A fact that was not helped by the way her face twisted into something ferocious as she walked up to him. “Hello, Rebel.” She sounded like she’d hit a piece of gristle in the middle of a good steak, but it didn’t matter. She’d said his name. It had the potential to be music to his ears. “Back again?”
He willed his leg to be still, and it ignored him. “Brought Irma in.”
Her eyes shifted to Irma, and she softened. It was a pretty thing to watch, to see the woman inside try to come out. “And you’re here to translate?”
Irma cackled, her good humor filling the room. “I don’t need no translator. I figure if I got to have someone drive me in, I might as well get someone easy on the eyes to do it, yeah?”
He chuckled with Irma, which helped keep him from staring at the prairie-fire blush that flamed across Madeline’s cheeks. Damn, she just got prettier all the time.
“Well. That’s...good.” She did a damn fine job of ignoring her physical reactions, Rebel decided. She was relieved that she wouldn’t need a translator, but she acted like it was no big deal. The boots were clearly rubbing her wrong, but she wore them anyway. She blushed like a schoolgirl, but refused to even acknowledge that he was getting to her.
Somewhere, deep inside a pissy doctor who couldn’t stand the sight of him, was a woman named Madeline. He thought he’d seen her yesterday, right about the time he’d thought about kissing her in the middle of the afternoon, just to see what she’d do. But the pissy doctor had overruled the woman named Madeline with such ease that she probably didn’t even know she’d done it. Second nature, that’s what it was.
He wanted to know what her first nature was. He could be patient if he had to be. But he wasn’t feeling patient today. Hence the fact that his leg would not stop jumping.
She was staring at him. And not in the good way. “Was there something else you needed?”
He’d bet money that particular look didn’t exactly win her friends, wherever she came from. She was that good at it. “Nope.”
Her lips thinned. “I’m sure you’ve got someplace else to be.”
“Not really.” She didn’t like someone challenging her directly, that much was clear. She was used to being in charge. Probably the oldest child, he decided.
Her hand slicked back, smoothing her ponytail again. As far as personal tics went, it was odd. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”
He settled his butt into the chair. “Not today.” Not when he could sit here all day and watch her fight herself. Beads would keep.
In a flash, her demeanor changed and she smiled, the smile of a woman who got exactly what she wanted. His blood ran hot. “Good. Then I’m sure you won’t mind helping Clarence unload the supplies. Since you’re so familiar with my stock closet.”
Oh, he’d like to be familiar with a whole lot more than that. But if she wanted him to prove himself by carrying boxes, then so be it. At least then he’d have a good reason for still being here. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The white Jeep,” she said, dismissing him with a wave. “Irma? Come on back.”
He had to look around, but he finally found the white Jeep parked in back. He should have guessed that a vehicle that nice and new was hers. Not many cars like that around here. And who would buy a white car? Back when he’d gone off the rez, white cars were all driven by drivers paid good money just to take wealthy old ladies from point A to point B. She didn’t look that old.
Clarence had a stack of boxes on a hand truck. “Hiya, Rebel,” he said with a grunt as he lifted another box.
“Hiya, Clarence. That’s a lot of boxes.”
He looked from the hand truck to the Jeep. “I think she managed to get forty boxes in here. And so far, they all weigh a ton.”
Rebel peeked in. Boxes were crammed in, floor to ceiling, window to window—passenger seat included. “What on earth did she get?” He’d only given her a grand. A grand went a long way for him, but he didn’t think it would cover this much. He picked up a box marked FRAGILE. X-RAY FILM.” A ton didn’t begin to describe it.
“Everything, I think. There’s got to be five thousand bucks’ worth of stuff in there.”
Wow. That’s why she bought a white Jeep. She was a wealthy lady. Just not old. “I brought Irma in. I can help until she’s done.”
Even with the two of them, it still took over an hour to get all the supplies in. As they wheeled the last boxes in, Rebel noticed Tara was smiling. It didn’t happen very often, not unless Nelly was behaving herself. “Better day today?”
