by Cindy Nord
Pamela’s gasp, Dillon’s laughter and the old man’s knowing smile all sent Callie’s emotions spinning. With more charm than should be allowed, Jackson leaned from the waist and swept wide his arm. “After you, partner,” he said with a wink.
A bewildering ache seized Callie and with a push of her hands, she straightened from the wall. The corset dug into her ribs, a maddening reminder of her foolishness. Her chin rose and without another word, she swept past them all and glided straight out the bedroom door.
Chapter Twenty-One
The faraway sound of thunder rolled over Callie, interrupting her contemplation. She drew back on Diego’s reins and glanced toward the Rincons. An angry gloom draped the craggy palisade, mixing with the late-afternoon light.
A sudden wind drove pinpricks of hot sand against her face and the aroma of piñon and sagebrush overwhelmed her. Saltbush seemed to grab out at her legs with its splintered branches as Diego pushed past the shrubs. Dried fruit pods still clung to them and rattled like paper lanterns.
A second gust nearly lifted her hat from her head. Callie grabbed the felt brim and tightened the lanyard, anchoring the slouch into place.
Her gaze skimmed the serrated mountains. Gunmetal gray clouds piled high, building in thickness and intensity all along the peaks. Twisting in the saddle, she looked west toward Tucson. A reddish-brown, dust-laden haze marred the sun’s majestic streaks.
Gus and Jackson were a couple of hours behind her, longer if they’d stopped to rest the team. The moon had still owned the sky when she’d climbed atop Diego and pointed her gelding toward home. Had Gus found the message she’d left him? Would he understand her need to leave before everyone else?
A shudder that had nothing to do with the wind whipped through Callie. Truth be told, she wasn’t ready to face Jackson so soon after last night’s kiss. She needed time to think.
And yet, hours later, she found herself in the same asinine quandary. Her belly quivered as an undeniable heat simmered inside. She wanted Jackson, and all that unfamiliar want frightened her.
She issued a defiant snort, pointing her index finger toward the hazy horizon behind her where he and Gus by now probably rode. “But I sure as hell don’t need you. Do you hear me, partner? I don’t need you one damn bit.” The words had trouble getting around the wad of misery lodged in her throat. She tried to swallow, but the lump refused to budge.
Callie swiveled and faced east. Before her gut twisted any tighter, she gathered the reins and nudged Diego’s flanks.
The gelding opened up into a strong gallop.
Fifty minutes later, and under a bank of ominous clouds, she rode into the side yard of Dos Caballos. A flash of red, Pilar’s billowing Mexican skirt, drew Callie’s gaze to the washhouse. The cook struggled against a pounding wind to remove clothing from the line, her head averted from the striking sand.
Callie reined Diego to a halt near the stables. The corrals were empty. Where the hell was Banner? And what about the mares they’d left penned along the Angel, the ones they chose to keep? Had her farrier, or the other vaqueros, thought to bring them closer to the ranch?
“Pilar,” she hollered, but the wind threw the word back at her. A small dust cyclone spun nearby as Diego paced in a tight circle. Callie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted again. “Pilar!”
The cook turned and waved. “Señorita!” She shifted the clothes to her other arm and pointed toward the house. “I so glad you’re home. Storm’s nearly here. Hurry, let’s go inside.”
Raindrops splattered Callie’s hat brim. She stole an upward glance. This was no summer shower. This was a driving desert demon. An angry wall of tumbling sand and ebony clouds rushed to engulf the ranch. Before she could worry about herself, she must make certain the mares were safe.
“Not yet,” she shouted, settling back into the saddle. She gathered the reins, then pulled them taut to stop Diego’s pacing. “I’ve got to ride to the Angel corrals and make sure the horses are safe. Gus and the others are a couple of hours behind me. I’ll be back soon.”
She dug her spurs deep and her horse sprinted forward.
A thunderclap swallowed Pilar’s response.
Callie had no time to spare. She leaned low in the saddle and gave Diego free rein. Another boom opened wide the sky. And a moment after that, the torrential rains began.
