With Open Arms

by Cindy Nord

  Her joy deepened as Father Miguel hobbled forward to begin the wedding ceremony. Moments later, whispers filled the room, drawing her attention away from the old cleric and back to the doorway of the parlor.

  A gasp tumbled from her lips.

  Her youngest child and only daughter stood just inside the doorway. Instead of her usual attire of denims and cotton shirt, Francesca radiated elegance in a white gown that draped the corridor behind her in a flowing train.

  Even though Callie vowed she would not cry…moisture flooded her eyes. When had her precious baby grown into such a magnificent woman? A sprinkling of daisies danced like butterflies amid the golden chignon she’d fashioned of her usually riotous locks. Dashing away the tears, Callie nearly laughed aloud when she caught sight of the boots her daughter elected to wear beneath her fancy wedding dress.

  Oh, Francesca…you are such a jewel. How fast the years have flown.

  Callie swept her gaze to the man who waited to escort their beloved daughter down the aisle to the waiting arms of another. Her heart thundered beneath the layers of blue silk at her breast. She raised her fingers to her throat and caressed the strand of pearls Jackson had presented to her on the night of Francesca’s birth.

  She loved this man with a passion that knew no end.

  Strands of silver now dusted Jackson’s once-sable locks. And a dark suit covered the strong body that had cradled her nakedness just this morning. His gaze met hers, and his lopsided grin told her how much he loved her.

  Another wave of happiness surged through her as she smiled back. Jackson walked their daughter toward her waiting groom, and as they moved past her, Callie prayed Francesca’s life would be as rich and as blessed as her own had been. At Father Miguel’s cue, Jackson relinquished his little girl, stepped back and then settled onto the chair next to Callie.

  He clasped her hand. Their fingers entwined. “Despite our rocky start, hellion, I’d say we did pretty well.”

  Callie nodded, biting her lower lip to prevent a joyful sob.

  “And don’t worry,” he whispered. “Frankie will be just fine. Fort Riley isn’t that far by train. We’ll go visit anytime you want. The boys can take care of things while we’re gone.”

  “I should never have allowed you all to start calling her by that silly nickname when she was a baby.”

  “She’s you made over, Cal…all full of sass and sparkle.” He stifled a laugh. “Hell’s fire, Billy’s good times are just beginning.” Callie shushed him before he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss upon her fingertips.

  She giggled and cupped his jaw. “We made wonderful babies, didn’t we?” she whispered, gazing at their children as the ceremony continued.

  Jackson nodded. “We sure did. And you finally had a daughter you could dress up in frills and lace, only she turned out to be just like her mother after all.”

  “But we both play the piano well,” she said, pleased with her fiftieth birthday gift from her husband. Shipped all the way from New York last fall, the elegant grand piano now occupied a place in the parlor while Callie’s old one had found a new home at the orphanage.

  “You look gorgeous today, by the way,” Jackson added, drawing her gaze back to his. “All dressed up fancy and clean.” He chuckled as she tugged at her skirt.

  “Well, I hate this getup even though Pamela insisted I wear the dang thing.” She glanced over his shoulder toward the smartly-dressed couple sitting behind Gus and Pilar. Even after twenty years of marriage to her soldier-dear, Pamela still radiated pure elegance.

  “I’d do it all over again, Mrs. Neale,” Jackson said, bringing Callie’s attention back to him. “Every single bit of it.” His grin shifted into the delicious smirk that stirred her most pleasurable places.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his. “And if you’re nice, I’ll let you show me again tonight just exactly what you mean.”

  His brow arched as a hot glint filled his gaze. “Again?”

  She smiled and leaned against him. “Remember, you did save me from a lifetime of loneliness.”

  “Yes I did, hellion…and when it was all said and done, you welcomed me with open arms after all.” He winked at her, squeezing her hand. “’Sides, I got me a pretty good trade for a black horse. A pretty good trade, indeed.”

  About the Author

  Bestselling Historical Romance writer, Cindy Nord is also the USA Today Lifeblog ‘Recommended Read’ author of No Greater Glory, book one in her four-book The Cutteridge Family series. She is a member of numerous writers groups, and her work has finaled or won countless times in writing competitions—including the prestigious Romance Writers of America National Golden Heart Contest. A luscious blend of history and romance, her stories meld both genres around fast-paced action and emotionally driven characters. Indeed, true love awaits you in the writings of Cindy Nord.

  Please join Cindy on Facebook at her popular Monday-thru-Friday morning “Coffee Klatch”, as well as on Twitter at @cnord2. And keep up with her appearances, booksignings and more at her webpage, www.cindynord.com.

  Look for these titles by Cindy Nord

  Now Available:

  The Cutteridge Family

  No Greater Glory

  Amid the carnage of war, he commandeers far more than just her home.

  No Greater Glory

  © 2012 Cindy Nord

  Widowed plantation owner Emaline McDaniels has struggled to hold on to her late husband’s dreams. Despite the responsibilities resting on her slender shoulders, she’ll not let anyone wrest away what’s left of her way of life—particularly a Yankee officer who wants to set up winter camp on her land.