Sipping a Diet Coke, Tara nodded. “She hasn’t yelled once. It’s been almost pleasant. I thought she might be even grumpier about spending all that money...”
His curiosity got the better of him. “How much?”
“More than eleven grand.” Tara’s voice was a true whisper, like she was afraid to name the number out loud. “She gave me the receipts to file. That’s a lot of money.”
Rebel whistled. That wasn’t a lot of money. That was a hell of a lot of money.
Who the hell was Dr. Madeline Mitchell?
It took nine hours to unpack eleven grand worth of medical supplies. He even took Irma home and then borrowed her car to come back and keep helping, much to Blue Eye’s disappointment. When Albert showed up, Tara left to get Nelly at four thirty, marking the official end of the work day. Clarence held out until five thirty before he bailed. Albert asked if he should help, but she must be picking up on some of the language, because she yelled from the stock room that Albert was sweet for asking, but he should go home and check on Jesse, which Rebel duly translated.
And it was just the two of them.
By seven, they were done. She sprawled out at Tara’s desk, her head down as she ran her hand over what was left of her pony tail. There wasn’t much there, but damn it all, it was smooth.
Rebel took up residence on the floor in front of the fan, watching her through narrow eyes. She was exhausted. Would she own up to it, or pretend everything was fine?
“Thank you for your help, Rebel.” It was muffled by the crook of her arm, but he heard it anyway. It wasn’t the first time she’d said his name, but it did mark the first time she said it without sneering.
The fan wasn’t cooling much. “Glad to help. That was a hell of a lot of stuff.”
“I believe the technical term is a shitload of stuff.” She pulled her head up and smiled weakly as she rotated her head from side to side. She was funny. He found her unintentionally humorous, but she could even be funny on purpose—when she wasn’t trying to run the world.
“You got all that last night?” True, he was dancing around the eleven-thousand-dollar question. But every pass got him closer to some of her truth.
She shot him the I-got-what-I-wanted look. With her mussed hair and tired smile, she definitely looked like she belonged in a bed. Or at least a sleeping bag. “That medical supply place didn’t want to stay open past eight, but money talks, you know.”
Getting closer. He edged away from the fan. “That didn’t look like money talking. That looked like money screaming.”
Her back stiffened and she spun the chair away from him. He was losing her. “Don’t worry about it.”
He didn’t want to lose her, not yet. “Can I worry about you?”
“Can you? Sure. I can’t stop you. But I’m not giving you permission.” Damn it all, he’d lost her. Right before his eyes. “You may not worry about me. I’m fine. It’s just been a long week.”
Did she think he was going to buy that load of shit? “You can’t live here. The clinic is not a life.”
She snorted. “Says the man who’s been here every day of the week and isn’t the least bit sick.”
Busted. But she wasn’t the only one who could ignore the obvious. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why?” She spun around to face him. The exhaustion was gone. Instead, he found himself staring into clear eyes the color of winter ice. No defenses, no second nature. She was jus
t a woman, and he was just a man.
Who wasn’t quite ready to own up to the truth. He actually wasn’t so sure on the reasons himself. He pulled himself to his feet and shook the stiffness out of his back. Sitting on linoleum was a world of different from sitting on sand. “I doubt you’d understand.”
“Sure. I don’t understand the language, the customs, why over half my patients have the flu. I don’t understand why you tell my patients there’s nothing I can do for them when that’s not true. I don’t understand why my landline won’t work. I don’t understand a damn thing.” She was on her feet, backing away from him. “Least of all you.”
He swallowed. He’d pushed when he should have pulled. “I can check into your landline.”
She shook her head, like she couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Don’t you have a job? Someplace to be? Anywhere but here?”
Now they were getting somewhere. She was pulling again. She was the kind of woman who needed to pull. She was that good at it.
“Sure. I work.”
After she ran her hand over her hair again, she crossed her arms in frustration. Or was it protection? “Where?”
“Wherever I want.”
