Wide Open Spaces

“I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?” Summer faced forward again. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have bent your ear. I hardly know you.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to unload on strangers. We all need outlets. Mine turned out to be any one of a hundred bartenders,” he said, allowing her another little peek into his soul.

“Ah, so you’re a recovering alcoholic? Are you still running away? Is that why you ended up in an out-of-the-way place like Callanton?”

“The answer to all three questions is no.” He shook his head. “Jeez, you don’t pull any punches. You sound like the shrink my buddies dragged me to. The guy who helped me dry out.”

She glanced back and this time her face did crumple. “Oh, darn. I apologize. I’m sorry, but…uh, we don’t feel like strangers. You—now don’t take this wrong, but you feel…comfortable. Like…an old friend I haven’t seen in a while.” She ducked her head and pulled her hat brim lower. “Sounds stupid, huh?”

Colt, who’d suddenly discovered that he found her comfortable, too, didn’t think they ought to be moving in that direction. He realized it’d be far too easy to set himself up as friend and protector to this woman and her son. Something inside him needed to be someone’s hero. That was why he’d let Marc, Gabe and Reggie Mossberger talk him into putting his marriage and his ranch on hold to go off and liberate one last group of kidnapped oil executives. Look where that had landed him.

Shutting down as he’d learned to do in order to avoid getting close to anyone again, Colt ended the personal side of their conversation. “All I am is a man who has a soft spot for eagles. Nothing more. Nothing less. We’re not old friends, not even new friends. As for kids—I don’t know jackshit about kids.”

Summer recoiled instinctively. A cold fist plunged into her stomach. “It’s not far now,” she said, returning to a coolness that matched his. “If all goes well, we’ll be back at the ranch before Rory’s bus drops him off. Rest assured, I’ll make sure he doesn’t impose on you—or assume you’re something you’re not.”

Colt silently accepted the verbal blows she rained on his head. He stared out at the glorious panorama of the gorge without really seeing it. And called himself all kinds of names for acting like an idiot. She’d just needed a sounding board.

Still, given what he knew—and she didn’t—about the part he’d be playing in seizing her land, a clean break now would be best for her, and certainly for Rory.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE TRAIL UPHILL GREW progressively more twisted and rocky. The concentration it required provided Colt and Summer with ample reason for silence.

Half an hour later, Colt spoke. “How in the name of God did you locate a nest of eagles up here? This is mountain-goat country.”

Summer reined in. “The Forked Lightning often has stray cattle in the gorge. I love it up here, so it’s no hardship for me to ride in regularly to round them up. I spotted the eagles’ nest a couple of years ago. Eagles return to the same nest year after year.”

“But it wasn’t shot in the gorge?”

“No. I was on the road to town. She hunts along the river. In another ten minutes or so, you’ll see her nest.”

“I’m not complaining. I like wild places, particularly on horseback. I admit, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting a woman who feels the same.” Colt leaned casually on his saddle horn, and took his time inspecting Summer from the top of her battered Stetson to the toes of her well-scuffed boots.

Anger reddened her cheeks. “Are you suggesting I’d lie about something like this? Why would I? This land is my home,” she said fervently. She knew her passionate declaration stemmed from her animosity toward Frank, who was trying to take the Forked Lightning away. For the moment, Colt just happened to be a handy target. “Does the word home hold no meaning for men, other than what it represents in cold hard cash?”

Colt touched his heels to the borrowed gelding’s flanks and moved closer. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Look, I’m not the only man who hates urban sprawl destroying a great way of life. You’ve shown me that all women don’t need mammoth shopping malls within arm’s reach. Shall we leave it at that? We came to rescue eagles, not fight the battle of the sexes.”

She took a deep breath. “You provoke these arguments, then very neatly extricate yourself, leaving me looking petty. I’m sorry your ex treated you badly. I can sympathize because Frank did the same to me. I’ve been honest with you, yet I sense you think I’m making this all up. And you never answered me. Why would I lie?”

“To impress me, perhaps?”

“You egotistical jerk!” Summer choked up on her mare’s reins. Starlight reared, lost her footing and began slipping toward the trail’s edge.

