Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1 (10 page)

On the bright side, at this distance, he couldn’t see said nipples. She had that going for her.

“Mad-e-line,” he repeated, each syllable a prayer said by a man hell-bent on sinning. He slid his hands down her exposed back, each fingertip finding something new to explore. Then he was undoing her button, then her zipper, then his palms were flat against her skin, sliding under the jeans and pushing them down. “Madeline.”

Name. Names. His name. Despite her befuddled state, a dim, flickering light went off. “Jonathan,” she whispered, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth was.

He froze. Absolutely froze against her, and damn it all, her nipples went rock hard. She ignored her stupid nipples and focused on the victorious fact that she had outflanked him. For once, she had outflanked him. “Jonathan Runs Fast.”

“Who told you that?” His voice was off-balance, scared even.

“Karen. From the High Plains Gallery. I bought a green bag. With pipe.”

He swallowed—her eyes were level with his Adam’s apple. “You overpaid in commission.”

She was going to enjoy this. She thought. Already, her perceived victory was leaving a funny taste in her mouth. “It was worth it, Jonathan.”

His hands went hard against her. “Don’t. Don’t call me that.” He swallowed again. “Please.”

“Why not?”

He leaned away from her, catching her eyes and holding them tight with his again. “Because.” His fingers found her face again, and he cupped her cheeks. His eyes weren’t looking at anything but hers. “That’s what my ex-wife called me.”

Chapter Six

If possible, her cheeks shot even redder than a summer tomato as everything soft about her in his arms turned to steel. “Excuse me? Your
ex-wife
?”

He didn’t want to talk about Anna. He wanted to get Madeline into the water, get her cooled off so he could heat her up again. But, as usual, Anna had popped up out of nowhere, leaving him to deal with the wreckage. “Not a big deal. One of those starter marriages. Over before it got going, really.”

Which was kind of how his afternoon was beginning to feel. Over before it got properly started.

“Why?” she demanded, managing to look a little ferocious even as she sounded like she’d been swallowing sand.

“She took one look at the rez and ran screaming.” Against his will, his hands began to slide down, grabbing more of what he couldn’t see. Her skin had a give to it that just begged a man to grab another handful.

“Don’t,” she snapped, lurching away from him.

He caught her around the waist. Too much more distance, and he might accidentally look. Which would only make her madder—and that wasn’t what anyone needed right now. “You need to cool off.”

Her eyes darted to the river behind him, and she bit her lip. She wanted to go—she
needed
to go. But would that second nature of hers override what was just a simple, basic need?

“I won’t look,” he said, trying hard to sound like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “I promise.”

He felt the sigh start low in her chest before it moved up to her eyes. Which just about turned his brain to jelly. Her, right
here
. No sexless coats. No patients. No Jesse. Just her. She tried to glare at him, but all she could manage was some pitiful version of her normal sneer.

“Fine.” She sounded like she was doing him a favor, but he’d take it. “But I’ll do this myself, thank you very much.”

He stared into those icy blues for a second longer before he scrunched his eyes shut. “You tell me when I can open them again, okay? Just go slow getting into the water. Watch your footing. There’s a little bit of an undertow.”

She nodded. Reluctantly, he let go of her waist and pivoted in the direction of his water cooler. “You need some water,” he called over his shoulder as he fumbled around for a cup.

“I am
not
going to drink river water. Do you have any idea what kind of microbes or contaminants could be in that stuff?”

He wanted to laugh at her, but he didn’t want to spill the cup he was filling. “Madeline, do you really think I’m dumb enough to drink this straight? I have a purifier system. My water is cleaner than what comes out of your tap, I bet.” Besides, he didn’t think she needed to be worried about the water.

The trickle of water told him the cup was full, while the sound of grunting behind him said she was struggling with those boots. Again. “I’m going to set this on the stump. You come in the water when you’re ready, okay? You need to cool off.”

“What about you?

“I’ll be in the river.” Flinging his towel onto a bush to dry again, he waded in.

She gasped, a quick, involuntary sound. The sound tickled over his nerves like Magic Fingers. Oh, yeah. She’d looked.

The water welcomed him back, the current swirling around his legs as he went deeper. He sidestepped a sinkhole as the cold water hit his groin like a slow-swung sledgehammer, which was just as well. She wasn’t the only one who needed to cool off.

He needed to get his head together right now. He could not even think about thinking with his dick. She’d been in Rapid City. She’d bought that green bag—God only knew how much she’d paid for that.

But more importantly, she’d talked to Karen. Karen, who treated him like a god descending from Olympus. Half the white world treated him like that—some mystic Indian god at whose feet they desperately wanted to worship. Just like Anna. Which was good for his brand image, but bad for his soul.

And now Madeline knew about Anna, about his art—about everything. He knew why she was here. She was pissed. She had merely underestimated the prairie in summer, that was all. As soon as she unwilted a little, she’d probably let him have it.

He could hope, anyway.

His ears looked for him. Over the gentle lap of the river, he could hear her sniff the cup, then take a drink. He heard her swallow the rest in huge gulps. “There’s more in the cooler, but don’t drink it too fast. You’ll upset your belly.”

“I know that,” she snapped. A little less wilted with every second. “If I get dysentery, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Like this was all his fault. Well, maybe just a little. “I’m not the one who walked a mile and a half during the hottest part of the day, you know.”

She snorted, but he still heard the water give way to her foot. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Which was what again?” The way her bare legs were slicing through his river? The way she’d shiver when the coldness hit the hidden spot between her legs? How hard her nipples would get when they got wet? He cleared his throat and moved deeper into the water, in case she was still looking. She’d made no such promises, after all. “Is that your lack of preparedness for a summer hike?”

