Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1

by Sarah Anderson

  However, even this living dream had to bow to the pressures of reality. Her blisters began to throb. Sooner or later, she was going to have to get home.

  Later wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

  He knelt in front of her, backlit by the fire. She could just see his eyes as they moved over her and kept going until they reached the blisters. “How bad are they?”

  “They’re fine.” The moment the words left her mouth, she shuddered. The reaction had been involuntary—but she knew he wasn’t buying it. If he ever had. She thought she saw his eyebrow arch. “Actually, they’re not so good.”

  “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’ll be right back.”

  Damn, but he moved fast when he wanted to. Within seconds, he was invisible in the dark, only the sound of his bare feet crunching on grass to tell her he was still there—somewhere. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got a rack wagon. Keep all my supplies in it,” he called back from the dark.

  She had no idea where he was—except she could tell he wasn’t up in the tent. In what she hoped was the far-away distance, a coyote howled. Mr. Steinman popped back into her head. She didn’t want to be eaten by any wildlife today, please and thank you. And she didn’t want Rebel to be eaten either.

  And just as easily as he’d disappeared, he was back in the circle of light. “Let me see.” Sitting on his heels like it was the easiest thing in the world, he slid one hand down her calf and picked up her foot. She leaned back on her elbows, only a little nervous about this contact. They were dressed now. She wasn’t overheating. They weren’t in the water. And he was still touching her.

  Nail polish. She needed some nail polish in the worst sort of way.

  He whistled. “These are hard core.” His finger lightly stroked the sorest spot on her heel. Madeline winced. “Quarter-sized. Very impressive.” Then he was smearing something on each and every blister she had with a light enough touch that it only hurt a little.

  So very good with his hands.

  Have a little fun, Mellie’s voice whispered in her ear. I order you to have a good time.

  She didn’t know how much more fun she could handle. Didn’t skinny dipping count as enough fun for one day? Besides, there was the small issue of protection. As in, she didn’t have any. And that was sort of a deal-breaker. Unintentional pregnancy was low on her list of things to do today. She cleared her throat. “What is that? Bear fat or something?”

  “Traditional healing medicine,” he intoned as he set the finished foot on his thigh and started on the other one. His accent was suddenly twice as strong. “Its powers are mystical.”

  And if she wasn’t mistaken, he sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “What do you call it?”

  A single finger traced up her sole. “Neosporin.”

  The giggle was as involuntary as the shivers had been earlier. He caught her foot as she tried to kick him. “You drive me crazy.” And that was fun, in and of itself.

  Suddenly, he wasn’t fixing her blisters. He wasn’t touching her feet at all. His hands were up and down her calves, the palms rubbing front to back with that same slow, steady pressure that had been all over her back. When he’d undressed her. When she’d let him undress her.

  “Is that such a bad thing?” he asked

  No. No, it wasn’t. Nothing about this was bad, not even the blisters. That was two consenting adults, alone, in front of a romantic fire. True, it was mid-July and hotter than hell, but still. This was textbook stuff.

  This was seduction. It had to be. And as he moved over her muscles like he’d spent a lifetime practicing for this very moment, she wasn’t sure she could remember her perfectly valid reasons for not succumbing. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  Really? Did she really just say that? Out loud? Oops.

  He didn’t move. Not even to breathe. She was pretty sure. “No. I’m not trying.”

  Embarrassment flooded her system. He drove her crazy? She drove herself insane sometimes. Leave it to her analytical little brain to ruin a perfectly fun time by trying to quantify things.

  Sure seemed like it was time to go home.

  But then he was moving again. He spread her legs wide apart and, just like a wolf getting ready to pounce, he crawled up between them. She watched him, powerless to do anything but hold the whimper in. Crawled. He was coming. For her.

  His mouth grazed her breast at the same moment his groin touched hers. The sudden flash of heat that spiked between the two spots had nothing on the fire. His hips—oh, God—those hips that she’d seen rock countless times from across the clinic were suddenly rocking into hers, back and forth, over and over. Each time he moved against her was something new, something different.

  Something good.

  Didn’t matter that she was dressed. Didn’t matter if all this contact was through layers of fabric. Didn’t matter that she’d tried her best to ruin the moment.

  Her body convulsed as his groin hit a spot she didn’t know she had. This time, she couldn’t fight back the whimper. Her body was beyond her control.

  But not his.

