THE UNLIKELY BODYGUARD

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Then all hell broke loose. With his mouth full of his last bite, he hovered over the hind end of the beast. "This is it. Go to her head," he said, and didn't wait for a reply. Calli obeyed, shrugging out of his jacket and taking the animal's great head onto her lap.

  "Talk to her."

  Calli thought that a bit useless, but did it anyway. The horse labored to bring her colt into the world and Calli stroked the damp forelocks, encouraging the mare, but she remained transfixed on the hooves emerging, then a few inches of the regally shaped legs. She wanted to see more.

  Gabe scowled, checked the animal's heartbeat, the growing contraction, then cleared the canal. "Something's wrong," he muttered. Calli looked up, panicked. "The contractions are coming, but—" Gabe bent and probed the mare. "Damn, it's breech!" Immediately he pushed the foal's hooves back inside its mother. For several moments, he manipulated the baby. Blood covered his arms to his elbows.

  Gabe sat back on his haunches, dropping his hands. "I can't do this," he muttered. "It won't move."

  "Yes, you can," Calli said softly, and his gaze locked with hers. "You have to," she beseeched. "They're depending on you."

  Gabe held her gaze trapped in his for a breath longer, then with one hand on the mare's belly, feeling the shape of the colt, he maneuvered the baby into position. The mare whinnied and the contraction forced the hooves out. He grasped them in his big hands. "Come on, girl," he whispered. "Give her to me."

  Calli bent low, whispered into the horse's ear, and the animal flinched violently, but it was a long tense moment as the mare strained and strained.

  Gabe's gaze flashed to hers. She smiled reassuringly, despite the tears filling her eyes, and they both looked at the mare. The head passed, angled between the legs, then like a boat sliding on the river, the baby slipped completely from its mother. Calli gasped.

  Gabe sighed his relief, cleaned the colt's nostrils, pushed it to its mother's side, then finished delivering the placenta. But Calli could do no more than stare at the pair, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  "Good girl," Calli whispered, stroking the animal's head. "Look at your baby."

  As if the big horse understood, it tipped its head.

  Calli laughed, then sniffled, lifting her gaze to Gabe's. "You did it!" she said, awe in her voice.

  It gave him a strange feeling deep in his gut. And for the first time in a long while, he simply accepted it.

  "I think she—" he gestured to the mare "—would disagree." He stepped back and walked to a standing bucket of water, stripping off his ruined shirt, then sluicing the muck from his arms and chest.

  Drying himself, he watched as she laid the mare's head on a pile of straw and came to her knees.

  "They would have died without you." She glanced down at mother and son. "I never saw anything like that!" She returned her gaze to his, wiping at her cheeks.

  "Thanks, Cal," he whispered softly, sinking to his knees in front of her. He shoved wet hair from his forehead, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes. She seemed keyed-up, ready to explode. It heightened his awareness of her.

  Then he smiled.

  All crinkling eyes, dimples and straight white teeth. A full-blown, happy-to-be-alive smile. It knocked her breathless.

  "No, thank you!" she shrieked as she launched into him, her arms looping around his neck. They tumbled to the floor outside the birthing stall, Calli sprawled across him. "Oh, Gabe, that was the most incredible experience!" Her words heated the side of his throat.

  He chuckled deeply. "Glad you could enjoy it." He stared at the ceiling, feeling her body's push and give against his own. Slowly his arms came around her. "You're breaking your own rules," he murmured, his hands on her trim waist.

  "I know," she said into the crook of his neck, and Gabe realized she was sobbing. He held her back, ducking his head to look her in the eye.

  "Cal?"

  She sniffled. Then she tipped her head and met his gaze. Gabe's expression crumbled.

  "Don't cry. Please don't."

  "I can't help it." Her lower lip trembled pitifully.

  "Ah, jeez," he groaned, then urged her head to his shoulder. Her arms tightened around his neck, clinging.

  "I feel so foolish."

  "It's okay," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. Gradually she quieted, her tense body deflating against his. Gabe was anything but relaxed. He rolled to the side, tucking her close to his chest, and closed his eyes. It felt wonderful just to hold her. They stayed like that for several moments before she lifted her head and met his gaze.

