Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1

by Sarah Anderson

  A hammer hit him in the chest. She’d always seemed so formal, so stiff around the kids at the clinic, but now? Now she was helping Nelly with the prized berries and bouncing Mikey on her knee like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Anna had not wanted children. She’d been afraid of the disorder a baby would bring, both to her world and her body. And, at the time, Rebel had been on board with that. He didn’t want any more kids to grow up with the kind of confusion that kept Jesse locked between two different worlds, and he sure as hell hadn’t wanted any child of his to be nothing but a dirt-poor red man to the rest of the world.

  Madeline looked up at him, her eyes bright.

  It didn’t have to be that way, he realized. Jesse had let himself be stuck in the middle. And who the hell cared what the rest of the world thought?

  And then she smiled at him, and the hammer hit him harder.

  “Just the man I needed to see,” she said.

  His gut clenched, which left him wide open for what she said next.

  “How big is Jesse’s truck?”

  Huh? “Standard bed,” he replied as he noticed that Tammy had a huge grin on her face. “Why? What did I miss?”

  “I need someone with a truck to go with me to Rapid City. I’m going to buy some filing cabinets.”

  He’d missed something, all right. No one had breathed a word of filing cabinets. “More than one?”

  “Tara thinks it’ll take at least two,” she replied, and both sisters nodded. “If we had things in filing cabinets, I would have been able to pull Albert’s file before we left. I need filing cabinets and someone to organize them for me.”

  “Dr. Mitchell,” Tammy said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He’d definitely missed something. “For filing cabinets?”

  All three women looked at him like he was a tree stump. “I’ve decided that I need filing cabinets,” Madeline said, her voice dropping well into teasing range. In front of other people. Maybe someone had gotten her a beer? “And it turns out that Tammy finished a year of a secretarial program at, where again?”

  “Sinte Gliske,” Tammy replied, staring at her feet.

  That’s right, Rebel remembered. Tammy had been following in Tara’s footsteps—their mother was a huge fan of higher education—and then she’d gotten pregnant and dropped out. And with an unfinished degree and a newborn, a paycheck had suddenly become out of reach.

  Until Madeline showed up. Madeline, who seemed to understand about these things. Madeline, who was going to save the world, one person at a time. Starting with Tammy.

  Hell, who was he kidding? Starting with him.

  “And Lord knows I don’t have time to organize anything,” Tara said, shooting him the kind of look that demanded agreement.

  Finally, he caught on. “So you’re going to test Tammy’s organizational skills?”

  “On a trial basis,” Madeline added, smiling with genuine warmth. “It’s not like we couldn’t use a little more help.”

  “She said I could bring in Mikey if Mom was too busy,” Tammy added, the embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

  “Nelly can help,” Tara reassured her, a sisterly arm on her shoulder.

  “That’s...” Well, hell. He didn’t have a word. And everyone could tell.

  Tara rolled her eyes as Tammy blushed even harder. Madeline notched an eyebrow at him. “Assuming,” she said, the sarcasm dripping, “someone keeps paying his bills.”

  His mouth opened to give her what-for—his bills? More like everyone else’s bills—but Nelly bounded into the room.

  “Webel. Dr. Mitchell. Tȟunkášila Albert told me he wanted to talk to you. I think,” she added as she scratched her head. “Maybe he said...oh, shoot.”

  Madeline had that same look—a little worried, but not too much—as she handed Mikey off. “We’ll go check, Nelly. Thanks for telling us.”

  He fought the urge to grab her hand—not because he was afraid it might be the last touch, but because he wanted her to know that she didn’t need to be afraid, not while he was here. But he didn’t. Jesse was watching. Hell, everyone was watching as they wove their way back to the kitchen.

  Walter was gone now, and Irma brushed past them with an old grin on her face. Rebel thought he heard her whisper, “Easy on the eyes, yeah?”

  Madeline’s back stiffened and, although he was behind her, he was sure he saw her ears shoot red. But then she giggled and patted Irma on the arm. “Those potatoes were amazing, Irma. The best I’ve ever had.”

  No, certainly not the worst idea he’d ever had.

  “Yanka.” Albert said.

  “Have a seat,” Rebel translated, beginning to wonder what this was all about. The kitchen was now empty; the sounds of people talking and laughing in the next room seemed faint.

  Albert began to talk. The beautiful music that was Lakota flowed out of him like an old, well-loved song, one that Rebel never got tired of hearing. He began to translate.

  “You are a good doctor,” he said, doing his level best to get the spirit, if not the letter, of Albert’s words right. “You do much good in this world.”

  Madeline squirmed in her seat, like she’d never had to just sit and take a compliment before. “That’s sweet, Albert, but you don’t have to—”

  Albert’s hand snapped up and cut her off at a speed that impressed even Rebel.

  “He’s not done yet,” Rebel chided her. Bad form to interrupt one of the most senior members of the tribe, after all.

  “Oh,” she said, blushing even harder. For a second, Rebel got lost in the sunset pink that gave her skin the look of first true love. “Okay. Sorry.”

  After a pause that carried a lot more weight than normal, Albert began again and Rebel translated. “You have made your mother and father proud.”

