Lydia traced the lines on my palm and smiled. I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. She blushed the way I liked so much, and ducked her head, glancing over her glasses at me. I was about to tell her how happy she made me when a fat black raven soared out of nowhere and landed on the branch of a huge oak tree nearby.
I hadn’t noticed the tree before, but now that I saw it, it seemed impossible I’d missed it. The raven sat on one of the gnarled branches as bold as the huge bright sun behind him.
The raven winked at me and jerked his head toward the sun. He took wing and circled over my head, then wheeled around and flew for the light. He hovered over it, waiting for me.
I let go of Lydia’s hand, suddenly fascinated by the raven and the light. The sun was far too close. It shouldn’t be close enough to reach out and touch.
I had to explore it. Standing, I felt Lydia grasp at my leg. When I looked down at her, she clutched at me, trying to make me stay. I smiled at her, patted her head to reassure her I’d be right back. I had to investigate the light.
The closer I got to it, the warmer it seemed. It couldn’t be good to get so close to the sun, I thought, but it didn’t make sense that it could hover so close. When I was just a few steps away from where the raven circled overhead, a wave of dizziness hit me. I leaned my hands on my knees, breathing deep but swaying off balance.
Maybe I should go back to Lydia. It was more comfortable there, but when I turned, the raven cawed and the sound drew me back.
Of course. I’d meant to investigate the bright sun.
I took a couple more steps and reached out to touch the bright, swirling whiteness of the sun. It hummed like a choir of a thousand voices. I wanted to watch it roil and churn, listen to the sweet harmony, but more than anything I wanted to immerse myself in the warmth.
One more step was all I needed. I lifted my foot, but before I could step forward, I heard Lydia’s voice behind me.
“Emmett, please don’t leave me alone here. I need you.”
I turned to find her on her knees, pleading, tears rolling down her cheeks. Had I caused her that pain? Why would she be so sad over me? We hardly knew each other.
But then I remembered her smile, her blush, those curls I wanted to wrap around my finger first thing in the morning after waking up in the same bed with her. I took another step for her.
The raven cawed again, swooping in front of me, blocking my way, driving me back for the sun.
Lydia cried out for me. The alarm in her eyes startled me. I had to go to her, to reassure her.
The raven refused to leave me alone. It battered me with its wings, trying to block my view of Lydia.
I swatted at it, shoving it away, but it came back again and again.
Finally I stopped and looked up at it. “What do you want from me?”
It jerked its beak toward the brightness of the sun. I looked back at it with a sudden longing, but when I looked at Lydia again, I experienced a different kind of longing.
“No,” I told the raven. “Lydia needs me. There’s time enough for that later.”
The raven squawked in my face, making his annoyance obvious, then darted for his branch in the tree.
I closed the distance to Lydia. The relief on her face warmed my heart. I didn’t understand why a woman like Lydia would care about me, would worry about me and insist I stay with her. There were things I needed to tell her, things I wasn’t proud of, but maybe she’d understand. I had to try.
I laid back on the blanket, resting my head in her lap. She took my hand in hers and this time she lifted it to her lips and dropped a kiss in my palm, then cradled her face in my hand. I’d never felt so right in all my life.
Lydia smiled her sweetest smile. “Wake up, Emmett,” she said.
And I did.
When I opened my eyes, I looked up into Lydia’s. Tears ran down her face, but she smiled anyway.
“I was so afraid I’d lose you,” she said, brushing my forehead with her fingers.
“No such luck,” I said. My voice came out scratchy and raw. “Where are we?”
Through my blurry vision I couldn’t be sure, but the walls seemed to be animal hide, and a smoky fire made the air feel thick and hot.
“A group of Indians found us in the cave. You were running a high fever, and unconscious. They packed us up and brought us to their camp. I don’t speak their language, and I was in no position to fight them off, so I didn’t have any choice.”
I couldn’t figure out why she was so anxious. “It’s fine, Lydia. We’re alive, aren’t we?”
“I was worried you’d be upset with me for letting them take us.”
“I’d have been forced to make the same decision.” I reached for her hand, and when she gave it to me, I patted it, hoping to reassure her. “How long have we been here?”
My vision cleared some, and the grogginess fell away. Along with consciousness came awareness of my body and all the pains and discomfort it contained, most of which fought for immediate attention.
“Three days,” she said, her eyes glassy with tears. I could only imagine what three days in an Indian camp for a white woman who couldn’t communicate had been like, especially a woman who had no experience with Indians.
She didn’t look too worse for wear, though. In my limited experience with natives, the majority of them valued strength. Lydia had that, she just didn’t have much confidence in her strength.
I tried to sit, but a pain in my side made me change my mind. “I feel like shit,” I said, flopping onto my back.
The hint of a smile shadowed her lips. “I’m not surprised. The Indian healer removed the bullet—it was lodged close enough to the surface on your back that she just had to make a small incision and squeeze it out. Then she packed your wounds with some kind of poultice, and we’ve been waiting since then.”