“What do you mean she’s not here?” Jackson yelled above the storm as he reined Salvaje to a stop before Banner. “Where the hell is she?”
“Pilar said she rode out to da Angel to bring in da mares.” Banner stepped back into the stable to avoid the slicing rain. The lamplight inside outlined him in a ghostly halo. “She don’t know we’d moved ’em to da Dos Llamos corrals yesterday.”
Water sluiced down Jackson’s military slicker and reflected the gleam of lightning around them. His gaze cut sideways as Gus reined the Percherons to a stop.
“What’s wrong?” the old man bellowed above the wind as he shifted on the wagon’s bench to face them. They’d ridden hard to get back to the ranch, and weariness reflected in his face.
“Callie rode back out in this mess.” Rain soaked the collar of Jackson’s shirt.
Gus rammed home the side brake with his foot. “Jeezus…why would she do that?”
“She thought da mares were still out by da Angel,” Banner hollered from the open doorway. “But we moved ’em to higher ground while y’all was gone.”
Jackson stared down at the black man. “How long has she been gone?”
“A couple of hours. Maybe more.”
“A couple of hours?” Jackson rasped. His pulse thrummed inside his veins.
“She knows better than to be out in the dark after the creeks flood,” Gus yelled above another clap of thunder.
The statement hit Jackson hard. Why in God’s name had she sneaked out and ridden back ahead of them?
His throat tightened. You knew why.
He gripped the reins until the soaked leather stretched taut. A premonition as powerful as the storm’s fury rumbled through him. “Something’s wrong, Gus.”
He pulled Salvaje’s reins to the left, but the wrangler reached out and gripped Jackson’s arm. “Hold up, son. I’m sure the bridge across the Angel’s washed away by now. You’ll have to go through the pass, if it’s still open.”
Jackson nodded as his stomach cramped. Callie was in trouble. He felt it clear to his bones, and in that moment his heart lurched, followed by a reeling stab in his chest. Jeezus, how long had the truth been there? Taunting him…riding beneath the confusion and anger and every other emotion Callie had ever evoked from him?
The admission clamored louder than any thunderclap: My God…I love her.
The weight crushed him. What was so baffling a moment ago now became inescapably clear. Damn, a blind man could’ve seen it…why in the hell hadn’t he?
“Do you want me to ride with you?” Gus yelled.
Water poured from Jackson’s hat as he stared down at the ground beneath the team.
I do…I—actually love her.
“I said do you want me to come too?” Gus screamed again.
Jackson swallowed, then lanced his gaze to the wrangler’s. Worry carved across the old man’s leathery face, trenching lines in his forehead and around his mouth. “No… Just take care of the supplies. I’ll find her.”
Without another word, Jackson set spurs to Salvaje. Hard and fast, they galloped from the stable yard.
Leaning over the saddle, he demanded more speed. And the stalwart stallion obeyed, thundering over the ground with all the fury of the wind.
The desert could no longer absorb the monster storm. Angel Creek already had crested its boulder-strewn banks, channeling the flood into the Rincons’ sandstone labyrinth. Ancient corridors filled with roiling water, flooding into slot canyons, and building in intensity, swirli
ng, accelerating through a hundred narrow passages. An unstoppable, unrelenting beast on a churning rampage of destruction. Rain coursed in rivulets down Callie’s face, soaking her saddle and leathers. Her clothes stuck to her like a second skin and her boots filled with water. She barely had any feeling left in her feet. She was shivering and bone-tired from battling against the sand and driving wind.
“Come on,” she begged, urging Diego toward the closest incline. “We’re almost there. Come on.” She dug her spurs into the gelding’s flanks, demanding more strength from the already exhausted animal. The horse neighed and balked, fighting to get footing in the saturated soil.
An ungodly rumble startled Callie. She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the roar. A frothy wall of water tore around the bend in the corridor and bore straight down upon them. A bolt of lightning cracked the sky, reflecting branches and debris churning inside the mud-colored, on-rushing demon. The raging torrent caromed off the canyon walls, moving faster than any horse and rider ever could. Callie’s stomach heaved.
