confirmed he’d hit a raw nerve, Callie dug her spurs into the sides of her horse. The gelding sprang into motion and plunged down the slope, loose shale and rocks tumbling after her.

  Jackson pulled his lips so tight even his teeth hurt. He shook his head in frustration as his pounding heart slammed against his chest. The patience reservoir where she was concerned was damn near dry. Good God, why couldn’t she have welcomed him into his new life by sitting in the parlor and playing a piano?

  And yet, despite their vast differences in manners, or even her association with the mysterious F. Miguel, garnering this irksome shrew’s acceptance grew more important by the minute. Another mangled oath tumbled from Jackson’s lips. He swept up the reins of his horse, then spurred the Morgan down the incline.

  Brawn rippled across the stallion’s shoulders and the ebony beast raised a powerful foreleg, slashing the air in defiance. He slammed back to earth, sharp hooves stabbing the ground. The massive head shook, nostrils flaring.

  Furious snorts rent the night.

  Callie leaned forward on the corral fence and stared awestruck at the animal. His unyielding spirit, his refusal to be broken, humbled her. Her ongoing struggle to tame this beast would end with the rising sun a mere handful of hours away. And yet, her respect had deepened into an almost religious experience, begging her to keep trying, to find some way to spare the beast his fate. A constricting ache tightened her throat.

  From out of the darkness, Jackson’s voice settled over her misery. “There’s another way, you know.”

  Surprise toppled into irritation as Callie turned to look at him.

  Since showing him the ranch boundaries two weeks earlier, they’d skirted one another, speaking a handful of words here, clipped greetings there.

  But he never stopped watching her.

  For hours on end while she strove to break the stallion, Jackson watched. With a driving determination, made more frustrating by his presence, Callie continued to crawl back atop the hulking beast.

  And still Jackson watched.

  From morning to dusk locked inside the corral, Callie centered herself on conquering the creature’s will, so painful and bruised at night, she would crawl to bed…only to awaken at dawn and head back out ready to face her adversary all over again. Somehow, in her mind, the stallion and the man were one. It was Gus who finally stopped her, insisting she go find her common sense as he jerked the saddle from her hands.

  Callie swallowed, her heart now engage
d in a war equally as bone crushing.

  The beast could not be broken to saddle. She realized that now. Yet here stood this…this man, his boot propped upon the lowest railing, telling her there was another way? If she weren’t so damned tired, she’d have thrown him a disdainful laugh.

  Instead, she simply stared at him.

  Without his usual Stetson, moonlight drenched Jackson’s sable strands. The soft breeze teased a stray lock that fell across his forehead. He continued to evaluate the horse and Callie’s breathing quickened.

  “There’s no other way,” she whispered, weariness tempering her words. “I’ve tried everything I know to break him. You should recognize this truth given the fact that you’ve reveled in my failure.”

  He shifted, his boot scuffing wood. “I’m not reveling, hellion. In fact, I’m impressed by your amazing resilience. You’ve not broken a single bone yet.” His long fingers wrapped around the railing and he leaned forward. “But horses are smart creatures; this one more than most.” He tossed aside a scrap of hay, and allowed his lips to curl into a smile. “And yes, you’ve done everything you can except…understand him.”

  Callie straightened, surprised by the statement. Her hands dropped to her sides, then flattened against her thighs. “Understand what?” Even as she spoke, she struggled to locate her anger, but she uncovered a tinge of hope instead. The subtle scent of his tobacco ebbed around her to couple with the anxious energy exuding from the nearby horse. Invisible hands seized Callie, and forced every muscle in her body to tense. Poised on the edge of…something, she leaned toward Jackson. She didn’t want any part of this new and intoxicating emotion, yet she was helpless to do anything but listen.

  “You’ve assumed he can’t be gentled because of his…defiance.” His voice commanded attention. Even the drifting stars overhead dropped in closer to hear. “I’m well aware you know horses, and you’re good with them. But I know them too. And with this one…” he raised a thumb toward the pacing stallion, “…he won’t ever cave to physical control. Not in a month, not in a million years. What this one needs is to be gentled…and won over.”