He would be lucky if he got out of here without her strangling him. At least he could tell that was what she was thinking. “Doing what?” She liked to pull. She liked the control. So she could just keep pulling.
He shrugged, like he wasn’t sure. “What I want.”
“For whom?” For a woman who’d seen patients all day, and unpacked supplies all evening, she was suddenly looking quite feisty. And there were no patients around this time. He could kiss her now, and the worst thing that could happen would be that she stabbed him with a scalpel.
As long as she didn’t hit a major blood vessel...he might risk it. “For me, myself and I.” She glared at him, and he knew he’d earned it. “This is the rez,” he added, trying to shrug it off. “Things are different here.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She turned, looking at the whole of the clinic. He knew it had to come up lacking.
Again, he tried to imagine what she’d given up to come, and why she’d given it up. Others had come, filled with misguided hope about saving the noble savages from themselves. Those were the ones that lasted weeks, if not days. But she gave no indication that was the reason, and he didn’t have a clue. “We’re glad you came,” he offered, hoping to make peace.
“We?” She pivoted, and suddenly, Rebel found himself looking at Madeline.
“Me. I’m glad you came.”
Slowly, the smile developed like an old-fashioned Polaroid. Free from Dr. Mitchell, Madeline was beyond beautiful. It took everything he had not to step up, take that angelic face in his hands and kiss her. “Thank you for your help,” she said again, each word coming out precisely measured.
“Anytime,” he said. “Glad to do it.” For you, he silently added.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, and then, in a heartbeat, Madeline was gone. “Will you be gracing the clinic with your presence tomorrow?” Dr. Mitchell said, putting the desk between her and Rebel.
That was it—the sign that he should not kiss her. Not tonight anyway. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
She bit her lip, and he saw her. Madeline. Madeline wanted to see him tomorrow, no matter how much he irritated Dr. Mitchell. Who would win? “No,” she finally said with crushing certainty. “I do not want to see you tomorrow.”
Second nature. She probably didn’t even know she’d done it.
But he did.
By the time he got the car back to Irma’s and had ridden over to Albert’s, Jesse was in full whining mode again. Just like he’d been when Rebel had last seen him.
“Bro! Come on. At least change the channel for me. I’m dying over here.”
The familiarity was comforting, in that pain-in-the-ass kind of way. “Suffer. You’re the damn fool who broke his leg. Not me.”
“I don’t remember you trying to stop me,” Jesse huffed as he tried to shift on Albert’s couch.
Rebel couldn’t help but compare Jesse’s whining to Nobody’s stoic silence. Damn, but he could go for a little stoic silence right now. “Jesse, I gave up trying to tell you what to do when you were seven.”
“Some medicine man you are. Can’t even tell your own brother when he’s going to crash and burn,” Jesse muttered, giving up on shifting. He threw his arms over his head to block out PBS. “Just change the channel, Rebel.”
“Suffer. You might learn something.” Like not to be a jerk, but after all these years, the chances were slim. “Seen your daughter today?”
“Hanyanke’ci,” Albert hollered from the kitchen, where he was frying venison steaks. Tomorrow. At least Albert was keeping track of these things. But he always did.
“I hate it when he talks Lakota,” Jesse whimpered, wrapping his arms over his ears. “I hate it here.”
Which meant staying with Albert was good for the twerp. “Nelly doesn’t whine this much. You sound like a baby,” Rebel scoffed, turning up the volume on a program about seed pods. Static rippled across the TV. He headed into the kitchen where Albert already had the tea cooling. The tension eased out of his body. Man, it was good to come home.
Albert looked over his shoulder and nodded with a tired smile. Yeah, Rebel wasn’t the only one who had to put up with Jesse’s bitching. But then he squared around. “You like her.”
Not a good sign, not when Albert spoke English. “Just helping out,” he replied, hoping that was enough.
Albert’s smile was a whole lot less tired. “Ayup, wacáŋto wagnaka,” he said again, repeating himself in Lakota. The language may change, but the sentiment did not.
