With Open Arms

by Cindy Nord

  Excitement mingled with indignation. He’d been captivated by this particular stallion for years…vowing one day to capture the mystical creature himself. Taza shoved the woman toward the closest comrade, then stepped forward, centering his attention on the man who straddled the fabled horse.

  The white-eyes reined to a stop before him and dismounted. Taza did not have long to wait to hear the strange words. A heartbeat later, the second man translated the taller one’s garbled sounds into the smooth tongue of the Apache.

  “I recognize and respect you as the leader of this band of hunters. My name is Jackson Neale, and I, too, am a leader of warriors. But today I choose to talk instead of kill.”

  Heat flushed Taza’s face. He narrowed his eyes. Bold words from one without a weapon. Curiosity nipped at him, tamping back his anger. He waited for one breath, then another, before glancing at the interpreter, then back to Jackson Neale. The man’s eyes were the color of night and filled with an odd gleam.

  Taza cocked his head and scanned the ndaa from the top of his wide-brimmed hat to the tip of his dusty boots. “I am Taza. First son of Cochise. Why are you so foolish as to ride unarmed into my camp?”

  “I’ve come to offer you something other than your death this day.”

  Although the man did not look crazy, his ludicrous words indicated otherwise. Taza quirked his brow. “That is the second time you have spoken of my death, Jackson Neale, but it is you who is closer to dying.” He swept his arm wide to indicate the warriors poised atop boulders, all of them eager to let fly their readied arrows. “Without weapons, your words hold no bite.”

  The ndaa stepped closer, the tenor of his voice plunging. “Listen to me carefully.” He pointed westward to the purple-hued mountains. “Before the sun crests the top of those peaks, three hundred of my soldiers will arrive at this place. Even if you run from them, they will follow. They will not turn back this time. They will hunt you until they find you. And then, they will kill you and take your scalps.”

  A flush seared Taza’s cheeks as the killing rage returned. His chin rose higher. He stepped forward, bumping against the man. “What kind of leader warns away his enemy?”

  “The kind that will risk anything to save the woman he loves.” The ndaa scanned the female behind him and then looked back. “To die is your choice, but I offer you an alternative…something to take back to your father. A trade for the woman.”

  “The woman?” Taza cut his gaze to the captive. Tears flowed down her face as she stared up at this reckless man. He ground his teeth and returned his attention to the ndaa. “What could you offer me?”

  The man ran a leather-gloved hand over the muscular neck of the stallion. “I offer my horse, the great Salvaje.”

  Taza swallowed. He scanned the animal’s strong lines. The solid build. He’d never seen the creature this close. His fingers curled into his palm as he stifled the urge to touch the beast.

  He huffed out a breath. “You could have waited for your army to arrive and taken your woman back then.”

  “And if it was up to the others…that is what would have happened. But I did not want to chance her being injured. Trade me my woman for the stallion and you can live to share this victory over many campfires.”

  Full-throated laughter from his men buttressed Taza’s sarcastic chuckle. Crazy or not, the ndaa intrigued him. “We are but two among many, and we have listened to the white man’s lies far too long—”

  “I speak only the truth.” The ndaa’s dark eyes narrowed. “And I offer you this opportunity out of respect. Choose to live and tell Cochise of my hope for a new beginning for our people.”

  “There will be no new beginning,” Taza snapped, finished with the game. “Instead, I will kill you both now and take all the horses.”

  The ndaa showed no fear. He leaned sideways and spoke to his interpreter. A nod followed, and the second man cupped his hands to his mouth, then whistled.

  Mumblings from Taza’s warriors grew into shouts of alarm behind him, forcing his attention to the ridgeline. Morning light fell across a dozen or more Navajo and Papago Indians, hated enemies of the Apache, traitors who chose to become the eyes of the desert for the white man. These very serpents now trained their repeating rifles upon Taza’s raiding party.

  Taza’s breath caught, his blood chilling.

  Trapped.