  Madeline made a little noise as her hand flew to her mouth. “What?”

  Albert nodded. “It wasn’t that they lived or died, it’s how they lived and died,” Rebel translated, keeping a close eye on her. The blood was draining from her face at an alarming pace. “A good life and a good death are all a man can ask for.”

  Albert turned those eyes to him, the eyes that had watched him walk away without judgment when Rebel had been too young and stupid to know what he was leaving. The eyes that had watched him crawl back without contempt when he’d realized he could never be who the rest of the world wanted him to be. He knew Albert was talking to both of them.

  So it was in the world. A true Lakota warrior didn’t fear death, didn’t hide from his true path. And Albert had always followed his true path. “Today is a good day to die,” Rebel said to his grandfather in English.

  Albert nodded, the crinkles around his eyes telling Rebel he was pleased the younger man had finally remembered their truth. “Apetu kile waste ekta te,” Albert repeated in Lakota.

  “I don’t...understand.” She was slouched down in her chair, like the weight of her world was resting full on her shoulders, and her hands were shaking. Just like her voice. “I don’t understand.”

  Albert stood, steadying himself on the table until his legs caught up with the rest of him. Then he leaned over and kissed Madeline on the cheek. “I’m glad you came.” In English, Albert’s voice had a distinctive rasp that was missing from his Lakota. “I hope you stay.” And he shuffled off to take a tired Mikey from his mother’s arms and rock the baby to sleep. While he still could.

  “I don’t understand,” Madeline repeated after a long moment, her hand touching the spot Albert had blessed with a kiss.

  “You don’t have to understand.” It was going to be all right, that much he knew. “You just have to believe.”

  “Believe what? Believe Albert knows something about my parents?” She shook her head, and when her eyes met his again, he saw some of that fierce, analytical look in them. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing.” He couldn’t help crack a little bit of a smile. “I told yo
u, Albert is a powerful man.”

  Her glare was just strong enough to let him know that she considered him lying to be a distinctive possibility, but weak enough to say that she hadn’t ruled out another option. Even if she didn’t know what that option could be.

  The confusion was all that was left. She looked like she might cry. “I don’t...I just don’t understand, Rebel. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  He looked out to the living room, to where Albert sat on the part of the couch Jesse wasn’t sprawled out on. Mikey was half asleep in his arms, and Nelly was curled up under his free arm, rubbing the baby’s tummy as Albert hummed a lullaby. He glanced up and caught Rebel staring. He made a shooing motion with his hand. His meaning was clear—go on, we’re all fine here.

  They were all fine. Madeline was not. He looked at the shaken woman in front of him, seeming far more delicate than she ever had, including heat stroke. She needed him.

  And he needed her.

  “You want to get out of here?” His question was met with a silence that bordered on stony. He could throw a million things at her—she’d accomplished her goal of checking on Albert, had complimented Irma on the potatoes and had even managed to squeeze in giving Tammy a job, however temporary. She was tired, she had to work tomorrow, the moon was shining—anything and everything would have been a good reason to walk out of Albert’s kitchen and away from her exposed vulnerability.

  He kept his mouth shut and waited. Couldn’t push her. A woman like Dr. Madeline Mitchell needed to pull. She was that damn good at it.

  “With you?”

  He let the question settle in the air for a minute longer. “If that’s what you want.” Something in her face changed, something that took it from chilly to amused without moving a muscle.

  Damn, she was beautiful. And even if she didn’t understand, she was still here. He couldn’t help it. Three condoms in his wallet were proof of that. Leaning forward, he whispered, “If that’s what you need, Madeline. What do you need?”

  Oh, she was going to let him sweat. That much was clear when it looked like she bit her cheek to keep the smile hidden and tried to glare at him. She couldn’t lie to him. She just had no idea how bad she was at it.

  Sighing, she looked around the kitchen, then peeked out into the living room. “Everyone seems okay.” Her voice danced across his ears. She turned to face him and there was that challenge again, the glacier he wasn’t near done climbing. “I guess I’m done here. Will you carry the duffel back to my Jeep?”

  She couldn’t lie to him. He could only hope she wasn’t lying to herself.

  Chapter Eleven

  The air, colored with smoke and moonlight, did little to clear the weird fog from her head. Yes, Albert doing that medicine man thing had freaked her out, but just a little. And the part where he spoke English for only about the third time? No big deal. For all she knew, he’d been practicing those two lines. A special thank you from a special man. That’s all. She should have been thanking him. She’d had dinner at his house. Not a big deal at all.

  What was a big deal, however, was her shocking inability to get her damned mouth shut as she watched Rebel carry her duffel. She was only vaguely aware of the fact she was swaying in the breeze, even though the air was still. The muscles in his forearms clenched and unclenched as he picked up her duffel like it was a bag of cotton balls and carefully set it in the trunk. Those muscles weren’t the only things clenching and unclenching. Her muscles—between her legs, across her chest—that she knew she had, anatomically speaking, but had never really had much personal experience with, were doing strange things. Things that hurt in a bizarre, good way. Things that demanded attention, a very certain kind of attention.