I reached my hand down to my abdomen to touch the wound site. It was covered with a bandage. I shifted and slid my fingers around to my back to find a similar bandage. Aside from the bandages, I was naked, which was disconcerting, but not unexpected. I just didn’t like being on the patient end of the medical relationship.
“You stayed with me while she worked on me?”
She looked startled that I’d suggest otherwise. “Of course. You couldn’t speak for yourself, so you were my responsibility. I couldn’t abandon you.”
At that moment the door flap of the Indian lodge opened, and a wizened little old woman scampered in, followed by a tall man. Both wore buckskins under fur winter wear. The woman was short with long gray braids, a wrinkled face, and toothless smile. The man was much younger—late twenties, I guessed—tall and imposing, with long black braids decorated with feathers. He wore a guarded expression.
My experience with natives had been limited to some interaction on my sales routes. A few tribes bought my tonics, but mostly I tried to trade with them for ingredients and build a rapport so they’d leave me alone.
From our general location, and their dress, I guessed these folks to be Cheyenne.
The woman came right over to me, gave Lydia a gentle, dismissive shove, and threw off the fur covering my body.
I managed to grab it before she exposed me completely, and drag it back over my hips. Lydia looked away and turned a pretty pink. The man smirked and chuckled. The old woman tutted as if modesty was completely unimportant, and just an inconvenience for her.
Without clothes, and even with the fire, the cool air caused my skin to pebble with gooseflesh. The old woman said something to the man. I spoke only a few words of their language, but didn’t understand what she said. He came closer as the woman peeled the bandage off the wound on my belly. I sucked in a hissing breath as the bandage pulled away from my skin.
Once off, I took a deep cleansing breath, then leaned up to get a look. The damage didn’t look too bad. The edges of the wound were ragged and covered with a poultice of greenish-black goo, but once she wiped it away, I saw no suppuration or redness. It looked l
ike she’d opened the wound a bit to clean it out, but overall, it seemed like it had begun to fill in and was healing well.
She pointed to the wound, talked to the man, and basically my impression was that she concluded the same thing I had. The man nodded and grunted, but from the way he glanced in Lydia’s direction, he was more interested in her than in me and my injury.
The woman put her hands on my shoulder and hips and pushed. She wasn’t strong enough to roll me, but from her poking and chattering I assumed that’s what she wanted from me, so I turned away from her, onto my right side. She removed the second bandage and examined the incision she’d made just above my back side.
I didn’t like having my back to all of them. It made me distinctly vulnerable, not to mention blind to what they were doing.
The woman and man continued to talk. Even though I didn’t know the words, the tone seemed clear; they were tense about something.
“What are they doing, Lydia?” I asked.
The man and woman stopped talking when they heard my voice, and the woman cuffed me in the back of the head and yelled at me.
“Hey!” I said, looking over my shoulder at her.
Lydia giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle it, but the old woman grinned and winked at her. Oh great, the women were bonding over me.
I glanced at the man. He watched Lydia with a covetous look that I didn’t like one bit.
The old woman waved the man away. He said something to her, then backed toward the door flap. He stood there for a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then finally ducked out.
I heard rustling behind me and tried to see what she was doing, but craning my neck to look stretched my wounds and hurt.
The old woman gave me another shove, and started washing the wound on my back.
“Lydia?”
She rested her hand on my leg, and just that connection helped me relax. “It’s okay. It looks like she’s going to clean up your wounds.”
She washed and bandaged them, this time without any poultice, and by the time she finished, I was irritated by her fussing and wanted her to be done.
Lydia’s eyes sparkled in the firelight, full of worry and strain. I didn’t like to see her distressed, no matter the reason. I wasn’t foolish enough to think her concern had anything to do with me other than without me she had even less protection between her and the Indians. Not that I was much buffer, but at least she wasn’t alone.
I winked and grinned at her, hoping to boost her confidence. She returned it with a tentative smile of her own. It was small and nervous, but she had to be encouraged I was awake and not dead.
The old woman pulled the fur up over me. She said something to me, which I didn’t understand, then scooted to the other side of the lodge, and when she came back she tossed some buckskins into Lydia’s lap, pointed at me, implying she should help me get dressed. Lydia understood that, and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could the old woman left the tent.
Lydia turned back to me, and I couldn’t help but grin.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” she said.
“I’m not laughing,” I said.
“You are. I can’t dress you. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I can’t dress myself.” Although not entirely true, I wanted to see what she’d do. It wasn’t fair of me, but the images of her from my dream were still fresh in my mind and I couldn’t help feeling connected to her and just plain happy to be alive. Maybe it made me a bit ornery, too.
“Then I suppose you’ll have to remain naked,” she said, her voice both haughty and breathy.
“Were you really worried about me?”
The change of subject startled her. “I…well, of course I was.” She cleared her throat and fidgeted on her bottom next to me. I wondered what it would be like to have her on top of me, fidgeting. A healthy twitch down below left little doubt. “I didn’t want to be here alone.”