  With a defiance born of desperation, she defends her home as though it were the child she never had…and no mother gives up her child without a fight.

  Despite the brazen wisp of a woman pointing a gun at his head, Colonel Reece Cutteridge has his orders. Requisition Shapinsay—and its valuable livestock—for his regiment’s use, and pay her with Union vouchers. He never expected her fierce determination, then her concern for his wounded, to upend his heart—and possibly his career.

  As the armies go dormant for the winter, battle lines are drawn inside the mansion. Yet just as their clash of wills shifts to forbidden passion, the tides of war sweep Reece away. And now their most desperate battle is to survive the war with their lives—and their love—intact.

  Warning: This novel contains complex emotions and battlefield gallantry wrapped around the inherent risks of falling in love with one’s enemy.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for No Greater Glory:

  Emaline crossed the hallway and pushed open the library door.

  Her eyes widened in surprise.

  Reece Cutteridge sat at her desk, boldly examining the entries in her ledger.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, closing the door behind her with a firm shove. He glanced up as she strode across the rug, then continued his study of the tome. She reached across the desk and flipped the volume closed, her heartfelt resolution to be pleasant toward the man squashed beneath the intricately tooled cover. “I’ll ask you again, Colonel. What are you doing in here?”

  He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “I’m impressed with the horses in your stable and wanted to look over their bloodlines. They come from excellent stock.” A faint smile curved his lips. “The extent of your recordkeeping is remarkable.”

  His compliment disturbed her. In fact, everything about him this morning disturbed her.

  She straightened and locked her arms across her chest. “I’ve always kept excellent household records. I would’ve told you what you wanted to know without you snooping. In fact, I can reel off the pedigree of each animal as easily as a child can the ABCs.”

  The chair moved backward. He stood and rounded the desk, t
hen came to a stop directly in front of her. Beneath his unbuttoned frockcoat, his white shirt lay open at his throat and a hint of dark hair teased her from the vee-shaped opening.

  Emaline swallowed, squelching the preposterous urge to touch that sun-darkened spot.

  Heat prickled down her spine. She averted her gaze and settled on the taut set of his shoulders. The rush of warmth spread across her belly and down her legs. She attributed the sensation to emotional and physical exhaustion.

  She refused to attribute it to need.

  “Men aren’t the only casualties of war,” he said, his silky smooth words drifting over her. “We lose good mounts in battle, too.” She looked back and nearly shuddered at the coldness reflected in his eyes. “When we leave, we’ll be taking your horses with us.”

  “W-what?” she stammered. “You can’t take them. It took years for Benjamin to achieve that bloodline.”

  “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

  White-hot fury poured through Emaline. All her good intentions, all her attempts to understand this man, died in the wake of his words. She didn’t grieve the horses; they were another casualty of war.

  What hurt most was how much he enjoyed this.

  “No, Colonel, you never did ask, did you? You pilfered my supplies, mocked my character and lifestyle, filled my home with your dying, and had the audacity to lure me in with your heartbreaking loss. Then when you had me falling under your wretched spell, you boldly proclaim you’re here to also steal my family’s heritage.” Her words tumbled out in a maddening rush. “Tell me, you…despicable heathen, do you plan on leaving me anything when you leave?”

  He smiled flatly. “Vouchers.”

  Vouchers!

  Emaline nearly buckled. “I live for the day you ride into battle and are blown straight back to hell, for that is surely where you’ve spawned.”

  “And that may well happen, Mrs. McDaniels, but when it does we’ll be riding your horses.”

  With lightning speed, Emaline’s palm connected with his jaw. The blow rocked his head to the side. The echo hardly faded before he reached out to band her waist. With a strong jerk, he brought her up against him. His belt buckle pressed into the softness of her belly. He leaned forward, dark eyes narrowing as he growled, “You will be paying me for that one.”

  His hold tightened and he bent her backward. His other hand slipped up to bury fingers in the base of her braid. The lower he bent, the closer he loomed. Until, in a fierce possession, he finally covered her mouth with his. Hard and demanding, he deepened the kiss. His hand freed her plait, moving down the arch in her back, then farther down over the curve of her buttocks.

  With an easy sweep, he lifted her and nestled her against him.

  Emaline pummeled his shoulders.

  He only tightened his hold.

  An incomprehensible pressure gathered deep inside her. The longer he branded her and the harder she fought, the more mesmerizing the sensations spiraled.

  Unabated. Unrestrained.

  Until finally her entire world tipped out of control.

  Her flailing ceased. Her hands dropped back to his shoulders. She no longer could fight against his intoxicating onslaught or staunch the flow of emotions cresting over her. In fact, she could no longer remember why she needed to fight this man at all. An incredulous yearning ignited somewhere deep inside and she issued a husky, guttural groan, her lips softening beneath his just one small fraction.

  An acquiescing moan followed. Abruptly, he straightened her and when his pressure lifted from her lips, Emaline’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyelids shuttered open and through a shimmering veil, she watched his mouth shift sideways into a smirk. The sight slammed hard against her ragged nerves. The fragile flame of desire, so precious and new, sputtered and then flickered out.

