With Open Arms Read online

  A war-weary ex-soldier. An untamable woman. Love doesn’t stand a chance in hell…

  The Cutteridge Family, Book 2

  Hardened in childhood by the death of her parents, then left to run the family’s southwestern territory ranch when her brother rode off to fight for the Union years before, Callie Cutteridge hides her heartbreak behind a mask of self-sufficiency. Breaking horses for the army proves she’s neither delicate nor helpless. When a former cavalry officer shows up claiming to own her brother’s half of the Arizona ranch, she steels herself to resist the handsome stranger’s intention to govern even one single aspect of her life. After all, loving means losing…to her it always has.

  For months, Jackson Neale has looked forward to putting the bloodstained battlefields back east behind him. Callie isn’t the agreeable angel her brother led him to believe, but he’s damned well not the useless rake this foul-mouthed hellion thinks he is, either. His quest for calm stability contradicts sharply with her need for control, yet still their heartstrings tangle. But how can these mistrusting partners transform their fiery passion into happily-ever-after?

  Warning: Contains a high-strung, tart-tongued heroine who drives the hero past the point of rational thought. If she were a man, he’d be happy to connect a well-aimed fist at her jaw. As it is, he’d be happy to give her foul mouth a good scrubbing with a bar of soap.

  With Open Arms

  Cindy Nord

  Dedication

  To Tom…always and forever, the love of my life. And to Ben and Bill—best brothers ever. ♥

  Chapter One

  Arizona Territory

  March 1866

  The warmth of day vanished with remarkable speed, shrouding the desert under a bone-chilling twilight. Murky shadows crept across the Rincons’ rocky ridgeline as Jackson Neale slipped into the concealing darkness. Seasoned by four years of war, his body tensed with a caution that defined survival. His fingers folded around the worn, wooden grip of a well-oiled Colt. He could count on one hand the people he’d befriended on the trek westward from Virginia, and knew with absolute certainty the person riding into camp tonight wasn’t one of them. Only a fool would enter without hailing first, yet this stranger displayed a boldness that amazed him.

  In stony silence, the uninvited guest guided a horse toward the saddlebags by the fire. Small, flickering flames inside the ring of fieldstones washed a glow across the bay’s ruddy flank.

  His gaze moved upward.

  Mexican spurs strapped around the heels of silver-tipped boots caught the fire’s glint. Leather chaps encased long legs. And despite the chill, a jacket hung open to reveal a .44-caliber Remington strapped around denim-covered hips. A flat-brimmed hat, its crown encircled with a concha band of hammered silver, hid the face of the evening caller.

  The visitor dropped to the ground, the rowels on the spurs chinking when they hit the sand. He glanced around, then crouched on a knee beside the saddlebags.

  Jackson tightened his lips as all caution evaporated. He knew full well how to deal with bandits, having met a few already on his ride westward. He bolted from the shadows and slammed full-force into the unsuspecting thief. Momentum drove them both to the ground. In an instant, he pinned the fool against the sand. His right hand rose in a tight fist, his left shifting across the cotton plaid shirtfront to seek a firmer grip. In an instant, all the fight, all the pent-up energy, everything inside him dissolved. He’d never be too cold or too tired to forget the lushness of a female breast.

  His eyes widened as his arm dropped to his side.

  On a sharp breath, he rasped, “You’re…you’re a woman. I thought you were—”

  “Get off me, you stupid son of a…”

  The profanity spilled from her mouth with such ease that Jackson swallowed a lungful of air. Indigo eyes blazed up at him like shards of broken glass, and wild wisps of sun-stained hair danced against the curve of her cheek. Swathed beneath layers of trail dust, the hellion’s hard edge and tone of voice contrasted sharply with what his eyes told him about the rest of her. His heart responded with an engaging hitch, but he blamed the rush of heat that flushed his face on the nearby campfire, not the comical fact that this frosty little tart had taken him by complete surprise.

  He gained control of his emotions. “Why are you riflin’ through my gear?”