Colt vaulted from his saddle, but Summer had already kicked off her stirrups and thrown herself toward the mountain. She dug in her heels and hauled on the reins to keep the mare on the trail. And she did it all before Colt even reached her.

“That was quick thinking,” he panted, visibly shaken by her near-tumble over the sheer drop.

“All in a day’s work for a cattle rancher,” she responded, also having difficulty breathing.

“Then you’re a better man than me.” Colt moved to the cliff side of the trail, and stood gripping Summer’s saddle cantle. He glanced up as she reclaimed her seat in the saddle. Their eyes met only briefly, but something passed between them.

Respect from him.

Comprehension from her. She understood what the compliment had cost him in the face of their recent heated words. She didn’t think he was a man who gave compliments lightly. Summer could hold it over his head or pursue their argument. She did neither. “The eaglets are waiting.” Bending away from him, she patted her mare’s neck.

“Uh…right.” Colt gathered his shaken senses, released his death grip on her cantle and mounted his horse. They rode on as if the incident had never occurred.

As Summer had pointed out, within a few minutes they reached a high chaparral overlooking a series of granite spires that spiked upward from the canyon floor. On the jagged tip of one spire, nestled in the fork of a squat, misshapen pine, sat the object of their trip. Three squawking eaglets huddled in a nest of mud and twigs, loudly announcing their displeasure at the turn their life had taken.

Summer and Colt each hauled field glasses out of their saddlebags and trained them on the nest.

“Hellfire and damnation.” Colt expelled his breath. “This is going to be even harder than I figured.”

“I’d say we’re in the nick of time, though.” Summer stabbed a finger toward floaty clouds drifting across a cerulean sky.

It took Colt a moment to refocus. When he did, he saw several buzzards circling high above the nest. Without the rescue, it wouldn’t be long before the vultures had themselves a succulent meal.

“I’d better set up fast.” Looping his binoculars over his saddle horn, Colt dismounted. He shed his jacket, then untied the bundle of ropes he’d brought. He deftly sorted out three sets and shrugged into a climbing harness.

Summer watched, shading her eyes with one hand. “Virgil and I would never have saved them. I’ve seen the mother flying in and out of here. But, until now, I didn’t realize the nest sat on a ledge separate from the gorge wall.”

She gestured helplessly. “I hate not to go through with this, but maybe we should forget it. I shudder to think of the danger involved.”

“Well, it’s going to take longer than I estimated. But unless I run into a snag I can’t see from here, it looks like a fairly straightforward climb.”

“Really?” She folded her arms, nervously massaging them from elbow to shoulder and back again.

“Yep. Hey, can you shoot that rifle you’re packing with any degree of accuracy?”

The question galvanized Summer as nothing up to this point had. “I’m an excellent shot. Why?”

“If those buzzards see me stealing their noon meal, they may take a notion to substitute me for the eagles.”

“Buzzards are cowards. I’d think any cowboy worth his salt would know that.”

“Did I claim to be a cowboy?”

Summer looked him over and shook her head. “No…”

“Relax,” he said, clipping a series of carabiners to his rope. “Some folks might call me a cowboy. Among other careers, I once bred and broke horses for riding and roping.”

“What other careers?” Summer asked, curious to know what had brought him to her small corner of the planet. Callanton didn’t attract a lot of newcomers, and none like Coltrane Quinn. Hunters had begun to drive out from big cities for a week at a time, but they were duded up and easy to spot. Colt blended in. He could pass for a local.

Mired in her thoughts, Summer finally noticed his frown. “Careers?” she probed.

“I pulled a hitch or two for Uncle Sam. You’ll have to take my word that I was honorably discharged.” Colt removed his Stetson and dropped it on a shrub. He extracted a baseball cap from his saddlebag. Donning it backward, he kick-tested the solidness of two separate boulders. Apparently he had nothing more to say on the subject of his careers.

Finding the boulder nearest the bluff to his liking, Colt double-looped one of his ropes around the base and pulled it tight. “Hand me the basket, would you?”

