Masked Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy) (13 page)

That had been long before Rebel Runs Fast had taken his place. Rebel’s world and Jacob’s world didn’t cross much.

Still, if Nobody trusted the man, maybe Rebel was a man who could be trusted. Maybe Rebel would be able to talk or communicate or something with Kip. Or at least tell Jacob if Kip really was as special as she looked.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jacob dialed the clinic. The phone rang, then rang some more before a machine answered it.

“You’ve reached the White Sandy Clinic,” a crisp female voice announced. “Our office hours are between eight thirty and four thirty.” Jacob glared at the clock on his computer—four forty-five. Damn. “If this is an emergency, please call 605-555-6829. Otherwise, leave a message and we’ll return your call.”

He hung up. This wasn’t an emergency. At least, he didn’t think it was. Hell, he didn’t know what to think anymore.

All he knew was that he didn’t like this, not one bit.

Chapter Eight

The next day, Jacob was waiting for her as usual. The winds had let up a bit, but Mary Beth was thankful she’d broken down and put on the long underwear. Sexy, no, but warm, yes.

“We need to get to the mustangs first. Dave’s worried about the pregnant mare,” he said as he slung her pack onto Jezebel and the extra one, with what would normally be a three-week supply of saline and penicillin, over Mick’s back.

“Did Jack pick up a trail?” At least, she thought the night watchman’s name was Jack. She’d only caught glimpses of him and she had no idea if he had a last name.

He paused for a moment—thoughtful, but not as confused as yesterday. “No.”

She nodded as they took off for the barn without another word.

The horses beat a steady staccato as they raced back to the edge of the ranch. Without the wind, it seemed to take an extra few minutes to cover the prairies and stands of trees, but finally the barn was in sight.

At the exact moment she saw Dave step out of the darker interior, Jezebel whinnied in pain and bucked sharply to the left. Completely unprepared for the wild motion, Mary Beth went butt over shoulder and landed squarely on her back.

As the world stopped spinning, she caught a dark motion coming directly at her and she rolled out of the way.

“Jezebel!” Jacob hollered as he grabbed the mare’s reins. “Jesus, Mary Beth, did she step on you? Are you okay?”

“Fine, just fine. Like a roller coaster,” she wheezed from the ground.

Jacob threw Jezebel’s lead to Dave and was on the ground in a heartbeat, cradling her head in his arms. “Can you move everything?”

“You act like I’ve never been thrown before, Jacob,” she sputtered, wincing as a sharp pain cut through her left shoulder. “Let me sit up and I’ll see what’s what.”

Carefully, he pushed her into a sitting position, the worry on his face undisguised.

She wiggled her toes. “Toes, check. Legs…” she moved them back and forth, “…check. Ribs—”

Jacob’s hands moved over her ribs, gently pressing at all the joints starting on the back and working his way to the front.

“Uh, okay,” she stuttered, going pink as his hands skimmed just below her teal bra, “got it. Ribs, check. All good there.”

“Arms? Neck?” he demanded.

“Neck,” she said as she gently rotated it, “check. Head still attached.”

“Arms?”

Mary Beth couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her like Jacob Plenty Holes was looking at her right now. Worried, sure. She’d taken a hard fall. But there was something deeper behind that, something that she couldn’t quite make out.

“Arms?” he repeated with more insistence.

“Uh,” she tried to pivot both of them, but the pain radiated back up through her left shoulder and she sucked in air.

“Arms no good?”

“Right is okay. Left is—let me think,” she paused, hoping the stars would vanish from her eyes while she tried to recall the human anatomy she’d taken as an undergraduate. “Left is probably a separated shoulder.”

“Do you need to go to the clinic on the rez? The ER?”

“In Rapid City? No,” she chuckled as he slid his arm around her waist and lifted her to her feet. They began to hobble towards the barn. “If I recall, the best thing to do is to rest it up for a few weeks. You’ve got ice in the barn, right?”

Jacob nodded and hollered for Lisa to get some ice.

Jezebel whinnied in pain, and Mary Beth snapped back to attention. “So what happened? Dave, could you see?”

He shook his head. “She stepped on something. Her foot is bleeding.”

“Damn it,” she and Jacob muttered at the same time.

The sad group slowly made it to the barn. “We can’t leave her here tonight—she’ll get the strangles,” Mary Beth said as Jacob held the wounded mare’s foot for her while she inspected it for the offending object. The wound was small and clean. “She shouldn’t even be in the barn.”

“Well, you can’t ride her back, and you can’t take any of the mustangs,” he countered. “They’re all contagious.”

“Have Dave stand her in some Epsom salts while I look at the mare,” she ordered. “Then we’ll wrap her and walk her back. I’ve got an extra boot in the pack. If we go slow, she should be okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? I said I’ll walk her back.”

Jacob scowled. It was a damned intimidating thing. “You just separated your shoulder and you’re going to walk her back?”

“You got a better idea?”

“I’ll think of one,” he snapped.

Lisa held the ice while Jacob wrapped her arm, and then he fashioned a makeshift sling for her. “At least you’re right handed,” he pointed out.

She started to say something smart but decided against it. He was finally being almost friendly again, and she wasn’t about to discourage that. “True. Could be worse.”

They called Bill and told him what happened, and he agreed to come on out to the ranch to handle that end of the day. Without the pressing urgency to the afternoon—if Bill was there, McGillis wouldn’t get his hackles up—Mary Beth was able to focus on the pregnant mare blowing snot everywhere.

“Man, I just cleaned that bucket,” Gary grumbled as the mare sneezed in it.

“Sorry, hon. Now do it again,” Mary Beth replied as he rolled his eyes. “Just think, by the end of the day you’ll be really good at cleaning buckets.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered as he pulled the bucket down and took it out to scrub.