  Leather-gloved hands rose to thump against his chest. “I said get off me. I…can’t breathe.”

  He shifted sideways, pushing against the ground to stand. With a muffled oath, Jackson staggered back another step as she bolted to her feet. She bent to retrieve her hat and slapped it against her thigh. As she did, his gaze raked down the noteworthy curves of her body. Her masculine outfit provided a disguise, yet closer inspection did little to hide her figure. The fringe on her chaps rode both shapely legs, and the sight reminded him of the pleasures a woman could offer—sultry, sexy and full of endless possibilities. In this particular woman, however, all softness appeared to end with the supple leather.

  Anger sealed her mouth, and the scowl that creased her features indicated not a shred of sweetness filled her body, either.

  An involuntary clench seized his jaw. “Good God, woman, I could’ve killed you.”

  She issued an impatient huff. “I live with danger every day, so your words barely register.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she twisted her hair into a knot atop her head, then jammed her hat back over the tarnished curls.

  Jackson had never expected to see such a raw woman, and the enmity in her bright eyes held all the subtlety of baying hounds. She cursed smoother than a camp-following whore, but she’d die young if she needed to steal from a passerby to survive. He peered into the darkness but heard no other threatening sounds. She obviously rode alone.

  His attention drifted back. “Since you’re so nicely groomed now, start explaining what you’re doing in my camp.”

  “Your camp?” Her razor-sharp laugh sliced straight through him. “You might think this is your camp, but you’re standing on Cutteridge land and I own every damn acre.” The heat in her eyes branded him where he stood. “And, I sure don’t recall giving you permission to trespass here or anywhere else.”

  Her statement brought Jackson up short. He’d ridden more than twenty-five miles today, but hadn’t figured on reaching Cutteridge property until sometime tomorrow morning. The image on a faded daguerreotype, tucked beside the worn map in his saddlebag, flashed across his mind. The woman’s likeness, given to him months ago by his colonel, had been branded into memory. Yet there was barely a whisper of resemblance between the serene beauty reflected in his picture and the foul-mouthed hellion who stood before him now. Somehow, Jackson kept the blistering bile of disappointment from reaching his voice. “Cutteridge land, is it?”

  “You heard me clear enough.” Her expression hardened as she pressed closer. She brought her point closer still. “All Cutteridge. And all mine.”

  From somewhere beyond the campfire’s light, the forlorn howl of a coyote underscored her words. Smoke curled upward in lazy tendrils. Jackson’s nerves constricted as the woman’s words slipped around him like a noose. And tightened. He tipped back his head and stared at the wide expanse of stars inundating the ebony canvas above him. “Oh God,” he mumbled, the lump in his throat refusing to move. “Please don’t let this shrew be Colleen Cutteridge.”

  A bolt of raw adrenaline shot through Callie when the sound of her given name spilled from the tall, hard-angled man. Her pulse hammered in her chest. She squared her shoulders, her chin jutting higher as his gaze reconnected with hers.

  “We’ve never met,” she snapped. “I’d have remembered you.” Obviously,
he wasn’t some cowpoke looking to encroach on her land. Not this one. A red flag rippled inside her, and she pointed to the campfire in an attempt to hide her unease. “I spotted this a half mile away. A fire this bright’s a blatant invitation for Apache lookin’ to lift a scalp.”

  Stupid oaf.

  A smug smile lifted the man’s lips and a slash of white appeared. “I appreciate the warning.”

  From his chiseled jaw carved straight from granite, to his cool, collected calmness, the man possessed an ease of manner that unnerved Callie, and she didn’t appreciate the feeling one damn bit. A stubborn spirit, her companion and strength these past five years, spiked through her. She rubbed her midriff where his thighs had bruised her ribs. And for one disturbing moment, she couldn’t help but admire his impressive strength. Granted, he’d bruised her ego more than her body, but—

  Callie caught her thoughts and jerked them back into control, exactly where she liked things best. She took a full step backward, the rowel on her boot heel chinking across the tension. “Look, mister, I don’t give a squat if the Apache scalp you this night or the next. I just don’t want the bloody deed done on my ranch.” Her fingers curled around the grip of her revolver as her gaze scanned his belongings, then moved on to his horse waiting in the shadows. “I could shoot you myself for trespassing and spare the Apache the trouble of killin’ you. Or…” her gaze drifted back to lock with his, “…you can gather your gear, saddle that fine Morgan you’ve got line-tied over there, and get the hell off my land.”

