Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1 (14 page)

Which meant it was time for her to leave.

Pulling his hand free from hers, he touched her cheek and then kissed the same spot. This wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the end of it. Just the end of it right now. “Come on,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he pulled back. “I’ll take you back to your Jeep.”

But before he could get any farther, she lurched up and caught him around the neck. “I’m sorry.”

He let himself savor holding her tight to his chest.
Sorry
was going to be the state of his nuts after this, but there was nothing to be done about it. Alternative methods of solving the problem were probably out—she’d been worried enough about dysentery. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead. The heat was missing. But that was for the best, right? “It’s okay.” He pulled her to her feet, but he couldn’t quite let her go. His arm was around her waist before he could stop it. And she let him hold her. He needed to get her out of here before she drove him completely, utterly mad. “I can’t let you put those boots back on.”

She nodded into his neck. Every second she stayed was making it that much harder to let her go. “I don’t have another pair of shoes. I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared. For any of it.”

He willed his hands to let her go. And mercifully, they listened. “Trust me, this isn’t as bad as heat stroke. I’ll be right back.”

Moccasins. A woman like her could use a nice pair of moccasins. He had just finished a pair. Her pair. True, they were simple, just a medicine wheel in black, white, red and yellow on the top. Nothing fancy about them. But somehow, he knew she didn’t need fancy. She needed functional.

While he dug the moccasins out of the container, he whistled. Blue Eye was around here somewhere, and she knew to come when he called. Hopefully, though, she wouldn’t take her time. The sooner he got Dr. Madeline Mitchell back to her Jeep, the less trouble he’d get both of them in. He could only hope she wouldn’t freak out when he tried to get her on the horse. Every time he rode up to the clinic, he could tell she was praying Blue Eye wouldn’t barge back in. The saddle—where had he put his saddle? Trying to find that thing in the dark wasn’t going to help a damned thing.

“Is everything okay?” she called up the hill. She sounded worried. Nervous even.

That’s when he remembered Karen, who unfailingly related the unfortunate tale of Steinman every chance she got. She couldn’t know the coyotes never bothered him. “I’m coming right back down,” he called back as he slipped on his own mocs. And he whistled again. If that horse didn’t show up in two minutes, she wasn’t getting any carrots this week. End of story.

He was halfway down the hill when he heard it. That now-familiar sound—light and happy—filled the air. She was giggling. She didn’t giggle at the clinic, but today she’d been free and easy with amusement. She’d been so damn close to being free and easy with him.

He slammed the brakes on that train of thought. Blue balls and horseback riding did not mix. Besides, what the hell was she giggling at? Then he saw why. Blue Eye had come when called, and was snuffling Madeline’s hair. And Madeline was laughing.

Suddenly, after this whole day, he wasn’t sure he really knew her. “I didn’t think you liked her,” he said, making damn sure he didn’t push.

Madeline shot him the kind of look that made him wish he had a cold shower at the ready. “Correction. I don’t like her in the clinic. She’s really a beautiful paint. And whistle-trained? I’m impressed.” She waved her hand in front of Blue Eye’s blue eye, and Blue Eye’s head jerked. Madeline gasped, and then giggled again as Blue Eye nudged her. “I thought she was blind. I thought a blue eye was a blind eye.”

She sounded like a woman who knew which end of the horse was the front. “Not always,” he said, watching her feel along the muscles in Blue Eye’s neck with an air of knowledge. Hell, he half-expected her to pick up Blue Eye’s feet and check her confirmation.

“Do you ride?”

Her sly grin widened into a high-beam smile.

Oh, yeah, she rode. “How long?”

She looked at him through lowered lashes, and he was instantly aware that seduction was a two-way street, and she was currently behind the wheel. “I rode dressage for almost twenty years. Did quite well too.” Dressage. If he remembered correctly, that was that fancy English style—Anna had made him watch the Olympics once. The animals had been things of beauty, like ballet in motion. And she’d done that—for two decades? Wow. And then she made everything worse, in the best sort of way. “I’d love to ride with you.”