  "Break another rule with me," she said, and cupped the back of his head, drawing him down to meet her mouth. At the first touch, Gabe devoured her like his last meal, his lips and tongue rolling hotly over her mouth. She moaned deep in her throat, arching closer to his long frame as passion ignited and burned. She let herself be swept along, let him take control, savoring him, the weight of his hands scraping down her back, her hips, to her buttocks. He cupped her, pressing her deeply into him, to his hardness, and Calli gasped against his mouth. But he didn't stop kissing her and hovered over her body, his mouth blistering wildly over hers.

  There was freedom in touching Calli, he thought, a feeling he wanted to grasp and hold tight. Caution faded, passion raged and Gabe stole all he could in the dimness of the barn. He never wanted anything more than he wanted Calli.

  And she gave, willingly, urging his weight onto hers, her hands caressing his warm bare chest. She felt every indentation, every ripple of muscle, and he groaned into her mouth, lushly licking the outline of her lips, then driving his tongue deeply between.

  More, he thought. I need more.

  Calli could feel his hand slide along her thigh, his fingers curl behind her knee, drawing it up. The motion spread her, fit her tightly, intimately, to the heat of him, the contours of his hard body molding to hers like a second skin, the softness of her yielding to the shape of his arousal. He rocked against her and her breath staggered in her throat, her body answering him. Then he enfolded her breast, his thumb brushing ever-deepening circles around her nipple hidden beneath the cloth. His mouth softened on hers, coaxing her desire to rage with his, and then his hand was beneath her shirt, inside her bra and she swore she didn't breathe until his fingers touched bare skin. She whimpered against his mouth, eager to have him naked against her and when he pushed up her shirt, exposing her, she held her breath in anticipation of his mouth on her skin.

  It didn't happen and she opened her eyes. He was breathing as heavy as she, frowning. Not at her, but the horse.

  The colt neighed sluggishly. Gabe was off her and at the baby's side in a heartbeat. Calli struggled upright, righting her clothing, a flush of embarrassment and unspent desire coloring her skin. Gabe pulled the colt gently away from its mother and put on a stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat. He nodded to himself, then, letting the scope hang from his neck, he dragged blankets from a pile to cover the baby. Then he stood, grabbed the bucket and vanished out the stall. She inched toward the foal, stuffing hay to cushion its head. Gabe returned with a full bucket of water, pausing briefly in the doorway. She let her gaze climb up his body to his face, the stark outline of his arousal evident against his snug jeans. When she met his gaze his lips quirked, a little cynically, and her heart sank to her stomach. That coldness reminded her how easily Gabe could turn to Angel.

  He cleaned the colt, then dried him like a father would his child, his darkly tanned muscles jumping and flexing. He covered the baby warmly, then braced his back against the wall and drew the gangly colt's head onto his lap. He held it, one hand on its chest, the other stroking its proud head. After a moment, he lifted his gaze.

  Gabe's expression tightened. She was kneeling back on her calves, her hands clasped on her lap. There was straw in her hair and her lips were swollen and bruised. She looked a little lost.

  Calli didn't deserve to be laid down in a barn. She deserved a bed and silk sheets and room service. And someone other than hi
m.

  Then she turned to the mugs, knocked over in their tussle in the hay. Gabe cringed at the thought of what she must feel like, summarily dismissed because of the colt. Yet she poured more coffee and handed him the steaming mug. He accepted it, but didn't sip. It amazed him, that flash-fire hunger they shared. His body still burned with the effects of her, of holding her in his arms, feeling her hands on his skin. His jeans tightened across his hips. His suffering was well deserved. He should never have let it get that far.

  She shifted, Indian style, and nodded to the colt before she said, "Is he going to be all right?"

  "Yeah, just had a tough time getting here."

  "Should we contact a vet or the owner?" She was aware that he only boarded and trained horses.

  "I am the owner."

  She blinked, noticing the pride in his voice.

  "It was a deal I made with the mare's owner." A pause and then, "I can't afford a vet."

  She nodded and didn't bother to offer to pay for the vet call. She knew he would refuse unless it meant the colt's life. "What are you going to call him?"

  Gabe looked down at the newborn foal. "Horse."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake! That's not a name, it's a noun!"

  He scowled at her.