“Move it,” she screamed above another roll of thunder, but she knew they had little time left. Fear drove the gelding up the incline, but he slipped, losing precious time in a frantic search for quarter among the ever-shifting shale.
Leaning low, Callie jerked the coiled rope from the saddle. She looped one end of the lariat over the leather horn. The other, she knotted around her waist.
Closer and closer the horrific howl grew.
Precious seconds were all she could offer the horse before the rope tightened.
“Go with me, God,” she mumbled. Before she could change her mind, Callie shoved over the cantle of the saddle, then off the back of the animal. She hit the ground hard, boot heels slipping against the shale.
“Move it,” she shrieked, slapping Diego on the rump. The gelding bolted, throwing sand and loose rock as it clambered upward.
Would there be enough time to drag her up the embankment and out of the torrent’s grip? Would the force of the water snap the line?
The rope zipped through Callie’s gloved hands as she scrambled, lost her footing, then scrambled again.
Free of a rider’s weight, her horse’s stride lengthened, then the rope pulled taut. Callie jerked forward onto her hands and knees. Jagged stones ground into her denims. Water slapped her thighs, then wrapped her belly and chest, encasing her inside an ice-cold tomb.
The bitter taste of fear gagged her, yet still Diego climbed. Callie dug her hands into the earth to right herself, but the water rose too fast, up her neck to clog her throat. Tears coursed her cheeks, mixing with the rain and debris, robbing her of sight.
Jackson’s image filled her thoughts, followed by a mind-shattering truth. If only she could have one more moment with him to say…to tell him…she loved him.
“Jackson,” she rasped, rounding his name into a brittle, broken sob. “Please, God—let me live long enough to—”
The wall of water slammed into her, sweeping her inside a roiling hell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson glanced skyward. Rain pummeled his face, drenching him. Irritation stretched further the thinning thread of his patience. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop Mother Nature’s wrath.
The stinging wind buffeted him as he pulled Salvaje’s reins up tight. He swiped his face against his shoulder to wipe away the water running in his eyes, then scanned the area where the corrals once stood. Fence posts had snapped in half, and splintered railings littered the ground like a wagonload of scattered lucifer matches.
High water had taken out the bridge, as well.
The musty stench of creosote bushes and saturated earth filled his nostrils, penetrating deep into his throat. He could almost taste the desert.
He certainly tasted fear.
For more than an hour he’d searched for Callie, and his worry pressed heavy on him now. He inhaled, then heaved a weighty sigh. Impulsive and reckless, both words perfectly described her. And there was nothing he could do to alter her independent ways, either.
His gloved hand rose. Another swipe across his face removed more rain. He had so many conflicting things drumming through his mind, but his next breath stopped the confliction. He didn’t want Callie to change. Not now. Not ever. He admired her strength, her courage, her dogged determination. All he wanted to do now was find her and tell her so.
The horses, the ranch, nothing mattered to Jackson without her. She was Dos Caballos, and that truth penetrated even deeper than the biting wind.
He again swiped his face, then roared, “Callie.” Still no reply. He nudged Salvaje toward a lone cabin perched on the nearby hill.
Waterfalls gushed down the small incline and cut several streams through the trail leading to the old mining shack. Void of any overhang, the knotty, rough-hewn building glistened a mottled gray beneath the eerie light.
Please, God, let her be inside.
Jackson slid from the saddle, then splashed to the door, leading the stallion by the reins. Rusty hinges groaned as he shoved open the flimsy panel and peered inside. Through the solitary window, lightning illuminated the room. He could make out an empty bed, a stack of firewood on the hearth, a cold grate, but no Callie.
“Sonofabitch,” he hissed, turning back to stare through the driving rain. The worn step beneath his Wellingtons creaked. Inside his boots, damp toes tightened. He pressed his free hand against the doorframe, gauntlet-covered fingers digging into the weathered pine. Where are you, my wild little hellion?
His gaze cut in the direction of the sandstone corridors, the worst possible place to cross the Angel.
And the only place left to search.
