The Taming Of Jackson Cade

Footsteps sounded behind him, a hand clasped his shoulder. Jesse Lee, a trusted friend, an expert horseman, asked gruffly, “What are you doing standing here like this?”

A heavy shoulder lifted beneath the old cowboy’s rough hand. “Wishing I could change things, I suppose.”

Jessee nodded even though he knew the younger man wouldn’t see. “I reckon we both wish we could change a lot of things. But fact is we can’t. And there’s no going back. Only forward.”

Jackson laughed, a bitter, defeated sound. “How do I do that? Accomplishing what?”

“You do it by taking yourself into the house to make the phone call you’ve refused to consider.” Jesse’s fingers tightened on Jackson’s shoulder. In compassion, in respect, in regret for a man too proud for his own good. “I can’t say what it will accomplish, but it’s a chance. And if it saves the poor, mad critter back there in that stall, or even if it only eases his suffering, what’s the eating of a little crow in comparison?”

“You don’t mince words, do you, old man?”

“Never have,” Jesse drawled. “And just like you said, I’m too old to start.”

Jackson nodded but didn’t look away from the land.

This was more than River Trace. It was his dream. His life’s work. The investment of all he had, his heart, his blood, his sweat and tears. After years of struggle, success beyond his wildest dreams was only a colt or two away. Colts that might not ever be. Unless a phone call could make the difference.

“Unless,” he muttered, stepping into the moonlight.

“What does that mean?” the older man questioned, his arm falling to his side.

“Exactly that, Jesse. Unless.” Jackson walked, grimly, determinedly in a stilted pace toward the house. A tattered, historic treasure neglected in favor of barns and horses, but his.

“Where in thunder are you going, Jackson Cade?”

Without slowing his pace, Jackson called back over his shoulder, his voice grimly resigned, as stilted as his step. “To make a phone call. Eat some crow. Say a prayer.”

“Care if I join you in the prayer part?”

“You do that.” At the steps leading to the back door, Jackson swung about. Over the little distance, young eyes met old and held. “Thanks for coming tonight, Jesse. I know you tried.”

“We both did, Jackson. What we could do just wasn’t enough.”

Jackson drew a long, harsh breath, nodded again, then turned away from the night to climb steps of stone.

The darkness of the house enveloped him, blocking him from sight, but the old cowhand still stood in the barn door. “Our bad luck was that your brother isn’t here. The good is that there is someone else.

“Call,” Jesse urged softly in a whisper no ear but his would hear. “Take a chance. What you find just might be worth all the crow in the world.”

One

The screams. She could still hear the screams.

Gripping the steering wheel, forgetting the incongruity of her stylishly perfect black dress and that her silver-blond hair was caught in a coil as perfect, Haley Garrett thrust a stiletto heel against the accelerator, sending the massive truck rocketing ever faster through darkness.

The hour was late—a harvest moon gleamed in a blue-black sky. But Haley gave no more thought to breathtaking Southern nights than she did to the glittering gala and the attractive man she’d deserted to come careening through the countryside.

Her riveted gaze rarely straying from the ribbon of unfamiliar asphalt, she thought of little but her destination, and the mystery awaiting her there. At last, as she passed through an open gate, thickets of pine and palm gave way to an avenue of oaks. Draped in ghostly moss, their massive limbs entwined over the lane in a leafy cathedral, sealing away the sky, the stars, the moon.

Beyond the gate there would be miles of carefully tended fences. Fences guarding the many pastures of River Trace, premier horse farm of the South. She had heard the land was beautiful. She knew the horses bred there were extraordinary. But for Haley, the land was rent by the remembered screams of a single horse.

Hurt, maddened, its cries echoed unceasingly in her mind.

Even muffled over the telephone, the terrifying sounds had played a ghastly musical accompaniment to the desperate summons. No, worse than desperate. Jackson Cade would be worse than desperate to seek the help of Haley Garrett, newcomer to quaint Belle Terre, the city’s newest Doctor of Veterinary Medicine.

The last of the trees flashed by, the truck burst into a flood of moonlight. Before her lay a midnight pastoral scene of South Carolina’s lowcountry. With its shabby manor and sprawling lawns, it might have been taken from the pages of history.

“All that’s lacking is the mint julep,” Haley muttered, and was instantly contrite. Sarcasm was not normally a part of her attitude. But neither was she normally as anxious as now.

Driving on, she discovered the one jarring note was the main barn. Built in historic style, it was too obviously new. As light blazed from within the structure that, in time, would blend with its surroundings, Haley knew the interior would be uniquely modern.