  Seconds passed like hours before the dark-haired man bent to retrieve his hat.

  He straightened slowly, pulling the brim of the sweat-stained Stetson low upon his head. Through dark, cold eyes, he stared at her.

  With each thump of her heart, the stranger’s unnerving quiet further frayed her nerves. A log from the campfire shifted deeper into the flames, sending a shower of sparks heavenward. The pungent aroma of burning mesquite filled her nostrils and fused with a raw, unspoken awareness that sizzled from the man.

  He leaned forward, the brim of his hat bumping against hers. The thinnest hint of amusement lifted his lips. “It appears I won’t be riding from your life quite so soon.” His words were too soft, too controlling. “And this land isn’t just your land any longer.” Without removing his gaze, he reached into his frock coat. With the speed of a striking rattlesnake, an envelope appeared in his leather-gloved hand, then rose between them until level with her eyes. “The name’s Jackson Neale and this makes me your new partner.”

  Chapter Two

  Callie couldn’t remember a longer ride back to the ranch, the trip accomplished in stony silence. Who would’ve thought a day spent tracking a wild stallion would end with this outrageous claimant sitting across from her now? Her foot tapped the rust-colored tiles beneath the desk, and the tick of the mantel clock ricocheted through her as she waited for the man to ease into the opposite chair.

  The bulky envelope landed on the desktop in front of her.

  He smiled, then added, “Your brother sold me his half of the ranch ten months ago.”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs as she raked her gaze back to his. The glow from the desk lamp illuminated his face, highlighting years’ worth of exposure to nature’s elements. Beneath high cheekbones, several days’ worth of stubble shadowed a strong jaw, and a dark, full mustache only added rugged masculinity to his handsome face.

  He’s obviously a liar. And a damn good one, at that.

  “My brother wrote many times about remaining east, yet in all our correspondence, he never once mentioned selling off his half of Dos Caballos. In light of what you’ve just said, I find that extremely odd. Don’t you?”

  “Given the fact that he was my good friend as well as my commanding officer, yes.”

  Callie attempted to swallow past a lump of unfamiliar fear rising in the back of her throat. Even as this jackal spoke, she grappled with the horrific possibility that his tale might just be true. Her gaze swept over his shoulders and the unadorned military frockcoat that covered their wide span, the blue wool now faded to gunmetal gray. Dark-blue uniform pants hugged long legs, and black-leather riding boots showed the wear of the trail. Her heart sank further. Good God, could Reece have actually sold his birthright to this…vagrant? The man issued an audible sigh, and the grating sound forced her attention back to his face.

  “Why don’t you read the letter,” he suggested, dropping his hat upon the desk with a loud thud. He raised both hands, then tunneled his fingers through overly long hair.

  A chill oozed over her and she dropped her gaze to the envelope. The packet clashed with the rich wood of her mahogany desk. She forbade her fingers to shake as they slid over the parchment. Inhaling deeply, she broke the wax seal, removed the correspondence, then brought the papers to the lamplight to read.

  My Dearest Sister,

  If you’re holding this letter, then you’ve no doubt met my good friend, Jackson Neale. From my previous posts, you know I’ve decided to remain in Virginia and marry Emaline. I do believe this was the best way to break the news of your new partnership. I ask your forgiveness for doing so in such a blunt manner. Knowing you, however, any other avenue would have been met with stubborn resistance.