  Seconds passed like hours as the hair on the back of his neck prickled. With only one way out, he and his warriors were the ones who would die.

  “I want no bloodshed,” the ndaa continued, his voice deep and direct. “Rather, I offer you the trade. Accept it, and you and your men can ride away free.”

  Too late, Taza realized the ndaa was as crazy as a fox. But Taza also understood family devotion and love. If the roles were reversed, he would stop at nothing to save his wife from his oppressors. He tightened his lips, a queasy feeling rolling through his stomach. This had been the omen carried by the hawk yesterday. The venerated beings who dwelled inside the mountains had sent the fearsome, feathered creature as a warning of the white-eyes’ appearance.

  His heart pounded against his ribs as he again scanned the ridgeline. The sight of the rifles spoke even louder than the ndaa. Honed from years of knowing how to survive, Taza lifted his mouth into a smirk. Yes, he would choose to survive and strike back the ndaas another day. “I will trade with you, and I will tell my father of your words.”

  The interpreter nodded and waved his arm toward the traitors lining the ridge. Upon seeing them lower their weapons, Taza shouted the order for his comrades to mount their ponies.

  Turning back to his enemy, he pulled a knife from inside the tall legging of his moccasin. The blade caught the emerging light and flashed like sunrays bouncing off water. His gaze bored into Jackson Neale’s. Leaning down, Taza sliced through the braided strips of rawhide that secured the woman. In the blink of an eye, the weapon returned to its place.

  “You have made a wise choice today, my friend,” the ndaa replied.

  The smirk across Taza’s lips widened as his warriors galloped past toward the rocky opening. “The ndaa and the Apache will never be friends.”

  He snagged the stallion’s reins from the man’s outstretched hand, then jammed his foot into the stirrup, swung his leg over the saddle and settled into place atop the great beast.

  Nudging the stallion backward several paces, he said, “I will not soon forget your name, Jackson Neale.”

  The man nodded, sliding his gaze to the softly sobbing female. “Nor I yours, Taza, eldest son of Cochise.”

  Taza snorted in disgust, then gouged the horse’s flanks with his heels, sending the animal into a strong gallop. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the ndaa sweep the woman into his arms.

  Straightening, Taza shrieked the Apache war cry, allowing the ebony beast to thunder over the desert toward freedom.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A distant plinking from the cantina’s piano floated through the open window of Room 2 at the Silver Lady Hotel. Moonlight fell in a gossamer drift over Callie and Jackson’s naked forms stretched across the bed. The soft breeze kissed skin still damp from their fervent coupling.

  Resting in the crook of Jackson’s arm, Callie gazed at her lover. He lay on his back, his solid leg still sprawled across her thigh. The back of his other wrist rested over his eyes and a satisfied smile lifted his lips.

  A hot burn flushed her cheeks. Their lovemaking had helped ease the sting of their long and dreadful ride back to Tucson, the painful procedure she’d endured while the doctor bandaged her wrists, and the angst when Jackson pulled her away from Gus’s bedside following multiple assurances from the physician that the old man would survive.

  After securing a room for the night, Jackson led her down a darkened hallway, their boot heels scuffing on the brick-red clay tiles. She had waited while he fumbled with the k
ey and turned the lock, then followed him over the threshold into the dark room. She’d barely had time to close out the world before she heard her name fall from Jackson’s lips, as soft as the moonbeams illuminating the sparsely decorated room.

  He pressed her up against the door, and then joined his mouth to hers in a desperate mating. Raw desire shot through Callie, and she wrapped herself around him. Within a minute, they’d shed their clothing and tumbled together onto the bed. The mattress sagged beneath their weight.

  Their breathing matched. Rapid. Desperate. He slid his hand up her leg, over her stomach, cupping her breast with a warm palm. She gasped and flowed into him, rippling like the Angel when his thumb stroked her budded peak.

  He trailed hot kisses across her face, his voice a racked whisper against her ear. “I’d thought I’d lost you forever…”

  And then his mouth found hers—a sweet, hot conquest…their tongues touching, then mating. She adored the taste and essence of this man.