“We were discussing why you have a real name that you hid from me. You lied.”

“Rebel
is
my real name. Albert gave it to me.”

“I don’t understand a damn thing you say.” She waded up next to him, and, despite sounding pissier than hell, let out a deep, satisfied sigh. She was crouched way down in the water, so that it covered everything important but her shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see their round, shimmering softness. “I didn’t say you could look,” she snapped, taking another step into deeper water. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me you’re this big, important artist. I don’t understand how you know things if you don’t have a phone out here, things like when Mr. White Mouse has an appointment or when the vaccine was coming in. I don’t know a damn thing about you.”

“Sure you do. You know I went to college, I make bags and that some people pay way too much money for them. You even know I was married. What else is there to know?”

“And when were you going to tell me about that, huh? For all I know, you’re secretly a serial killer, Jonathan. Go to hell.” In slow motion, she walked away from him.

And right toward a sinkhole. “Madeline—stop!” But he was too late. In a heartbeat, she disappeared under the water, leaving nothing more than an errant ripple in the water. It was like she’d never even been there.

Couldn’t she swim? Maybe not. Maybe the current had her. Oh, shit. Without thinking, he ducked under the murky water and grabbed for her. And came up empty. She was slipping through his fingers just as surely as the water was.

Panic struck at him. Where was she? The river would keep her, if it wanted. But that wasn’t what he wanted, not by a long shot.
No
. Not her. Not now.

He kept grabbing, kept coming up empty. Finally, after what was probably no more than ten seconds, but ten seconds that took five years off his life, he got hold of her arm and hauled her to the surface.

Sputtering, she spit water in his face before she choked down a tortured breath. “Madeline! Are you okay?”
Please, please be okay
, he prayed. Just be okay.

She threw her arms around his neck. Her whole body was shaking. “Don’t let go, Rebel,” she pleaded as she coughed up more of the river. “Don’t let go of me.”

She was okay. Scared, and probably about a minute from worrying about dysentery again, but otherwise okay. Relief surged through him. No matter what, she was okay, and he’d keep her that way. He hugged her to his chest as he silently thanked the river for giving her back. “I won’t. I promise.”

Nodding into his neck, she coughed a few more times. But then she relaxed in his arms a little.

And he remembered they were both naked. And holding each other. And there were no zippers to intrude on anything this time around. Each part of hers was pressing into each matching part of his.

Holding tight, he shifted her so both of her legs trailed off to one side, so he was holding her like he held Nelly when she wanted him to spin her around. One arm under her shoulders, the other around her waist. Safer this way. She didn’t let go of his neck, though, didn’t demand he unhand her this instant. She just let his arms hold her against his chest, let her hand rest on his shoulders.

He found himself spinning in slow circles, letting the river get to know her, letting her get to know the river. Dancing, in a way, to the music of his land. The water burbled by in apology for scaring her, while the wind shushed through the grasses with a murmuring calm. Peace filled him.

It was working on her too. He could tell that, despite the dunking, she was doing better. Her skin was much cooler to the touch and she’d calmed down. In fact, she was letting her toes peek out of the water as they went around and around. After a while—he didn’t know how long, and he didn’t care—he felt all the steel leave her body as she let him and the water carry her.

Suddenly, this position didn’t feel any safer. His left hand was on her ribs, just below her breast. His other hand was in the small of her back, itching to get back to where it had been headed earlier. He willed his hands to be still on her skin. He was just helping her cool down. He was just making sure she was comfortable in the water. He was just helping a friend. That’s all. He was not going to find out what secrets her body was ready to give up. He was not going to push her. He was not going to do anything with Dr. Madeline Mitchell.

Nothing she didn’t want, anyway.

Soon enough, her calm passed. “Tell me about it.” Instead of anger or frustration, instead of the superior pissiness that was her second nature, she sounded contemplative. She wasn’t pulling. She was just asking.

“Which part?”

One hand left his shoulder and trailed down his chest until it reached the water, where it joined her toes in having a nice time. The slow suction of her breast pulling free from his chest almost sent him to his knees. Without even trying, she was going to bring him to his knees. “All of it.”

Goose bumps danced up and down his skin—an involuntary reaction, and one he hadn’t had in a long time. What he wouldn’t give to see if she had any, but he’d promised. Damn it. To keep temptation at bay, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Albert had a vision when I was born.”

She jumped in shock, but said, “Really?” like it was no big deal.

White people
. They never believed in the spirit world, except when it was convenient for them. He chuckled into her hair. “Really. He is a powerful man. Who just happens to have a job mopping floors.”

Her fingers cut small waves in the never-ending river. “Are you a powerful man too? A medicine man?”

“Yes. I’m not trying to steal your patients, you know. We just believe in trying the traditional ways first—although I’m not about to set any bones. If it came down to a life-and-death situation that only antibiotics could fix, then bring on the drugs.”

He could actually feel her weighing that statement. “Do you keep souls?”

He chuckled again. “Karen is...reliable in her gossip. But yes, I do. I hold onto a person’s soul for a year after they die, and then I release it so it can make the final journey to be judged by Owl Woman. Like Saint Peter at the Gate,” he added. Everyone knew about Saint Peter.

She thought on that for a moment, which was a change of pace. She was trying to understand, really trying. His respect for her grew. “And this is connected to your name? Albert gave you your name, you said.”

“He did. When I was born, he saw that I had one foot in a moccasin, and one in what he called ‘those shoes people wear when they want to walk on their money’.”