by Cindy Nord
“Absolutely not.” The words grated into the space between them, and she blinked fast, staring at the steady pulse in the hollow of his sun-darkened throat. “In fact, you’re perfectly suited to each other. You talk alike, yet your words are filled with innuendo and senseless—”
“So you’d rather I not talk to her at all then, is that it?”
“I don’t give a damn what you do with her. But if you’re foolish enough to be lured in by that scrap of lace—”
She gasped when Jackson slid his hand around the back of her neck. Where his palm cupped, heat swelled. She struggled to draw breath, her knees locking to hold her upright.
“We’re only talking, Callie.” The pad of his thumb stroked the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “I promise not to bed her just yet.”
She closed her eyes and scrambled for her anger, a heart-wrenching lifeline now. Fighting was such an integral part of her world—for so long and so many reasons. She opened her eyes into his, but his mocking grin had disappeared.
Instead, his features softened. “I saw comfort on your face when you played the piano, but long ago you crawled inside your parents’ death and never came out.”
Callie stared at him, struggling to swallow the growing lump in her throat. The truth in his words had opened a pathway back to the little girl place in her heart where she’d shoved all her needs and her wants.
“You enjoyed playing the piano again whether you choose to admit it or not.” His thumb caressed the curve of her cheek. “Refusing to enjoy life won’t bring your parents back or change what’s happened. You’re allowed to keep on living, Callie. Don’t fight so hard against this truth.”
Her lower lip quivered as Jackson peered down at her, sympathy and understanding radiating from the depths of his eyes. She refused to cry in front of him.
He squeezed the back of her neck, then a split-second later, his hand slid away, taking the warmth with him. He turned slowly and headed across the room. When he passed the piano, his fingers raked the ivory keys and the sound underscored the chaos swelling inside her. A tear spilled down her cheek to chill her face. Another tear followed. Then another.
At the doorway, Jackson paused and retrieved his hat, settling it over his long brown locks. A crooked smile lifted his lips as he looked at her. “Now I’m going to participate in that race. I’d sure like for you to stay and cheer me on.”
A moment later, he disappeared, and Callie stared at the doorway, fighting an incredible emptiness that eddied in his wake.
Word of the horse race reached the citizenry in record time and on the day of the event, Camp Lowell played host to more than a thousand visitors. Not a single cloud marred the endless, azure canopy stretching above their heads.
As fast as soldiers erected stands, spectators arrived to fill them, eager to place wagers on the horses of their choice. Camp Lowell’s brass band offered pre-race entertainment, while trios of Mexican guitarists strummed festive tunes among the milling crowd. Several sutler tents decorated the parade ground as merchants hawked goods to the multitude. Contestants in the race ran the gamut from young to old, selecting mounts from strapping, broad-backed mules to nimble mustangs to the mighty stallion Salvaje.
The lace-paneled curtain dropped back into place as Callie stepped away from the hotel’s window. She checked herself in a mirror above the washstand, took a deep breath and then settled her hat into place. A slow smile lifted her lips.
Oh yes, she would win this horserace if only to save Jackson Neale from his folly. The idea of entering had nipped at her heels for two days, the thought solidifying after she’d seen him strolling arm in arm with Pamela under the cottonwoods last night.
I promise not to bed her just yet.
Callie’s smile faded.
Not ever, if I have my way.
Obviously smitten with the colonel’s daughter, Jackson could not think straight. And that, of course, would not bode well for Dos Caballos. Why, he might even do something so asinine as to fall in love and insist on bringing the woman back to the ranch!
Callie pinched her mouth into a thin line and stared at her reflection.
Her hand rose to her lips, fingers pressing against the sensitive flesh. The image of Jackson kissing Pamela bounced up each nerve in her spine.
Would it feel the same? Christ Almighty…stop thinking about that!
She reached for her holster, swung the leather around her hips and buckled the gun into place. And twenty minutes later, she pushed through the crowd toward Jackson.
“So you decided to come wish me luck after all?” Jackson’s lips swept into a broad smile.
