Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1 (4 page)

“I apologize if I offended your delicate tympanic membranes…” She couldn’t bring herself to say
Rebel
. Just couldn’t. The man had to have a real name. Even something like Tall Trees.

“If?” A lazy grin snuck across his face, and for some reason, Madeline was reminded of one of the movies she’d watched in preparation for the big move—
Dances with Wolves
. The way he moved, the way he looked at her—he was like the wolf moving through the grass. He didn’t miss a trick. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have her outflanked before she knew what was happening.

Not like that would be a bad thing. Not all bad, anyway.

She remembered he’d translated for Tara earlier. “Do you speak Lakota?”

He shifted, and his hips stilled.
Thank goodness
, Madeline thought. She had no idea how much more of that she could take.

“More than most people.” And with that, he began to tap a heel onto the aged linoleum.

The perfect ending to this day was a sound like a ball-peen hammer beating itself into her brain. Which was nice, actually, in that it reminded her that no matter how hot—literally and physically—this man was, flirting did not belong in her clinic. “Please tell him I appreciate the job he’s doing.”

Rebel nodded his head and said words she didn’t have a hope or a prayer of ever understanding, much less pronouncing. She must have been out of her mind thinking she was going to get
that
from a book. But Albert smiled again. “Thanks,” he said, his accent so thick it was almost unintelligible.

Okay
, she thought with a genuine smile.
We can start at thanks and go from there.
She turned her attention back to Jesse, who had at least stopped moaning. “When was the last time you had your vaccines updated?”

A hush fell over the clinic as they all turned to stare at her like she’d farted in the elevator. “Uh, there’s a new adult booster shot for the chicken pox,” she went on and wondered what she’d done this time. “Reduces the chances of getting shingles.”

“Not interested,” Rebel said, dismissing the very idea in the same tone he might use to shoot down a suggestion that they all picnic on the moon today.

Not interested? Madeline didn’t care if he was interested or not. As far as she was concerned, the flu shot was not optional. “But I don’t see where he’s even had his hepatitis vaccinations. And everyone should get the flu shot—do you know how many people I saw today that had the stomach flu? This whole population is susceptible to H1N1 and other seasonal flu viruses.”

“Not interested.” Rebel dropped his head as his shoulders hunched forward.

He looked like he was going to spring at any second, and all that nervous energy was going to uncoil on her in the worst way possible.
Oh, shit
. Outflanked. And he was going to rip her to shreds.

Clarence came to her rescue, God bless the man. He cleared his throat and stepped between the two of them—ostensibly to carry the scissors back to the autoclave be sterilized. “Even when Rebel pays us for the X-rays, we won’t be able to get that stuff. We’ve got too many other things we need.”

Payment? All she’d heard all day was that no one paid. She looked at Rebel. “You pay?”

Rebel narrowed his eyes, but he started shifting his weight again. “I need an invoice first. But I pay my bills.”

Amen and halleluiah, someone who did. If someone else was going to help cover the cost of supplies, she’d do her damnedest to make nice. “I’m sure Tara will have one for you in a few days, after she runs it through insurance.”

The laugh came out of nowhere. One second, Rebel looked like a dangerous, wild animal. The next, he was doubled over, slapping his knee like she was Milton Berle and someone had hit her with a powder puff. And it was contagious too. Tara tittered, and she heard Clarence snort from the back room. Even Jesse managed a weak smile. Great. She’d gone from being insulting to insulted in one swift move.

“Insurance? Doc,” Rebel said as he wiped his eyes, “you’re on the rez.”

“So?” That didn’t come out right, but man, she hated being the butt of jokes. And right now, she felt like one huge ass.

“So, no jobs equals no money and no insurance.”

Nothing. She’d spent all her time studying, only to get to the final exam and discover she’d been preparing for the wrong subject. Instead of that foolish language textbook, she should have been looking at census reports or something. Anything. Her ignorance of the situation was embarrassing, but there was no way in hell she was going to let him see that. It didn’t matter if she was outflanked. “Well, someone’s got to pay for something. Otherwise, no clinic, no doctor, no medicine.”