  Callie quickened and rasped, “I’m s-so glad you saved me.”

  Her hands slicked over the tight muscles of his buttocks, her blood a roar in her ears. She arched against him, her shoulders straining upward from the mattress. His name, a pleading petition, escaped her mouth as his hot flesh finally found hers. Ready and eager, she burned for the fulfillment only he could give her. Few words were spoken. None were needed anyway. Their passion was a restorative drug, Jackson’s strength her compass.

  His hands slid beneath her hips and lifted; their breathing matched in intensity and need. And then, they merged together. Every stroke came faster. And as a whole, he healed them both.

  And now they lay quiet and spent. Reconnected. Never to part again. Memorizing every line of his face, Callie traced her finger over the bristles on his cheek. The prickling sensation sent a sizzle through her, boiling her blood once more. She pushed back his long hair, tucking the thick strands behind his ear. The silken hanks slipped from her fingers as her breath stuck somewhere inside, snagging on a joyful sob that lingered in her throat. Their wedding had been quick, in front of an old priest from the church at the edge of town.

  Callie had been broken. Jackson had pieced her back together—with his body, with his burning desire for her, with his promised vow to love only her. She could never thank him enough.

  “I love you so much,” she whispered. The words tripped over the catch in her throat. She slipped her finger over his lips, tracing his soft smile.

  He nipped her slender digit. “And I you, hellion…your strength and your shoot-from-the-hip spirit.” He turned his head to look at her, then added, “And your beautiful body made just for loving me.”

  His boldness and skill sent the flush cascading down her neck. Oh, how she cherished their intimacy. She’d never realized how lonely she’d been…until Jackson.

  And now she was his wife.

  Joy bubbled inside her. She wanted to laugh and learn to live again. More importantly, she wanted him to show her how. The muffled clopping of horses’ hooves filtered in through the window, followed by a faint bugle call from Camp Lowell.

  She released a fluttery breath and drew her hand across his chest, her palm moving in languid circles over the dark whorls that defined his solid contours. In stark contrast, moonlight bled over the white bandage wrapping her wrist. The wounds made by the Apache straps would leave scars, but they would forevermore remind her of her second chance at love and life with Jackson.

  The simple gold band she wore flashed in the pale light to confirm that fact.

  Jackson slipped a palm down her arm and drew her thoughts back to him. “How do your wrists feel now?” he asked, edging toward the bandage. His words tumbled into her soul, refilling the chambers of her heart.

  “Better.”

  “I’m glad.” He caressed the strip of cotton, then skimmed his fingertips lower, touching the gold band. “As long as I draw breath, Cal…you’ll never hurt again.”

  She entwined their fingers and squeezed, relishing the waves of heat that traveled to her very core. She loved this man with a hunger that knew no bound. Gazing into his eyes, she read only adoration and abiding promise.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you…” Her apology hovered in the sterling light. “Please forgive me.” The fragile plea tripped from her lips on a tremulous sigh.

  A moment later, he pushed onto his elbow, hovering above her. “You’re my world now. Forgiving is part of loving.”

  Bliss welled inside Callie. Never before had she known such openness. She wanted to savor all of him again, only slower…much slower this time.

  The sultry night sounds beyond their marriage bed faded beneath Jackson’s breathing. He slid his palm over her curves again, the husky groan of his approval nearly her undoing. And she responded, raising her hands to his shoulders, rejoicing in the way his body weighted hers. His dark eyes burned with ardent intensity for her.

  He bent and caressed her ear with his lips even as his hands lovingly stroked her body. “Everything about you drives me wild.”

  “Me?” She giggled, skimming her palms down his sweat-slicked back. Ripples of his desire tightened his muscles. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “I’m drowning under you,” she teased.