She retrieved it from her saddle and gave it to him without comment.

“Here’s my plan. I’ll rappel from here to the ravine floor, cross the creek and climb the spire to slightly above the shelf with the nest. I’ll tie off the rope I’ve looped through the basket. That’ll slope it toward you. Next, I’ll transfer the birds, secure the lid and send the whole kit and caboodle to you, relying on gravitational feed. You’ll haul the basket up and over the lip of this ledge. Okay? Can you handle that?”

“I sling hay bales from the ground to the back of a flatbed truck. In the winter I sometimes have to toss them out of the hayloft by myself. Don’t worry, Quinn, I’ll do my part.”

The lopsided grin he sent her before he disappeared backward over the cliff with the basket and ropes said plainly that he knew he’d gotten under her skin.

Despite her touchiness, seeing him disappear so abruptly sent Summer’s stomach dive-bombing to her toes.

With her heart thundering in her ears, she ran to the bluff and peered gingerly over the edge. A breeze ruffled the shrubs growing out from the sheer drop-off. The ropes were taut, but she couldn’t see Colt. “Are you all right?” she called, her words echoing back from the canyon floor.

“Yo,” he answered, his voice sounding much farther below than she’d expected.

Suddenly, saving the eaglets at the risk of a man’s life and limb seemed not to be the best idea she’d ever had. She’d pulled off some hair-raising rescues of stranded calves in her day, but Summer discovered it was one thing to risk her own neck and something else entirely to watch another person risk his. Not only that, he was practically a stranger, a man who had no vested interest in her or the ranch. Why would he do this?

She saw him step onto the floor of the ravine, turn his face toward her and wave. Aided by her binoculars, she was able to see the boyish grin he wore. He was loving this adventure. Here she stood, shaking like a wind chime in a gale, worried about his rotten hide, and he was having the time of his life.

Men, the whole lot of them, were a mystery.

Scrambling back to safety, Summer kept her field glasses trained on Colt as he picked his way across the swift-running creek. Quite soon it was evident that he wouldn’t be climbing the spire as fast as he’d descended. The wall he faced was perpendicular and so slick he had to set anchors at points above his head in order to feed ropes and pulleys to bear his weight. Beneath his cotton shirt, his back muscles strained and bunched. The harness belt slung around his narrow hips looked heavy.

The muscles in Summer’s abdomen contracted. Surprised, she let the binoculars drop. What was there about Quinn? She hadn’t been so moved by a man in more years than she cared to remember—including Frank when they’d met. The truth of that shocked her. She’d been telling herself she’d married for love. She hadn’t. She’d been weary and worried sick about her dad. Frank had been—well, he’d been there.

A few hours with this stranger and her body had turned traitor. Sweeping dry lips with her tongue, she fit the field glasses to her eyes again. This time she was prepared for the electric response arcing through her midsection.

Colt paused in his climb, blotting sweat from his brow as he swung free above a creek he could no longer hear babbling. He hadn’t climbed since his last trek out of the jungle, fifteen months ago. That terrain had been soft—nothing like this granite. His legs cramped and his arms felt weighted. At the same time, he was exhilarated as he surveyed the view this elevation afforded.

Flashes across the canyon momentarily blinded him. Sun reflecting off Summer’s binoculars. He remembered the concern in her voice when she called to him after he’d rappelled down the rocks. Was she still worried about him? He felt a ripple of something—was it pleasure? It’d been a long while since anyone, except the teammates from his former military unit, cared what happened to him.

For a few seconds, Colt savored the welcome thought. Then a cloud drifted across the sun, blanking out the flash from the other side. The shadow might as well have been a bucket of cold water; it had the same effect on Colt. Even if Summer Marsh was inclined to care for him, which was iffy, he had nothing to offer her in return. She’d soon have three million bucks in the bank. He didn’t have enough savings to buy even a hundred acres of this land.

Removing his cap, Colt stuffed it in his pocket. He untied his neckerchief and banded it around his forehead to stop the flow of sweat. Facing the crux, the most difficult pitch of any climb, he drove in another chock before creeping higher.

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