“You’re good with kids,” Jacob said as she slowly examined the mare.

“I’ve got one nephew and two nieces. Someone’s got to be the favorite aunt,” she countered. “Well, really, they’re more my second cousins, but they call me Aunt M.”

“I didn’t know you did the James Bond thing,” he replied with a chuckle.

The mare didn’t look any better, so Mary Beth had Jacob get the high-powered antibiotics. “We may lose the foal. Even if it survives, there’s a higher chance of neuromuscular problems down the road,” she warned him.

He nodded gravely as she injected the wheezing animal.

The rest of the herd was looking better—even Bell was moving her head a bit easier. “The kids are doing the compresses after they get done with their chores,” Jacob explained.

“I’ll bring them some chocolate chip cookies the next time I’m out,” she offered as Jacob wrapped Jezebel’s foot. As she sat on the ground, her arm still numb from the ice she’d finally taken off, she felt a bit too helpless for her own good. She still didn’t know how she was going to get back to her truck. Unlike most barns, there weren’t any four-wheelers or other trucks around. And Mick wasn’t even saddled, for heaven’s sake.

Jacob got Jezebel’s foot wrapped and the protective boot on. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and took her hand, cautiously pulling her up.

“What are we doing?”

“Mick can carry us both. I’ll boost you up.” Instantly, he was lifting her up just as he lifted Kip up, like she weighed nothing. He sat her on Mick’s wide back and patiently waited as she swung her leg over.

“Jacob—”

But he had already mounted up behind her and was reaching around her waist to grab the reins.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he replied, his warm voice only inches from her ear. Without another word, he headed Mick back to the ranch at a slow walk as Jezebel did her best to keep up.

“I don’t know about this,” she muttered as she tried to figure out where to put her hands. His legs were pressed against hers, her back to his chest, his free hand resting on her thigh, his face—his face had to be buried in her hair. She began to sweat.

“You can ride bareback, can’t you?” he murmured.

“Do I have a choice?” she snipped.

“That’s some mouth you’ve got there, Mary Beth,” he murmured again, his voice warm and honeyed and right against her ear.

“Yes, I know. That’s what everyone says, all the time. Well, listen, you,” she said as she tried to lean forward, away from his solid chest. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

“Sure it is. Back to your truck.”

“No,
this
,” she snapped as she lifted his hand off her leg. “This isn’t going anywhere. I got the message loud and clear last time.”

“Last time?”

“Don’t be dense, Jacob. Look…” she sighed in frustration, “…I’m sorry if you felt I did something wrong. I didn’t know where we were and I thought I could help you out. But that’s no reason to stop talking to me.”

He was silent as he slipped his hand back on her leg.

“Seriously. Are you even listening to me?”

“Mary Beth,” he said in that low voice again, “you didn’t do anything wrong. It was crummy of me to be a jerk, and I won’t do it again.”

“I don’t think you are listening at all,” she snarled as she took his hand off her leg again. “I don’t know what your damage is, but I’m not your play toy, ready to swoon just because—because—Jesus, knock it off!”

“What?” he said, all innocent even as he traced the edge of her ear with his stiff leather nose. “I’m not doing anything.”

“If I could, I’d punch you right now, Jacob Plenty Holes,” she growled as she tried to elbow him in the ribs. That was a bad idea. “Ow!” she yelped as her sore shoulder pulled.

“See, you’re only making it worse,” he said, but he pulled his hand off her leg.

“I’m making it worse? I’ve got news for you, buddy, you haven’t even seen worse. Wait until I get off this horse…”

“Calm down.”

“Give me one good reason,” she seethed.

“First, you’re going to either hurt yourself or push one of us off this horse.”

The tone of his voice—like she was a child that had a little trouble understanding him—made her even madder. “You, I’m hoping.”

“Second,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, “I’m apologizing for being a jerk, and that rarely happens. You…you got under my skin, I guess. I’ve never had anyone get under my skin before and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Great
, she internally moaned. A new variation on it’s not you, it’s me, but this was more irritating. “And somehow, the standard seventh-grader response was the right action?”

“Ninth grade,” he corrected her.

“The year you met Susan,” she guessed, and immediately wished she had a brake or a five-second delay or a censor’s beep on her mouth—anything to keep from sticking her foot in it around him.

“Yeah,” he said, but instead of the sorrow she expected, he sounded almost silly. “That was the last time I had to try to figure out what to do about a girl.”

“Okay, well, in girl world, for future reference,” she started, “you don’t ignore someone you just slept with for a month. You ask them out on dates or say, ‘Let’s be friends’, but you
don’t
ignore them.”

“Okay. Mental note made,” he responded with a brief hug.

“Why are you apologizing now?” she demanded, pretty sure he was tracing his leather nose over her hair. “It’s been a month of ice-cold cowboy, and now you’re all warm and snuggly? I’m
not
sleeping with you,” she emphatically
                                                                     
stated.

She could hear the leather creak. He must be smiling.

“I don’t like not talking to you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You are an amazing woman, Mary Beth, and I want to make it up to you.”

Her insides started to go all gooey, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook just yet. “Is there a third?” she asked as he rested his hand back on her leg. “Because that was a good start, but it wasn’t the rest of the apology.”

He was silent as Mick navigated a small stream. But as soon as they were safely across, he leaned forward and kissed her neck. The hot touch of his lips made her shiver with the promise of what he could do, but she knew he wasn’t going to.

“I can’t ask you out. You don’t date clients,” he said simply.

“I don’t sleep with them either, and see where that got me,” she retorted. “Don’t kiss me if you aren’t going to ask me out.”

“I can’t help it. I like kissing you,” he replied again, his mouth moving against the skin under her ponytail.