“You’re going to need all the luck you can get.” She reached into her back pocket and withdrew a cotton sash. The material fluttered in the cool breeze before Callie slipped the cloth over her head and settled it into place across her body. She looked up, a goading smile lighting her features. “Luck’s the only hope you’ve got now, since I’m your competition.”
Jackson dropped his gaze. Stretched from her left shoulder to her right waist, the racing banner presented a blood-red statement against the white cotton. His eyes reconnected with hers and narrowed.
“Callie, women don’t race.” He clipped each word as he tried to squelch his surprise.
Her smile widened. “They do now.”
Jackson stepped closer, his voice plummeting into a harsh whisper. “Now look, this isn’t funny. You can’t do this.”
Callie planted a gloved hand across his shoulder, then squeezed. “You’re the one who told me to have a good time, partner. Remember? Well that’s just what I’m doing.”
“I only wanted you to stay and watch the race, I didn’t mean for you to enter. Dammit, you could get hurt here.”
“Hurt? Please. You’re just worried I’ll win—which of course I will—and you’ll be denied your victory kiss from Miss All-Things-Perfect over there.”
Her naive assumption sent a surprising cascade of warmth through Jackson, and a genuine laugh fell from his lips.
Now I see what’s happening here.
He leaned forward, tucked a finger beneath her racing banner, then pulled her to him. A soft whoosh left her lips when their bellies bumped. She smelled like sunshine and fresh air and Jackson felt an odd stirring down below. “If I wanted a kiss from Miss Talmadge, your winning this race wouldn’t stop me.”
The booming voice of Colonel Talmadge powered above the sea of droning voices as his words outlined the race for all seventeen contestants. “Around the seven flags, then back to the starting point, a furlong between each turn. The first to cross the finish line wins.”
Loud cheering filled the air around them as Jackson continued, his breath sending her ash-colored tendrils adrift. “My horse is faster than yours.”
“Mine is swift and sure-footed.”
“Mine is completely under my control.”
Callie turned, scanned the crowd, then pushed even closer, staring deep into his eyes. The soft, perfect feel of her breasts outlined against him seared the image into Jackson’s brain.
“And you like that, don’t you?” she asked. “Having people under your control.”
He chuckled. “Almost as much as you do.”
“I aim to win.”
“And take away all hope for me getting a congratulatory kiss.” A smile filled his face as his index finger slid free from her sash.
She stepped back and resettled her banner. “You’re such an arrogant ass.” She laughed.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said. Their gazes reconnected and lingered before she turned and pushed through the crowd to the waiting line of horses. With each subtle sway of her hips, Jackson’s mouth tightened. Son of a damn bitch, he was beginning to like those denims after all.
He moved to the starting line and reached for Salvaje’s reins. A soldier surren
dered the leather leads and then shook Jackson’s hand for good measure. He’d be lining up next to Diego. His stallion dwarfed Callie’s little gelding.
As he straightened, Jackson glanced toward the platform where Pamela Talmadge stood beside her father. Ever so slowly, she raised an emerald swatch and waved his color toward him. He knew she wanted him.
Damn shame too…since I’m not one bit interested in you any longer.
The truth stung like a blistering burn, but with a nod in her direction, Jackson pulled up into the saddle. Easing into place, he shot a glance toward Callie. She shook hands with the soldier holding Diego’s reins.
And it’s all your fault, you wild hellion.
His gaze shifted down the row of other contestants, then over to the huge gathering of spectators. A rainbow of colors fluttered against the sky as the crowd waved their cotton swatches. Surprisingly, more than a few waved Callie’s colors.
A smile pulled across his lips.
He inhaled, and his nostrils flared from the smells of horses and barbecue as he resettled his gaze on his partner. The brim of her hat now leveled with her eyes. He leaned sideways and offered his hand.
“Good luck, partner,” he said above the clamoring excitement.
Callie extended hers and their fingers touched, then slid together into a firm shake. Happiness brightened her flushed face and she gifted him with another one of her incredible smiles.
“You too, partner,” she said. Breathtaking softness warmed her eyes and caused Jackson’s heart to thud in his chest.