  "He needs a majestic name, Gabe." His scowl deepened. "I mean, look at him." The colt was solid black with a creamy beige splotch at his forehead. "He looks like dark bittersweet chocolate."

  Gabe took a peek under the blanket. "He's a she, Cal."

  Calli blushed. "Oh."

  "Since you don't like my choices, maybe you should choose a name."

  She blinked. "Me?" She shook her head.

  He shrugged. "Then it's Horse."

  "Okay, okay." She put up her hand. "Let me think." She focused on her coffee mug, her hands around it to keep warm. Gabe reached out and snatched up his jacket, tossing it to her. She slipped it on, murmuring her thanks, her lovely face still marked with concentration.

  "Éclair."

  "No."

  Her gaze flashed up and collided with his. A tiny smile worked over her lips. "Divinity?"

  He shook his head.

  "Killer Death?"

  His brows rose into his forehead.

  She shrugged, chagrined. "It's a fudge cake."

  "I'm sure you'll think of something," he said tiredly, and Calli realized what a full day he'd put in. At least she'd had a chance to catch a bit of sleep.

  "It has to be a good one, Gabriel."

  Gabe closed his eyes, loving every time she said his name.

  Rummaging in the cooler, she took out half a sandwich and offered it to him. He shook his head and she shrugged, biting into it. It was gone in minutes, yet Gabe simply watched her. She leaned close to stroke the colt, then turned her concern to the mother, taking a rag and wiping the tired animal's big head. She looked so tiny against the animal and even as she offered the horse a drink from a tin cup, he recognized the mothering nature in her, in her assuring whispers, the tender touches. It was hard to believe the same woman was untamed and savage in his arms a few moments ago. For a fleeting moment Gabe imagined her with children, her body full with life, and his lips curved into a tender smile. Then it vanished.

  Dreams are for people with cash and an education, he thought cynically.

  She repacked the cooler and closed the thermos, then settled down beside him against the stall.

  "You can go back to the house," he said, yet inside, his mind was screaming at him to shut up and take what he could get of her company. This war inside him was going to kill him.

  "No, thank you," she replied with a hint of defiance, and snuggled into the jacket, staring at the animals. "Where did you learn so much about horses?"

  Gabe hesitated and she tilted a look at him.

  "Well?"

  Gabe plucked a piece of straw from the colt's face, rubbing it between his fingers. How he got here wasn't something he wanted to tell her and he considered glossing over the truth. Then he decided that the best way to get her to back off was to give it to her quick and hard. "I got caught burglarizing this guy's house."

  Her eyes widened. "You were a thief?"

  "A cat burglar."

  She made a sour face. "Apparently not a very good one." His glare was thin and piercing, but Calli simply stared back and smiled benignly, waiting. "Do go on," she cooed.

  He sighed irritatedly and the words were practically ripped from him. "He didn't press charges or call the cops."

  "Sounds stupid."

  He arched a brow in her direction.

  "You committed a crime and were caught." She shrugged leather-clad shoulders. "By all rights you should have gone to jail."

  "Well, I didn't," he snapped. "But that doesn't mean I haven't."

  She twisted toward him, bracing her shoulder on the wall. "I'm not impressed, Gabriel, nor am I quivering with fear just because you've served time. What I do want to know is what happened to your victim?"

  Gabe considered telling her to stuff her curiosity in her pocket and take herself back into the house, but her patient tone told him she wasn't going anywhere till she got her answers. "He made a call, gave me a name and address, and told me if I didn't want to go to prison, to show up at the appointed time."

  "And that was at a ranch?"

  Gabe nodded, thinking about the backbreaking work he did for next-to-nothing for pay. Yet the satisfaction of doing it by the law, for the first time in years, was what had kept him there.

  "So why do you think this compassionate citizen gave you a break?"

  "Hell, I don't know!" But he did. Daniel came to see him after he'd been at the ranch for a few months. He'd checked on him without Gabe knowing and told him that if he'd skipped, he would have called the cops. And one night over a beer, Daniel admitted to being in the same situation as Gabe, years before. Penniless, homeless, and without an education to get him a decent job.

  "How old were you?"

  He slid her a quick glance. "When I started being a thief or when I stopped?"