And they were right back to that lazy smile as he shifted from one foot to the other, like he wanted to mesmerize her with his hips. “The last doctor made it five months.”

He said it like he’d asked what her name was, but the challenge was unmistakable. She fought back the smile, knowing full well it was far too early to break out the Mitchell sneer. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Madeline Mitchell didn’t back down. Period. She squared her feet, ignoring the blisters. “I signed a contract for two years. I keep my promises.”

He held her gaze, the noble Indian and proud cowboy all wrapped up into one irritatingly handsome package. Then his gaze slid from her to where Tara was mopping Jesse’s brow. She thought she saw a look of resignation pass over his face, but it was gone so quickly, she was sure she was imagining things. “Then I guess we have one thing in common.”

One thing.

That was it.

Chapter Three

“Faster, Webel! Faster!”

Rebel pivoted to look back at his niece. Nelly Tall Trees was perched on her saddle, her rag doll carefully mimicking her position. She was rocking back and forth, as if she could convince Tanka to go faster with all forty-two of her pounds.

“I didn’t hear the magic words,” he teased, facing forward again.

The silence was drawn out.
Kids
, he thought with a smile. He’d spent how long reminding her what the magic words were? And still it took her a minute.

“Please, Webel?” He bit back the laugh at her mispronunciation. It was like Elmer Fudd was asking, not a little girl. “Please can we go faster?”

“You didn’t ask in Lakota.”

She growled at him, his little wolf-in-training. He didn’t bother to reply. He knew that if she thought about it hard enough, she’d use their language. “Why do I hafta?”

“Because you are Lakota.”

“Daddy doesn’t speak it.”

Maybe Nelly would grow up to be a lawyer. At five tender years, she could argue with the best of them. “He understands it.”

“Mommy doesn’t even understand it.” Oh, she would be a great lawyer. She’d led him right into that. How much was law school these days? More importantly, how much would it be in twenty years? He would have to sell a lot of bags, that much he was sure of.

Nelly made her closing arguments. “Why do I hafta learn it?”

She was good, but there was no way in hell a five-year-old could out-argue him. He could throw a million things at her, things like the fact that their native language would die if kids didn’t learn it, or that it was a part of them, just like the sky. Instead he went for the obvious. “Because if you can speak Lakota and your mom can’t, how would she know if you say something bad?”

This important fact brought more contemplative silence. There’s just no arguing with facts, Rebel decided. Not even for little kids.

He snuck a look back at Nelly. She sat tall in her saddle, and he could see the proud lineage of her tribe in her baby face. She loved her saddle—which was good, considering the bag he’d traded for it was worth almost ten times what the saddle was. But that’s what uncles did for little girls whose daddies were fighting other people’s wars. It was worth it every time he finally let her go faster and saw that toothless grin again.

“You might tattle on me. Teacher says tattling is not allowed.”

“Nell-Bell. Would I do that?”

“No…” She didn’t sound completely convinced.

Rebel waited. He could be patient when he wanted to be. Still, it took a few minutes. Nelly had trouble with the vowel sounds. “Webel,
oh
́
’a
́
nk
̇
oya
.”

“Good! That was good, Nell-Bell.” He touched Blue Eye’s sides, and the mare picked up the pace to a slow canter.

Tanka followed suit, leading to the “
Whee!
” that the wind picked up and wrapped around both of them.

Rebel wanted to go faster too. He loved nothing more than to give Blue Eye all of her lead and let her run as wild and free as a horse got these days. In her third summer, Blue Eye was, hands down, the best horse he’d ever owned. And he’d owned a lot of them.

Too bad no one but Nelly would ride with him. The language wasn’t the only part of the tribe that would die if the kids didn’t learn it. And with Jesse out of commission for the next few months—a year, maybe—it was up to Rebel. Like normal.

Blue Eye was pulling hard, just itching to leave old Tanka in the dust, but the clinic was just over the next hill. Rebel brought her back to a walk, and she snorted in disgust.

