Roz Fox - Wide Open Spaces

“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.