  "Stopped."

  "About twenty, I guess."

  "Now I'm impressed."

  He scowled. "At what?"

  "You stuck it out. You accepted this man's challenge. You could have kept going, Gabriel. You were free. But you chose not to run." She looked down at the colt sleeping on his lap and ran her fingers over its beautiful face. "And now look where you are. What you have to show for your hard work."

  "What I have is a run-down ranch, very little cash, debt up to my eyeballs and one colt I can call my own!"

  She lifted her gaze, unaffected by his quick temper. "But you had nothing before. Nothing."

  He stared into her soft blue eyes and saw hope and confidence. His throat worked. "Damn, Calli."

  She smiled tenderly, reaching out to brush back a lock of dark hair from his forehead. "Run-down, debts and all, it's still yours, Gabriel. Be thankful. It's more than I have."

  He scoffed, aware she had a car that was worth more than his entire ranch.

  "I have clothes, some housewares and a car that the bank will own till I'm forty. My apartment's rented. Oh, I have a little nest egg stashed away, very little, but I never took the risk of sinking it into, say, a restaurant or a bakery shop. Not like you. I never had the guts."

  "But I was a thief." Didn't she hear him?

  "Was," she reminded, then wiggled next to him, yawning hugely. "Big deal. I burned Sister Mary Margaret's habit. What could be worse than leaving a nun naked?" She closed her eyes. Then she was sinking against his shoulder, asleep.

  Gabe looked down at her, her face serene, her lips parted. He stroked black hair from her face and bent to brush his lips against hers. Her mouth responded naturally for the briefest moment, then she sighed into her dreams. Gabe swept his arm around her and she settled into the crook of his shoulder. He tipped his head back against the hardwood wall and for the first time in years, found a little peace.

  * * *

  Seven />
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  Calli woke to find herself alone, neither the mare nor the colt in the stall. Or Gabriel. Stretching, she tossed off the horse blanket and sat up, scrubbing her face with her hands, then rising. She wrapped the leather jacket tightly against the morning chill. Lord, who ever said the desert was always hot? she wondered as she headed out of the barn. She stopped short at the sight of the mare and her baby in the corral, the colt moving on wobbly legs. Then her gaze shifted to the man with one foot on the lower fence rail, his forearms braced on the top. He'd showered and changed already and she glanced at her watch and wondered if he'd ever slept. It was only a little after six.

  "Good morning," she murmured, and he tilted his head to look at her. Though he was wearing sunglasses, she felt his gaze move over her from head to foot and back.

  "Morning," came curtly.

  Calli ignored it. He's just overtired, she thought. "I can't believe they're walking." She climbed onto the top rail, sitting close to him.

  "The mare was up a half hour after the birth. The colt about an hour later," he felt obligated to say as he looped a lead rope around his hand. How could she smell so good after sleeping in a barn all night?

  "Amazing," she whispered, watching the colt take several shaky steps, then looked up at him. "Personally I would be sleeping the day away after delivering a hundred pounds of horseflesh. Females—" She shrugged. "Go figure."

  Gabe's lips twitched with a smile, then just as quickly, it vanished.

  He looked weary, she thought. "Did you ever get any sleep?" Concern laced her voice.

  "Enough," he said, and from behind the dark glasses, Gabe let his gaze slide over her face, the smudged mascara from her tears, the bits of hay in her hair. Yeah, he'd slept all right. After fighting the press of her body against his, he'd given in and held her warmly against him until dawn. It was the calmest night he'd had in years. And sunrise reminded him that it wouldn't last. Damn. Even if he wanted to think in the future tense, he wouldn't. He had nothing to offer her except his name on a mortgage, anyway. Least now she knew it. But he resented that she could pry his past from him so easily and he was ticked at himself for getting hopeful and telling her, just to see what she'd do. Her quick dismissal of his failings and her admiration over his victories touched him in places he thought were dried up or dead. It wasn't the reaction he'd anticipated. And it made him feel vulnerable. She made him vulnerable. Wanting her, touching her … needing her, was a weakness he couldn't afford or deserve. Not even with the wild desire constantly flaming between them. Gabe knew the reality. He was a fascination, a little taste of danger maybe, to a woman who'd been sheltered.