  And what was a huge deal was the way he leaned against the side of the Jeep, arms crossed and that know-it-all smile that drove her nuts during daylight hours doing its damnedest to melt her in the moonlight.

  Things clenched again. God, it hurt. And there was something in his smile that promised the rest of the evening would be wonderfully pain free.

  She was not just going to throw herself at that smile. A woman had to have her principles, even if she couldn’t quite recall what those principles were at the moment. “Thank you,” she managed to get out without melting. Lost in a fog of confused thoughts and muscle spasms, the first thing that surfaced was supplies. He’d said he had supplies. “For helping me with that.”

  “You’re welcome. And you’re doing it again,” he replied as he slid one hand under her hair. In less than a heartbeat, his fingers were wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer.

  The warmth spread like a fever from her neck all the way down. So what if they were within earshot of everyone? Parts of her—oh, hell, who was she kidding?—all of her wanted him to touch more than just her neck. Just thinking about how close she’d been to an honest-to-God, one-handed climax a mere five days ago was enough to make her want to do bad, bad things. Her muscles clamped down with a spike of pain. “Doing what?” That’s what she came up with? Excellent. He was outflanking her within earshot of the party.

  “Ignoring what you really want.” His lips found the same spot he’d practically devoured just a few hours ago, and much more than just a few isolated muscle groups spasmed. “What you really need.”

  God, what was she doing? She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him. Not like she did. “What if I don’t need what you think I need?”

  His lips, already moving against her skin, curved into a smile. She could feel it just as surely as she could feel the heat pooling in spots he’d already touched. Spots that would kill for another touch.

  When he spoke, the reverberations followed the fever south. “What if you do?”

  An unexpected thumb flicked over her nipple, and her knees buckled. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, to tell him that they couldn’t, that Nobody or even Albert would pop up and turn on the lights and honk horns and then she’d never be able to look anyone in the face again because she couldn’t admit to anyone, most especially herself, that he was the one person in this world she needed. All that came out was a whimper that sounded like he was hurting her, when what was hurting was that frustrated orgasm that was begging, just begging, to be unleashed on her in the middle of a dirt road.

  He caught her in a hard kiss, which only made the pain that much more acute. Another whimper clawed its way out of her throat, but this time, it was matched with a moan from deep in the back of his throat. “Can you drive?” he all but growled at her.

  “No.” She couldn’t even shake her head. It hurt far too much.

  “Keys?”

  With unresponsive hands, she swatted around at her pocket until she somehow got them out. “But—your horse?”

  He flung the passenger door open and backed her into it with another kiss that rendered her incapable of doing a damn thing to stop him. Then he turned and let out a whistle that was in serious danger of shattering glass.

  The results were immediate. Blue Eye came cantering up so quickly that Madeline was sure the mare had been watching them—again. Voyeuristic horse, she thought limply. Go away.

  “Go home,” Rebel said sharply. Blue Eye nudged him with her head. He said something in Lakota, which must have been the same thing, because Blue Eye shook her head and then trotted off into the darkness. Rebel watched her go before he turned around and shut her door. Seconds later, the car was barreling down the road.

  She knew she lived about twenty miles away from where she thought Albert lived, but Rebel took the roads with a white-knuckled speed that took away what little breath she tried to grab. And then they were squealing to a stop in front of her studio cabin and she couldn’t get the seat belt off fast enough, so he did it for her.

  God, she’d been horny before, needed the release of a good, old-fashioned climax to make everything all better—hell, Saturday was a prime example. But even with that recent memory still seared in her mind, she could honestly say it didn’t compare t
o the hot, heavy weight between her legs that pulsed with spasm after painful spasm. She could barely freaking walk.

  Rebel pulled her out of the car and then she was up against the door and all that heavy weight was riding something equally hot and a whole lot harder.

  “Mad-e-line,” Rebel growled into her neck, rocking those hips that never stopped into her with each and every syllable. “My Madeline.” But they didn’t move away from the car.

  He was making her crazy, plain and simple. He was intentionally not giving her what she so desperately needed because—because—because he was waiting for something, she realized. He was waiting for her.

  She shoved him back, trying to buy enough space that she could say something—anything—without losing what was left of her mind. “Rebel.” It came out thin and weak, but at least she hadn’t whimpered, right?

  “Madeline.” His chest heaved with the effort. Her medical mind couldn’t help but note that his pupils were completely dilated, his skin flushed. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering right now.

  “Supplies?” One word at a time was, apparently, all that was happening right now. Verbally, anyway.

  He whipped his wallet out of his back pocket. “Three here. Nine back at camp.” But still he hung back, waiting.

  Waiting for her.

  Three here. Would it be enough? “I...” God, she wanted him, but the words were stuck somewhere between the last whimper and the next one. Nothing else came out.

  “Tell me.” He moved in close again, but instead of another scorching kiss, he touched his forehead to hers. His body trembled. Was he nervous? “Tell me what you want. What you need, Madeline.” She saw his Adam’s apple bob. “Please.” It wasn’t a question. It was a prayer.

  What she wanted was what she needed. She couldn’t pretend that wasn’t the truth, and she was damn tired of trying. She surrendered to that truth; the answer came easier. “You.” That was all she had.