Oh God, no.
The rush of blood in his ears overrode the storm’s fury. He turned, vaulted into the saddle, then pulled the reins sideways to turn his horse.
Jackson reached the ravine and urged Salvaje along its rocky edge. Desperation gripped his chest, twisting his gut into a knot. His saddle creaked as he leaned over the precipice and peered into the blackness. Water poured in rivulets from his hat brim.
“Callie!” he bellowed again.
Salvaje stopped and issued a full-blown neigh. Jackson tightened his legs around the stallion and urged him onward, but the animal still balked, tossing his head in protest. The long, sodden mane slapped against Jackson’s wrist.
“Keep moving, dammit,” he ordered, jaw muscles clenching around his gritted teeth. But the beast held firm, snorting and pawing the ground. Then, from out of the darkness came the answering neigh of another horse.
Hope swelled inside Jackson. “Callie,” he yelled just as a slash of light outlined the other animal.
Riderless.
Jackson’s veins constricted. Urging his horse forward, he closed the gap. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, boot heels sinking.
When he reached for Diego’s headstall, the gelding flinched and jerked his head away.
“Whoa, there…that’s my boy.” Jackson smoothed his hand down the horse’s neck, then chest, then farther down the leg past the cannon. He found no injuries.
Had Callie been thrown? He straightened, his gaze lancing to the askewed saddle and the rope looped around the horn. The hemp trailed over the animal’s rump, before snaking down into the ravine.
What the hell? He pulled on the lariat, but it didn’t budge. And then, a horrifying realization punched into the pit of his stomach.
Jackson dropped to his knees, then flattened onto his belly, sliding his hand down the taut line as far as he could reach. “Oh my God…” He scooted closer to the rim, the stones beneath him digging into his stomach. His hands cupped around his mouth and he yelled, “Hold on, Cal. I’m here.” The back of his throat burned as his strained voice sliced into the churning darkness below.
He surged to his feet and maneuvered Salvaj
e to the edge, looping one end of his own rope around the swell on his saddle. He threw the other end into the crevasse. The stallion snorted and sidestepped.
“Hold firm,” Jackson demanded, jerking on the rope. He maneuvered into position alongside Callie’s lifeline and stretched out his right hand, gripping her taut cord.
Slowly, he worked his way over the rocky lip. Loose rock pressed against the soles of his boots, skidding beneath his feet. He paused, carefully planted his foot and started again.
Inch by inch he descended.
Shale tumbled toward the deafening torrent. Rain drenched his shirt, ran into his mouth, poured from his hat. Yet still Jackson pushed on. The slick ropes cut through his sodden gloves, but one false step would send him plummeting down the hill. Lightning speared the sky, sending forth a bolt as jagged and raw as his patience.
“Hold on, hellion,” he whispered. Another footstep, and then another. Finally, Jackson touched something other than rock. His tight hold on his emotions slipped, catapulting him to the edge of terror as he peered into the angry black void.
“I need some damn light,” he bellowed. As if the heavens heard his hoarse petition, another streak of lightning cleaved the sky.
Jackson’s breath halted deep in his throat. Turbulent water swept over Callie’s partially submerged body, smacking against her shoulders in cresting whitecaps. The leather lanyard around her neck had secured her hat, but the slouch bobbed wildly in the current. Wet hair veiled her upturned face.
She wasn’t moving.
A sharp pain tore through his heart, rivaling the bolt of lightning that had ripped open the heavens. Dear God…I’m too late.
Jackson yanked on her rope, struggling to pull Callie’s limp form away from the outcropping of granite.
She didn’t budge.
Fear spiked through him as he slid his hand down the line. His fingers bunched the material of her shirt into a cambric wad, allowing him a firmer hold. Shoulder and arm muscles tightened under his frantic pull. Twice more he tugged, but to no avail. A third pull caused the fabric to rip under his effort, and his raspy demand met the rain-soaked night. “Let go of her, you sonofabitch.” He leaned closer, his body now hip-deep in the churning water. Another hard jerk finally freed Callie from the boulder’s death grip.