“Aww, Webel!” At least Blue Eye wasn’t the only one disgusted right now.

“Sorry, kiddo. We’re almost here.”

“Mommy says the new doctor is mad.”

“Oh?” Crazy or angry? He wasn’t sure Nelly knew the crazy definition. He’d go with angry, but as far as he was concerned, crazy was not off the table. Because, if she wasn’t a little nuts, what the hell was a doctor with stunning blue eyes and a smart mouth to match doing in the middle of the White Sandy?

Dr. Mitchell. She had a thin face that, on a less attractive woman would look horsy, but on her it just looked regal. Everything about her was long and lean, and despite the tied-back hair and sexless lab coat, she still managed to look delicate. Feminine. Beautiful.

“What else did your mom say?” A question that had nothing to do with those blue eyes. Or those legs. Nothing at all.

“Just that Daddy better not whine.”

He chuckled as they wove their way to the hitching post through the cars haphazardly parked around the clinic. “Sounded a lot like whining to me when I got there.” He reached up and pulled Nelly off her horse. “You won’t tattle on your daddy, will you?”

Her little pug nose wrinkled with the weight of the decision. “I guess not—not if he’s gonna keep reading me stories.”

Yeah, Nelly is her mother’s daughter.
Rebel grinned at the little girl.
“Th
̌
unkášila
 
Albert made him promise. He’ll keep his promise.”

“That means grandfather, right? I thought Albert wasn’t my grandfather. He’s yours.” Yup. Nelly was going to be a great lawyer.

“
Th
̌
unkášila
Albert is everyone’s grandfather,” he scolded her as he tied the horses.

Everybody’s grandfather—even Nobody’s. After Rebel dropped off Nelly, he had to go check on Nobody’s wound. “Nelly,” he said as he lifted her down, “you promise me that if you or your mom or grandma start to feel sick, you’ll tell
Th
̌
unkášila
Albert or me right away, okay?” The sickness was coming. That’s what the vision meant. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Nelly getting sick. Not before he figured out what it was. Not before he figured out if there was a way to stop it.

“Yes, Webel,” she said with a dutiful tone as he lifted her over the fan that was propping the door to the clinic open. And then she was gone, wriggling out of his hands and sprinting through the crowded waiting room to Tara’s arms. “Mommy! Mommy, Webel let me go faster!”

“Hi, sugar.” Tara glared at Rebel over the top of Nelly’s head. “How fast?”

“Not fast enough,” Nelly said with full lip-pout action.

Tara was not a big fan of anything faster, not when every time Jesse went faster, he broke something new. Time to cover. “Jesse was getting pretty tired, and Albert had some stuff to do,” he explained, fully aware that the whole waiting room was listening. “So I brought her.”

“Tara!” Dr. Mitchell yelled, pretty much eliminating all doubt about what kind of mad she was. “This speculum is broken! Where are the others?”

“Check the top drawer!” Tara rolled her eyes. “All day long, she yells,” she said in a voice just loud enough that the only person who wouldn’t hear it was Dr. Mitchell. “All day long.”

“Those are all broken too! Where are the ones that
work
?”

“We don’t have any others!” Tara shouted back. “Rebel, do me a big favor and pay your bill.” She dug out a hand-written bill with the adding-machine paper stapled to it. “The sooner she can go buy her damn supplies, the sooner she’ll stop being a—”

“We don’t have a single speculum that works?” Dr. Mitchell appeared before them.

Rebel was immediately reminded of a mad scientist. Her cornsilk hair was working its way loose from the same bun thing she’d had it tied up in yesterday and looked like it was standing straight out from her head, which made the elegant length of her face look deranged. Her cheeks were flaming red, but her eyes flashed with nothing but ice. Ice notwithstanding, she looked like a woman who had just gotten everything she wanted from a man. Images of her naked, twisted in sheets in a bed or bare to the air under the night sky, flashed in his mind. Against his will, his pulse picked up a notch. It had been a long time since he’d tried to give a woman what she wanted, but he was starting to think he might like to give it another go.