Colonel Talmadge boomed above the growing din. “READY…”
Jackson struggled to rally his emotions. “You realize I’ll win,” he calmly stated. An uncertainty rumbled through him and surprisingly, however, he found himself not wanting her to be disappointed. Still, there wasn’t one other woman in this race. Not one. Good God, why couldn’t she be as predictable as the vacuous Miss Talmadge?
“SET…”
Anticipation danced across Callie’s mesmerizing blue eyes. With her gaze still locked on his, she leaned low across her saddle. She looked so young and so alive.
And in that exact moment, Jackson realized he did not want her to lose.
“GO…”
The sound of the starting pistol shattered the air.
Chapter Seventeen
Horses surged from the starting point in an explosive rush and the dust cloud raised by the thundering hooves nearly choked Jackson. He leaned forward and gave Salvaje free rein, the beast’s powerful stride pushing them forward into the first turn. Jackson veered sideways and clipped past the first marker. His shoulder brushed the wooden staff, before Salvaje shot off across the open field toward the second white flag fluttering in the breeze an eighth of a mile away.
“Come on, boy,” he urged, leaning even lower across the saddle to cut the wind. “Let’s make our move.” At the third marker, Salvaje claimed the lead, galloping past a bay gelding and a plucky little mustang that faltered in the turn. Jackson glanced over his shoulder and spotted Diego, now in second place but still a full length behind.
Finally. Come on, Callie…move it.
He tightened his grip on Salvaje’s reins and flew past the fourth and fifth guidons with ease. The pommel pressed against the base of his ribs and the animal’s silky mane whipped his chin, prickling his face. He chanced another backward glance as he applied slight pressure to the steel bit inside Salvaje’s mouth. The beast snorted and tossed its massive head, fighting the subtle command to slow. “Easy, boy.” Jackson issued yet another slight draw on the reins. “I’m taking over now.”
With crimson cloth fluttering above her saddle, Callie edged alongside Jackson; the sound of their horses’ hooves pounding against the earth rumbled between them. Neck and neck, they battled for the lead down the home stretch.
Mere seconds from winning, Jackson again tightened his grip. “Let ’er go,” he whispered to his stallion. Callie swept past them as Diego barreled across the finish line. Only then did Jackson release the restraining pressure on Salvaje’s reins, allowing the horse to blaze across the line a moment later.
He let me win!
The crowd rushed forward, oblivious to the confusion resonating through Callie. Before she could stop them, the spectators pulled her from Diego’s saddle and hoisted her to the shoulder of the closest man. All around her, in a tempest of crimson, her racing color whipped in the hands of the multitude chanting her name. “Callie…Callie…Callie…”
Perspiration ran in rivulets down her face.
But this isn’t right. He…let me win.
The crowd headed to the winner’s stand. From her perch atop a brawny shoulder, Callie scanned the sea of faces in a maddened search to locate her perplexing partner.
With her heartbeat hammering in her ears, she finally spotted Jackson near a crowd of supporters. Surrounding him, they shook his hand and pummeled him on the back.
With a quick swipe of her tongue, she moistened her dry lips and tasted acrid dust. But no words formed—he was unlikely to hear them anyway. She passed from shoulder to shoulder in a steady move toward the winner’s platform, yet her gaze remained fastened on her partner.
He threw the race.
But why?
Then his gaze locked on hers. His lips shifted upward into an indisputable smile. He winked, and the simple gesture penetrated every corner of Callie’s confused heart.
Jackson touched the brim of his hat and his partner’s lips lifted ever so slightly in return. That tentative smile validated his decision to let her win.
This feels good. Damn good.
He surrendered Salvaje to a waiting soldier who also held tight to Diego’s reins. After scanning the crowd, he turned and followed them as they carried Callie atop their shoulders toward the winner’s stand. An easy lift by a burly sergeant placed her on the platform in front of Pamela Talmadge who held high a carved statuette of a running horse.
Near the stage, Jackson came to a stop beside Gus. The old man nodded and clapped a palm against Jackson’s shoulder in good-natured camaraderie.
“Hell of a race, son,” he said.