  By the time he made his way up to her face, she was helpless. “This,” he said, his voice low and serious and six different kinds of sexy, “is trying.”

  When his lips touched hers, everything that had been soft about her shot stiff with the jolt that hit her. If she’d thought the shock she’d felt in the river was painful enough, this was downright agony—in the best possible way. Her nipples acted on their own, her legs weren’t listening to her, and even though she’d been thorough in drying off, she was suddenly damp all over again. And her arms? Her arms were around his neck again, where they’d been all afternoon, pulling him down so that she could kiss the hell out of him.

  Third time’s the charm, she thought. Bryce had been a bumbling teenager, where the thrill of getting caught had far outlasted the actual thrill of having her lips smashed with braces. Darrin, well, he’d been a fish. Open, close. Open, close. Repeat until bored. Just like their sex life.

  But this? Rebel scraped his teeth along her lower lip with just enough pressure to drag her mouth open. Her blood was past pounding when he swept his tongue in. This was seduction. For the first time in her life, she was being seduced. Properly.

  When he pulled back, his chest was heaving just as fast as hers was. He wasn’t just jerking her around. He wanted her. Her. Not her family name, not her lucrative profession. Just her.

  “Madeline.” His voice, husky with need, strummed her in places she didn’t know could be played. But he knew the right tune. “Mad-e-line.” With each sound, he moved his hips. Too much more of this, and it wouldn’t matter that they were still both wearing jeans.

  He would be amazing. Hell, who was she kidding? He was amazing. And this was about to get a whole lot more amazing.

  The three months since pity sex with Darrin suddenly weren’t the longest three months in her life. No, she was suddenly quite sure she’d never really, truly had sex. Sure, she’d gone through the motions, but this wouldn’t be just a physical copulation. This wasn’t just sex, but something deeper, something more powerful than she’d ever dared to imagine, much less hold in her arms. This wasn’t just sex—was it?

  “Stay with me,” he whispered as his fingers found curls. “Stay here with me.”

  Not just sex. Not with him. “I...” He kissed her again, his whole body surging up to convince her that staying was the only, best option. Her body quaked underneath his.

  “Stay,” he breathed. “Please.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Please.” He didn’t beg—he never begged, because he’d never had to—but even to his own ears, he was getting awful close. She felt so right under him, so right against him, that he couldn’t imagine her not staying there. Her curls, perfect in their wildness, spread out under her head, crowning her in silken glory as her eyes fluttered. She made that little whimpering noise again, a high, tight noise in the back of her throat. He leane
d down and caught the noise with his mouth.

  He’d beg if he had to. He’d never tasted anything as exquisite as the sound of her need. She needed him. She wanted him. And he’d do his damnest to give it to her. All of it.

  Her body—damn the jeans—her body moved in perfect counterpoint to his. It gave when it needed to, met his with a show of sheer force when it had to. She dug her fingers into his back and pulled him up when she wanted more, but they were feather-soft against his skin when he pulled back. Her parted lips were begging for another kiss while her cheeks were still flushed from the last one. He propped himself up on one hand and let the fullness of her breast fill his hand. “Please.” He was begging. He had no choice.

  Her nipples were at full attention as he rolled his thumb over her breast. Perfect—just enough to hold. Just like her. But then her head popped up and her eyes popped open, and he saw the alarm. The worry. The regret. And she grabbed his hand.

  “I don’t have anything.” The change that came over her was plenty painful to watch, but more painful to feel. Her soft, giving center jerked away from him. She untwined her legs from his. Then she put her hand on his chest and pushed. She pushed him away. “We have to use something.”

  The anger was a flash in the pan. For a white-hot second, he was furious with her for letting him get this far, and beyond furious with himself. He was going to have blue balls for a week, all because neither of them had a damned condom.

  But then he looked down at her. The corners of her lips—that he’d been kissing—were pulled down into a frown. Her eyes had none of the challenge, none of the superiority that marked their earlier battles. Instead, she looked like she was going to cry.

  That made two of them.

  He let the anger leave his body. It didn’t take much of the desire-turned-frustration with it, but just enough that he could think straight. Of course they needed something. He wasn’t some stupid, hormonal teenager who thought only with his dick. He was a grown man, who already took care of enough accidents—Jesse, Nelly, and others—to last him a lifetime.

  And, more than anything, he couldn’t push her. She was right. She was also miserable. Her lip quivered even though she couldn’t meet his gaze anymore. He couldn’t push her. Not now, not ever.

  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.