“Is that the only reason?” I tried to catch her gaze with mine. At first she wouldn’t look at me, but when she glanced up and met my eyes, I had her. Her emotions were easy to read—she’d been afraid, certainly, but I saw confusion in her face, too. She wasn’t sure how she felt about me.
She broke eye contact. “If I work your feet into the legs of these trousers and slide them up under the blanket, can you reach down and pull them up?”
“I can try, but I don’t know if I can lean up that far without tearing the stitches.”
Her lifted brow and thinned lips told me she didn’t trust me, but she lifted the bottom of the fur and worked my feet into the pants, anyway. She pushed them up my legs, gathering the fur as she went. Her cool, slender fingers on my skin shot heat straight to my balls. I could imagine those fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking tentatively, her shy uncertainty as much of a turn-on as her touch.
“Can you reach them now?” she asked.
She’d stopped just above my knees. I reached under the blanket, but couldn’t quite touch the pants. If I stretched, I probably could, and it wouldn’t really cause any injury, but my spirits were high, and Lydia was pretty, and her shyness and spunk aroused me, and I just couldn’t help myself.
“No, you’ll have to help me.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, challenging me.
“I’ll show you,” I said, pulling the blanket off and revealing my cockstand.
She gasped and turned away. “Emmett. Cover yourself.”
“I’m just trying to show you I can’t reach the britches. See?” I reached my hands down and they were still inches from the pants. She didn’t look at first. “We’re just going to stay this way until you help me.”
It took her a moment before she moved. When she did, she only peeked at me from the corner of her eyes, not really turning. I waggled my eyebrows at her, and she giggled a little.
“You’re teasing me,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper that made me even harder.
I didn’t know what I expected, but she drove me to a desire I’d never experience before. Certainly I’d had my share of women, but none as sweet, or smart, or complicated as Lydia, and most of them required payment afterwards. Lydia’d never give herself to me here in a tent in an Indian camp, especially when she was so afraid, but I was curious what she would do.
Then it occurred to me, what was I doing? I was giddy to be alive, but that was no excuse to abuse poor Lydia. Did I want to sink myself into her soft, sweet, heat? More than anything, but not like this. Lydia was the kind of woman a man should respect and be grateful to have and to hold.
But she’d never consent to have me. I wasn’t the kind of man a good woman settled for.
I bent to the side, reaching for one side of the pants, but a stab of pain tore a grunt from my lips.
Lydia spun, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, Emmett, I’m sorry. Let me help you.”
“No, you don’t have to. I can get it. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that.”
She kept her eyes on mine, but a red flush crept up her neck. “I’ve never seen a man’s…you know. I didn’t know they stood up like that.”
I almost choked on a groan, and my cock twitched again at her innocent curiosity. She had no idea how much she turned me on.
“They usually don’t; only when a man is aroused. You can turn around, Lydia. I’ll manage.”
I reached for my pants again, but she caught my hand. “Let me.”
She broke eye contact and her gaze slid down my body like a caress. I struggled not to close my eyes and grit my teeth, because I wanted to see her face when she got to my cock.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a surprised little O, and I fought the need to come just thinking of her seeing a hard cock for the first time.
“Is it normal for it to tremble like that?”
“Jesus, Lydia, you’re killing me.”
She shot her gaze to my face, alarm in her eyes. “I am?”
I chuckled. “No, not really, but I mi
ght wish you would.”
She glanced at it again, then back at me. “Can I touch it?” she whispered.
“Probably not a good idea.” My voice came out more husky than I’d intended, but I was pretty sure if she touched me, I’d come in her hand, and I imagined that might put her off me and my cock for a long while. Besides which, I suspected one touch from Lydia wouldn’t be enough, and I didn’t see much of a future for us, so better not to get a taste of something I’d never get to have again.
“Oh,” she said, sounding both embarrassed and disappointed at the same time.
“Just pull the pants up a little farther so I can reach them, I’ll take it from there.”
She did, then turned her back on me while I finished dressing. Suddenly the euphoria from my dream—the joy of Lydia’s company, her touch, of having her heart, of being alive—evaporated at the reality of our situation. I still had to take her home to her brother, and she’d still never be satisfied with a man like me—a failed physician with a scandalous past and traveling salesman. If that realization wasn’t enough to deflate my desire, I could dig into my memories from the war, and then the drunken blur and malpractice afterward. That would do the job.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was forward of me, and very inappropriate. I don’t know what came over me.”
Her voice sounded strangled with tears.
“No, I’m sorry. My behavior was reprehensible. I’d been dreaming of you, and when I woke, I was so happy to see you, and to be alive, I let that excitement get away from me. Please forgive me.”
She was silent for a minute that stretched into two, and then three, and I thought she’d decided not to speak to me, but then she turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes wide with wonder. “You were dreaming of me?”
A commotion outside broke the mood and diverted our attention. It sounded like several horses rode into camp, and a general clamor spread through the camp as people came out to greet whoever had arrived.
Emmett’s admission that he’d been dreaming about me while unconscious still had me flustered, as did his member.
Depending on the Doctor (Nevada Bounty Book 2) Page 13