The shock stilled him. He knew he shouldn’t just stand there and stare at her, but damn it all, he couldn’t do anything but that. Nothing moved, not a single thing. He felt like he was about to fall into a vision.

But it wasn’t a vision. It was just a beautiful woman named Madeline, standing in the flickering light of his campfire, stroking the nose of his horse, ready to ride with him.

With him.

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, knowing and yet still coy. Shit. He had to get her out of here right now, before he decided he wanted her to stay forever. “I, uh—” he cleared his throat, “—made these. For you.” He held out the moccasins.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “For me?”

“Hope they fit,” he said as he sat her down on the stump, dusted the sand off her feet and slid them on.

They did. “Oh,” she breathed as she wiggled her toes. “I...don’t know what to say.”

“That may be a first.” But the sound of her breathless and pleased was doing a number on him again. She tried to swat at his shoulder, but he caught her and pulled her into another kiss.

His brain was screaming no, no,
no
, but his body wasn’t paying a lick of attention. Sure, she didn’t speak the language, wanted everyone to get those damned vaccines, and probably still thought he was at least three degrees of nuts.

But she was here. She’d been here for a month. She’d seen the worst of his people up close and deeply personal, and she hadn’t run screaming. Instead, she was hell-bent on making the world a little better.

And she was kissing him back. Not just Jonathan Runs Fast, Traditional Master of Fine Arts, not just some fake Indian god she thought she was worshiping. Just him.

Blue Eye nudged him in the back with enough force that it nearly knocked them both over. “Oh, yeah.” Ornery horse. Who was doing exactly what she needed to. “Can you ride bareback?”

She closed her eyes, took two measured breaths and stepped away from him. Right. Control. She had some to spare. “I probably won’t fall off. Give me a leg up.”

He cupped his hands, and she stepped up and in the blink of an eye, was settling onto Blue Eye’s back like she’d never been away from it. “Interesting,” she murmured, shifting her legs around. “Different.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her. She’d be fine by herself, but he wasn’t going to let her be by herself. With a running start, he leapt up and onto his horse’s back, something he’d been doing since he was six.

“Whoa!” Madeline jumped as he snaked an arm back around that waist. “How the hell did you do that?”

Yeah, she wasn’t the only one who still had a few surprises up her sleeve. “Years of practice. Hold on,” he added, nudging Blue Eye up to a fast walk.

How many times had he done this? Mounted up on Blue Eye in the summer night and ridden around the rez in the dark, finding coyotes on the prowl, buffalo slumbering and owls keeping an eye on him? Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. But with Madeline in his arms, everything was different.

He couldn’t keep his hands out of her hair. It smelled a little of the river, but her own natural musk blended with that to make it something new, something that triggered some primitive part of his brain to want to smell it more. And it felt like raw silk in his hands, soft and smooth with a touch of the texture that made it wrap itself around his fingers like it was alive.

“You like it?” she said, her voice a low whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” was all he could get out as he buried his nose in it. The spring rains, that was what she smelled like. The spring rains soaking into the earth, washing away the grit of a winter spent asleep. Every second with her was like waking up all over again. And he hadn’t even realized he’d been asleep. “Wear it like this. For me.”

And then they were next to her Jeep, and he had her pinned against the door as he tasted that sound she made again, his hands refusing to let go of any single part of her, because every single part of her was right where he wanted it. In his hands. He found her breast again, first one, then the other. As his thumbs traced the outline of hard nipples through the shirt, she shuddered against him. But it wasn’t enough. The woman was more than just what she had up top. And he wanted to know the whole woman.

One hand slipped down between them, down between the intruding zippers and unforgiving denim, down until her hips tilted up for him. His fingers found the warmest, wettest, most secret spot and began to rub. She bucked against him, like a young filly just dying to throw off the new saddle and run free.