“I gave it my best shot.”
“Um-hum.” Gus chuckled, sliding thick arms across his barrel chest. “I’m sure you did.”
Before Jackson could reply, the booming voice of Colonel Talmadge drew everyone’s attention. “Settle down, folks.” He gestured with his hands. “Settle down. My daughter has a few things she’d like to say, so listen up.”
Pamela nodded and offered a bright smile. “Thank you, Father,” she said, turning to face the crowd. “Indeed, we offer our congratulations to Miss Callie Cutteridge who ran a most exciting race. Although Major Neale gave her a run for her money, Diego crossed the finish line the victor.” She faced Callie and held out the prize. “Cheers to a fine win, darling.”
The crowd applauded, their shouts deafening.
Callie hesitated before accepting the trophy. Her voice rose above the din. “Thank you, everyone. Yes. Thank you. But, please listen to me…listen all of you.” The crowd politely quieted. “I appreciate your support, but I must share this win with Jackson Neale, for his horse is also one of the territory’s fastest.” Her gaze cut to her partner. “It was he who allowed this exciting and entertaining finish for you.”
Pamela smiled. “Yes, I agree…Major Neale, please join us up here.” The colonel’s daughter extended a white-gloved hand, summoning him up the stairs with a wiggle of her fingers.
The crowd cheered. “Jackson…Jackson…Jackson…”
Jackson raised his hands in mock surrender and aided by a light shove from Gus, he took the stairs two at a time. Another few steps brought him to Callie’s side. He waved to the crowd, causing yet another round of applause to erupt. Emerald swatches now joined the twirl of crimson as the spectators brandished their raci
ng colors high.
He glanced down at Callie. Her hat had fallen from her head and now dangled down her back by its leather lanyard. As always, wayward strands escaped her braid in a disheveled cascade around her face. High on her right cheek, dirt smudged golden skin.
She looked a radiant mess.
Strange warmth penetrated Jackson as he turned to face the crowd. “Rumor has it the winner is entitled to a congratulatory kiss from Miss Talmadge,” he hollered, glancing at Pamela. “With the colonel’s permission, of course.” Uproarious laughter erupted from the multitude as Jackson’s gaze shifted back to Callie. Her eyes widened. “Since Miss Talmadge obviously won’t be lavishing such a valued prize on our girl here…”
Callie took a full step backward, bumping into Colonel Talmadge.
Jackson flashed a quick grin to the crowd before fixing his gaze back upon his bedraggled partner. “I would be honored to serve in Miss Talmadge’s stead.”
Applause burst around him. Before Callie could refuse, he swept her into a tight embrace. The crowd pushed forward chanting, “Kiss her…kiss her…kiss her.” The gasp from a startled Miss Talmadge and the clearing of the colonel’s throat barely registered inside Jackson. Kissing this woman in front of half the population of the territory might not make her a damn bit happy. At this precise moment, however, he didn’t care. An urge he’d not once felt for the properly predictable Miss Talmadge blistered through him to settle in his groin.
Ever so slowly, Jackson leaned Callie backward, nestling her body against his. The hard swell inside his denims fit nicely at the juncture of her legs.
His gaze froze hers. Perspiration beaded his forehead. He tasted her rasping breath as it slid across his lips. His nostrils flared as he took in her unforgettable scent. A white cotton shirt clung to her skin and somewhere deep inside, Jackson conjured the image of her naked body clinging instead to him. Pausing just above her lips, he whispered, “With her permission, of course.”
And a heartbeat later, he covered her mouth with his.
Callie hadn’t expected him to let her win the race—much less foresee this kiss. A wave of heat exploded inside her, shooting down both legs. She trembled, nearly collapsing in his embrace. This was not the punishing kiss he’d delivered at the Eschevons’ party. Where his body pressed against hers, disorder now ruled. Nerve-endings sparked into life as the pressure between her legs built into a roil that left her wobbling where she stood, even while an explosion of disbelief choked her brain. Awareness bounced up her spine to splash into a hot rage across her face as she scrambled for control of her emotions. This damn jackass was humiliating her in front of everyone.