  His low laugh seared straight through her. “As I recall, hellion, you nearly drowning is what changed things between us.” His hand recaptured her breast. He teased the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  Callie gasped, enjoying the puckering sensation beneath his skillful summons. By slow degrees, Jackson lowered his head until he captured the nub in his mouth. He suckled. Flicked. Tormented. Then suckled again, drawing slow circles with his tongue. Frissons of desire radiated through Callie, then centered lower, tugging and scorching deep inside.

  Her fingers dug into the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders. She pulled him closer…and closer still.

  “P-Please…” she begged, not knowing the words, but knowing he’d understand.

  After moving upward again, he paused, his mouth inches from hers. How easily he plucked the strings of her yearnings. “I know what you need,” he crooned. “I’ve always known.”

  “I…I need you,” she panted, her words a fractured groan. “Only and always you.”

  “And I you, Cal. Only and forever.” Before her next heartbeat, Jackson covered her mouth with his. Unlike their frantic coupling of an hour before, this time he drew back and tasted again. Nibbling on her bottom lip. Savoring and suckling. Once. Twice. Teasing and tormenting, taking his time in loving her.

  Shyness fled as Callie’s litheness returned. Over and over she moaned her husband’s name until, with an indrawn groan, she spread herself wide open for him. They moved as one in true renewal to the passionate rhythm of their hearts. And on that perfect and precious night, they saved each other, and sealed their interminable partnership within the bonds of an eternal love.

  Epilogue

  Dos Caballos

  Twenty-six years later…

  Callie smoothed her palms over the tight skirt of her peacock-blue silk dress. The full, leg-of-mutton sleeve puffs seemed absurd and she could barely see over them, but she had agreed to wear the latest fashionable design since today was an extraordinary day. She also tried to ignore the way the bustled contraption, now propped on her backside, forced her to sit even straighter. She scanned the rows of people in the room until her gaze came to rest upon the venerable form of her brother. Reece Cutteridge sat beside his precious Emaline, his arm draped across the back of his wife’s parlor chair. His dark hair had turned a distinguished shade of silver, as had Emaline’s previously rich raven locks. Their visits from Virginia were few and far between, but Callie was thrilled to have them here.

  Her gaze shifted. Beside them, Gus Gilbert sat decked out in a new gray suit. A corded string tie gleamed against hi
s starched linen shirt. Nearing eighty now, he moved much slower. The Apache wound he’d received that long-ago day had been slow to heal and had left his right arm useless. Since then, his responsibility at the ranch had evolved into supervising the boys’ work. And, of course, offering his sage advice.

  He caught Callie’s gaze and sent her a quick wink.

  She grinned back, her heart melting. She cherished him so. Her gaze drifted to Pilar, sitting beside Gus. A thick silver plait coiled high atop her head. She scolded him for blocking her view of the upcoming ceremony. The wrangler patted her on the hand and then eased back into his chair. Callie stifled a laugh and skimmed her gaze past the Eschevons and several other friends.

  Her attention stopped at the front of the parlor where three men stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Tall and handsome, they were the epitome of perfection. She stared at them, so proud her heart nearly burst with joy.

  Cameron, her firstborn—conceived on that fateful night at the hotel in Tucson. It hardly seemed possible the precious little boy who’d tagged along after his father as Jackson worked the horses had received a law degree from Harvard last fall. Cameron now managed the business end of Dos Caballos, their well-respected breeding stable.

  Callie’s gaze moved to Lucas, her second son. He looked so uncomfortable in his dark woolen suit, rolling his broad shoulders against the constricting garment. She hid a grin, realizing he would much rather be stringing barbed wire in his dusty denims than standing in the parlor in such a fanciful display. He tugged at her heartstrings the most, for Lucas was their rebellious son, his hair falling well past his shoulders in thick drifts of sable. If given a choice, he far preferred the freedom of the great outdoors as he worked the horses from dawn to dark.

  Then Callie’s gaze came to rest upon Captain William Morrison, a friend of Cameron’s from their college days. An officer now stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas, Billy had been the only one to tame their precocious Francesca. And Callie would soon call him her son-in-law.