“Rebel,” she whispered, grabbing him by the back pockets and holding on for what felt like dear life. His blood pumped faster than a runaway train through his veins as he tried to get closer to all that warmth. “Please.”

Who the hell needed condoms? He was going to lose it right here, right now, and if he was lucky—and he was starting to feel a little bit lucky—she would too. As slow as he could, he put everything he had into rubbing her secret spot.

And then the floodlight hit them.

She let out a muffled scream as he grabbed her and threw her behind his body. The instinct to protect her first was just that—instinct. Save her first. “Who’s there?” he demanded, wishing like all hell he’d grabbed his knife before they left. Blue Eye was suddenly in front of them, her head down and her hoof pawing.
Good horse
, the rational part of his brain noted.
Best I’ve ever owned
.

“Hiya, Rebel,” the toneless voice came from behind the floodlight.

“Who is it?” Madeline’s voice was shaking, but not in the good way. Her hands were clamped down onto his arm with enough force to leave marks, but he wasn’t about to shake her off. Not when she needed him.

“Nobody,” he growled, ready to rip his friend’s face off for scaring her so badly. He didn’t want her to be afraid. Not now, not ever. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You?” Nobody said, turning the question into a demand.

What was
he
doing? Nope. Not a shot in holy hell he was going to stand here and let this man cop that attitude. “Go to hell.”

“Who?” Madeline asked weakly.

“Nobody,” he repeated. “Show yourself. You’re scaring the good doctor.”

As he snorted, Nobody lowered the flashlight. After a few seconds, Rebel’s eyes adjusted to the light and he pushed Blue Eye out of the way. “Madeline, this is Nobody Bodine. Nobody, you remember Dr. Madeline Mitchell. If I recall, she was kind enough to pull a bullet out of you. Which is more than I’d do for you right now.”

“Nobody...Bodine?” Her death-grip on his arm loosened. “You—your name is
Nobody
?”

Rebel glared. If Nobody didn’t show some proper respect, he’d have a whole hell of a lot more to worry about than some piddling little flesh wound.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nobody finally said. “I’m Nobody.”

“I dug a bullet out of you—and you never came back for a checkup.” That was better. Rebel shook a little of his fight off. Madeline wasn’t terrified—not as terrified, anyway. She was working her way right back over to Dr. Mitchell at a surprising rate.
Good recovery
, he thought with a smile. A woman who really can deal.

“Yes, ma’am. Appreciated that. Rebel checked on it for me.” Three sentences in a row—a new Nobody record. At least he was talking to her, Rebel reasoned. He wasn’t known for acknowledging white people even existed.

She spun back to him, and even in the scattered flashlight, he knew he was in trouble. She was pissed. All her flight had clearly screamed right on over to fight. Which, while maybe a little dangerous, was a hell of a lot better than terrified. He’d take it.

“
You
? What did you do?”

She was
not
going to like this. “Traditional healing medicine.”

Her mouth open and shut. “Neosporin?”

Nobody cleared his throat. “Ma’am, it was a sweat lodge.”

It was official—this was the worst possible ending to an almost-date he’d ever had. Made
just
having blue balls look like a walk in the park. Her mouth—kissing it seemed like a distant memory—wrenched itself into the ugliest snarl he’d ever seen on her. “You are
not
a doctor, Rebel. Stop practicing medicine before you kill someone. And you!” She turned on Nobody, who had the decency to flinch. “I expect to see you at the clinic for a proper check-up first thing Monday morning, or I
will
call the police. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nobody said, sounding resigned to his fate.

Madeline stomped to her Jeep so hard that Blue Eye skittered out of her way, and Rebel thought it prudent to do the same. Without another word, she fired up the engine and was peeling out in reverse, narrowly missing them all as the gravel went flying.

“This better be fucking good,” Rebel snarled. His shoulders squared around and he dropped into a crouch. He might not be able to beat Nobody, but he’d make a hell of a dent trying.