Bringing the truck to a halt, she leaped to the ground. Pausing only to fling aside elegant sandals, she stamped her feet into practical boots and pulled on equally practical gloves.

Unconcerned by the paradox of her costume, but making a mental note that jeans and a sturdy shirt should be added to the supplies stored in the truck, she snatched up her medical bag. Thankful for the deep slit in her narrow skirt, Haley dashed for the barn, the thick grass muffling her footsteps until she stepped onto a cobblestone path by the entrance.

Blinded by the glare of lights, scarcely inside the open door, she paused. Shading her eyes with a hand at her forehead, she waited for her vision to adjust. In that little time Haley knew she’d been right. The barn was state-of-the art in horse breeding.

“Doc.” A figure appeared at the end of the spotless hall. She recognized the voice before she could make out his face.

“Jesse.” His name was her greeting. The familiar drawl belonged to Jesse Lee. The Arizona cowboy had come to the lowcountry to serve as foreman at nearby Belle Reve, where Gus Cade, patriarch of the Cade family, ruled with an iron will.

Given his vast knowledge of horses, and the proximity of the plantations, it wasn’t surprising Jesse was here. Haley had expected that in the absence of Lincoln Cade, her veterinary partner, Jesse would be first choice at River Trace. As the horse quieted, she wondered where the rest of the staff could be.

Where he could be.

He. Jackson Cade, Lincoln’s brother, third of Gus Cade’s sons. The man who’d disliked her and rejected her help with his horses, until now. Until he, not Jesse, made the call.

Haley forced herself to proceed calmly. If she was not calm, she would be of little help. “How is he?” she asked, wondering if she meant the berserk horse or its owner. Remembering the tone of the call, she thought the question could apply to man or beast. “The situation sounded urgent. I came as quickly as I could.”

“’Pears to me you came a mite too quick,” Jesse drawled, with a glance flicking over her sleek black dress.

“Making a point here, Doc?” The second voice came from behind her. This drawl was deeper, colder. A far cry from Jesse’s droll, good-natured teasing.

When Haley turned to face her accuser, his look was contemptuous, colder than his tone, leaving no room for misinterpretation of the unspoken insult. Though she tried not to react, it took all her strength to not respond in kind. Gleaning composure from lessons learned, refusing to be intimidated or provoked, her reply was unruffled. “I’m here at your request, Mr. Cade. Beyond that, I have no point to make.”

“Ah.” Jackson Cade’s smile was mocking as his gaze lingered over the slight décolletage of her gown, reminding her that it afforded a glimpse of the tilt of her breasts and the shadowed cleft between them. As mocking, as disparaging, his gaze traveled with exquisite thoroughness down the length of her slim, dark skirt to linger pointedly on scuffed boots. As if to satisfy himself his message had been understood, he glanced at her hands and found them clenched within leather gloves.

“Then we’re to believe you always make barn calls dressed like the Duchess of Belle Terre?” he murmured. “Or better still, that with a few paltry concessions to this call, we should understand you’re slumming by coming to River Trace?”

The remark stung, as he’d intended. But Haley was determined to not allow him the satisfaction of seeing her react. “We both know I’ve never made a visit here. We both know why. I’ve never come to River Trace because you never wanted me here.

“Tonight, I came as I was. From the tone of your call and the sound of your horse, I felt it merited speed more than proper dress. Lincoln isn’t here. In fact, as you well knew when you stooped to summoning me, he isn’t even in the lowcountry. So, Mr. Horse Breeder par excellence, you would be wise to remember beggars can’t be choosers.” With a quick breath, she continued with false detachment, “Dressed to suit your personal code or not, unless I miss my guess, I’m all you have.”

Jesse Lee smothered a strangled sound Haley could have sworn was a chuckle, yet she would not look away from Jackson Cade’s narrowed stare to interpret it. Keeping his gaze, one that would have been gorgeous were it not so hard and cold, she drew herself to her tallest. A mistake, she realized as he abandoned the duel to let his attention sweep over the lifted thrust of her breasts as thoroughly as he had before.

Haley endured the ordeal by gathering her composure more closely around her, refusing this insufferable man the satisfaction of the blush that threatened. He’d called for help. The situation was unquestionably grave, yet he wasted precious time with this uncharacteristic, chauvinistic performance.

Uncharacteristic because Jackson Cade was known as a man who loved most women. Tall, short, fat, skinny, old, young, ugly or pretty, he loved them. Some without reservation. Others—ambitious, motivated career women such as she—he treated temperately, courteously, but from a coolly guarded distance.