  Unable to force words past her tingling lips, she simply stared up at him. Deep inside, however, she found her fury. Like a soothing balm, she smeared it across her heart, praying all the while for God’s flaming hand to strike him dead on the very spot he stood. With their gazes still locked, he reached sideways and retrieved his hat from the desk, then settled it upon his head. A heartbeat later, both he and her leather-bound ledger were gone.

  A hunted woman, a forbidden love…and time ticking down on an ancient curse.

  The Angel and the Warrior

  © 2014 Karen Kay

  The Lost Clan, Book 1

  Eighteen years ago, Swift Hawk was sent to the earthly realm to try to break an enchantment that curses his clan to a half-life in the mists. As his allotted time runs short, a vision gives him a glimpse of his last chance to free his people. A delicate young woman with translucent white skin and star-like hair.

  He never thought his sacred vision would possess the tongue of a shrew.

  Angelia Honeywell and her brother Julian fled Mississippi amid a hail of rotten tomatoes and flying bullets. She only fired back in self-defense, but now they are on the run as their father pleads their case to the governor.

  With Julian trying to pass himself off as a wagon train scout, Angel knows they need help. When the handsome, black-eyed Swift Hawk agrees to save their skins, she can’t help but be drawn to his compelling gaze. But as they come together in a blaze of desire, the dark shadows of the curse descend, threatening to divide them forever.

  Warning: May cause nights of unbridled passion with the one you love.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Angel and the Warrior:

  He stared at her, and in his eyes, Angelia thought she saw a spark of…laughter? “After all, what trouble could there be, since a man and his wife are often seen alone together?”

  Angelia wasn’t certain she had heard Swift Hawk correctly. “What was that again?”

  He shrugged. “What?”

  “What you just said.”

  He gave her a perfectly innocent look and repeated, “Your brother is over by that ridge, trying to discover who trails him.”

  “No, not that—that other thing.”

  “You mean about my wife and I being alone?”

  “That’s it. That’s the one. Your wife? You have a wife?” she asked, feeling more than a little confused.

  He said, “Certainly I have a wife.”

  She sent him a sideways scowl. “I don’t believe you. Where is this person?”

  He grinned. “Right here beside me.”

  “Wait a minute. How can I be your wife?”

  “Very easily, I think.”

  Angelia sat for a moment, dazed. How could this be? On one hand, she was cheered that Swift Hawk was, indeed, very much interested in her. On the other hand, she realized she should have been worrying less and practicing more of exactly what she should say to this man.

  Was this what he’d meant when he’d said they belonged to one another? Marriage?

  Aloud, she said, “Swift Hawk, have I missed something? I don’t remember a marriage ceremony between us.”

  Swift Hawk frowned. “You do not remember? And yet recalling those moments we spent together is forever here.” He pointed to his head, and then to his heart.

  “Moments? What are you talking about?”

  “You do not remember.” He tsk-tsked.

  Angelia grimaced, placing a hand on her forehead, as if to ease the spinning sensation. “There must be something here I don’t understand, because I don’t recall a thing.”

  “Ah, then I should refresh your memory. But…surely you do not wish me to do this…” he made a mock glance around him, “…where others might overhear us, or see us.”

  “Swift Hawk, please. Be serious.”

  “I am.”

  She shook her head. “Have you gone crazy?”

  “Perhaps, for my wife treats me as though I am nothing more to her than a…” he drew his brows together, looking for
all the world as if he were in deep thought, “…friend.”

  “You are a friend.”

  “Haa’he, that I am…plus more. Now, I have something else to tell you, and for a moment, I would ask that we forget all this, switch our duties and I will be a teacher and you will be my pupil.”

  “Why?” she asked, still feeling bewildered and having difficulty following his line of thought.

  “Because I have a problem in mathematics for you.”

  “Swift Hawk, please, we are not doing our lessons now. We are having a discussion about…about…”

  Swift Hawk shrugged. “All right. If you do not wish to hear this problem, I will not bore you with it.”

  Angelia blew out her breath. “Very well. Tell me.”

  “No, I do not wish to disturb you with it…at least not now.”

  She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, all right? I… It’s only that you’ve said some things that have…surprised me, things I don’t understand, and frankly, you’re speaking about a subject that must be discussed by us in greater detail. But by all means, let me hear this problem that you have with mathematics first.”

  He ignored the sarcasm in her voice and gave her a look that could have been innocent, but it wasn’t. Before she could decide what he was up to, he said, “Tell me, what is the result when you add a man, a woman, and a morning spent together in each other’s arms?”

  “Shh. Swift Hawk. What are you doing? Say that quietly.”

  “Very well.” Lowering his voice, he whispered, “What do you get when you add—”

  “I heard you the first time. Swift Hawk, really, it…it…wasn’t like that… It was…” She stopped, for she seemed incapable of uttering another word.

  Now was the time. Now she should tell him.

  Angelia opened her mouth to speak, took a deep breath, then held it. How in the name of good heaven could she begin?

  She shut her mouth, thinking, summoning her nerve to say what must be said.

  Swift Hawk leaned in toward her. “Ah, I can see that you understand. Now you must observe that all of these things, added together, equals a marriage, does it not?”