  Your new partner hails from Philadelphia with a background in banking. As my second-in-command, my major, during the war, I counted on him heavily. I’m confident you’ll be able to do the same. He’s intelligent, honest and one of the bravest men you’ll ever meet. I trust him implicitly, and in time, you will learn to trust him too. This I promise. He’s a good complement for you, Cal; he’s strong and able, just like you’ve had to be these past few years. Give him a chance; he’ll become your greatest asset. He was mine.

  With much affection,

  Reece

  Her eyes slipped closed.

  The scrawling signature belonged to her brother. Cold fear encased her and she could scarcely breathe. She would have to think of something quickly to divert this newest onslaught of change. She opened her eyes and shifted aside the letter to view a parchment document: the legal deed that sealed the deal. Another wave of despair washed over her. Why would Reece shackle her to a stranger?

  And a saddle-worn war veteran, no less!

  Callie donned her most menacing expression. From raiders to rustlers, she’d controlled many a situation by presenting just such a formidable show. She glared at the man who lounged before her, yet he didn’t flinch or look away. In fact, he appeared not the least bit intimidated by her blistering stare.

  “Look—” Her voice propelled across the desk in a righteous fury. “I don’t care how agreeable my brother thinks you are, I don’t agree to any of this. And I intend to post a missive to him straight away to share my views about this asinine arrangement.” A surge of bitterness cracked her voice. “I am fully capable of running this ranch without anyone else, and have done so for years while Reece was off playing soldier. What I don’t need is some high-browed stranger ridin’ in here thinking he can tell me how to do things differently.” She tossed the bundle to the desk and clamped her lips together to keep them from trembling.

  The man inhaled, then exhaled with a slow rush of air. “That is certainly not my intention, so let’s just calm down. Reece chose to remain in Virginia and I was looking to come west, so this was a sound business arrangement for both of us. But I understand your frustration. Since you obviously didn’t know beforehand, this must come as quite a shock.”

  Callie interlocked her arms across her chest, her sharp laugh anything but welcoming. “Well, you’re absolutely right about that.” His words set both her teeth and emotions on edge, but she refused to allow the logic that ebbed through his voice to influence her.

  He motioned to the papers. “I apologize for the insensitive way this has been delivered. I had no way of knowing he hadn’t told you.”

  An invisible
barrier penetrated past muscle and bone to barricade Callie’s heart, corralling any warmth that might try to escape. “I don’t want a partner, Mr. Neale.”

  “I sympathize with you, but the fact remains I’ve made the purchase and I intend to stake my claim.” He reached for his hat and pulled it low over his forehead. “Perhaps you’ll feel better about all this tomorrow. Things usually improve in the light of day, and we can talk more about everything then.” He gathered the papers and slipped them inside his coat pocket.

  Resentment buffeted Callie like grit from a sandstorm, and sent a blazing heat up her neck to settle into two hot spots on her cheeks. “Let’s just finish things up now. That way you can be on your way come daylight.” She leaned forward. “I’ll buy you out. I’ll pay you every cent you’ve paid my brother. With interest, of course.”

  A smile stacked up at the corner of the man’s mouth. “Sorry. I’m not for sale. Besides, I’m beginning to like it here.”

  She glared at him for a full minute. An impasse. Fresh waves inundated her as the pain of her brother’s entrapment chiseled wider the hole in her heart. She shoved her chair back, climbing to her feet. They’d get nowhere tonight. “Well, I can assure you, your stay will be short-lived.”

  “Unlikely,” he said, straightening in the chair. “In the meanwhile, though, how about I bunk down in your brother’s room, since my purchase also includes half this house.” An arrogant gleam brightened his eyes. “With your permission, of course.”

  Callie bolted around the desk and crossed the room, flinging open the library door. “Pilar!” she bellowed into the darkened hallway.

  The sound of shuffling feet filled the candlelit foyer as a short, rotund woman skidded around the corner from the entry hall and shuffled toward her.

  “Sí, señorita?” The cook’s chest rose and fell from the exertion.

  “Our visitor will be staying in my brother’s room. I’ll need you to show him the way.”