His face shot hot. It could be worse. This was Albert. More than anyone else on this rez, Albert would understand. He had understood long before Rebel had.
But that didn’t mean he wanted to stand here and have his grandfather break down his school-aged crush for him. He’d rather take his chances with Jesse. Jesse wasn’t nearly as perceptive. What could go wrong?
Lots. Jesse came up firing. “Heard you were back at the clinic again today.”
Rebel stiffened. Albert was one thing. Jesse was an entirely different beast. But it wasn’t like Albert to gossip. Was word getting around that fast? Shit. He was in trouble. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” For a man who was supposed to be in agony, Jesse sure as hell looked like he’d just won the lottery. And, like usual, Rebel would have to foot the bill. “Same as yesterday. And the day before.”
Damn it. Damn it all. He should have known this was coming. He’d walked right into it, and now he had no choice but to brazen it out. “So?”
He hated that smile of Jesse’s. All the more so because people said that was when they most looked like brothers. He hated smiling like Jesse. He hated being like Jesse. “So I thought you swore off white women. Women in general, in fact.”
It wouldn’t be fair to punch that smile in. The man was defenseless. “This has nothing to do with that.”
“Right, right. I forgot. I forgot you were the high and mighty Rebel Runs Fast, better than everyone else. You never chased a skirt. You never did anything for a woman. You certainly never married a white woman. I just forgot.” Jesse glared at him from the couch, the TV throwing the blue light of PBS onto his face until he looked like a sica, a spirit. And not a good one. “Or maybe it was you who forgot, Rebel. Maybe it was you who forgot who you really are.”
Still. Be still. Because moving would mean punching Jesse’s lights out. “I hope your leg gets infected.”
“What, so you can take me back to the clinic and hit on the pretty doctor again? Go right ahead. I can’t hurt any worse.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Hey!” Albert appeared in the doorway, wielding the kitchen knife Rebel had gotten him three hunting seasons ago. “Knock it off.”
Rebel didn’t doubt the old man still had enough in him to at least do some coll
ateral damage with the blade. Well, Jesse would get what was coming to him, that much was sure. “Yes, Tȟunkášila.”
“Not my grandfather,” Jesse said with more pout than Nelly ever got away with. That’s what you got when dealing with a grown man who didn’t know who his father was. Pouting.
It was time to leave before someone in this house lost it, and he was at the top of the list. “Tȟunkášila,” he said, mindful of keeping the respect proper. And he walked away. He walked away, no matter how good the dinner he’d hunted and given to his grandfather smelled. Blue Eye trotted after him, but he wasn’t in the mood to ride right now. He needed to just walk away. He walked away from his little brother, his mother’s only remembrance of a one-night stand with a white man she met at a truck stop. He loved Jesse, but he could not be around him when he was irrational. Not when he reminded Rebel of everything he’d almost been once.
Not when Jesse reminded him of everything he could still be.
He was done with white women.
It was better this way.
Chapter Five
A month. One month. Madeline had made it one long, overworked, underpaid month.
Only four to go until she broke the last guy’s record.
She sat outside the High Plains Art Gallery in Rapid City, finishing her latte and enjoying the urban wilderness again. Sidewalks. Dogs on leashes. Self-absorbed hipsters. Bright awnings on freshly painted buildings. Man, she was loving the city today. Not that the clinic wasn’t on her mind. She had a Jeep full of medical supplies and canned goods, and had only one more errand on her to-do list. Mellie’s birthday was in less than a month, and she had demanded something nice. “Something Indiany,” her one and only little sister had said just over a month ago.
Had it really been a month since she’d had a latte? The days had flown by in a blur of clinic, cabin, clinic, cabin. Challenging didn’t begin to describe it. Despite her rather childish insistence that she didn’t want to see him in the clinic again, Rebel had come in on a regular basis—he seemed to know when the older patients needed a translator. Not that he ever told them what Madeline wanted him to tell them, though.
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