Jacob nodded and hollered for Lisa to get some ice.
Jezebel whinnied in pain, and Mary Beth snapped back to attention. “So what happened? Dave, could you see?”
He shook his head. “She stepped on something. Her foot is bleeding.”
“Damn it,” she and Jacob muttered at the same time.
The sad group slowly made it to the barn. “We can’t leave her here tonight—she’ll get the strangles,” Mary Beth said as Jacob held the wounded mare’s foot for her while she inspected it for the offending object. The wound was small and clean. “She shouldn’t even be in the barn.”
“Well, you can’t ride her back, and you can’t take any of the mustangs,” he countered. “They’re all contagious.”
“Have Dave stand her in some Epsom salts while I look at the mare,” she ordered. “Then we’ll wrap her and walk her back. I’ve got an extra boot in the pack. If we go slow, she should be okay.”
“What about you?”
“What about me? I said I’ll walk her back.”
Jacob scowled. It was a damned intimidating thing. “You just separated your shoulder and you’re going to walk her back?”
“You got a better idea?”
“I’ll think of one,” he snapped.
Lisa held the ice while Jacob wrapped her arm, and then he fashioned a makeshift sling for her. “At least you’re right handed,” he pointed out.
She started to say something smart but decided against it. He was finally being almost friendly again, and she wasn’t about to discourage that. “True. Could be worse.”
They called Bill and told him what happened, and he agreed to come on out to the ranch to handle that end of the day. Without the pressing urgency to the afternoon—if Bill was there, McGillis wouldn’t get his hackles up—Mary Beth was able to focus on the pregnant mare blowing snot everywhere.
“Man, I just cleaned that bucket,” Gary grumbled as the mare sneezed in it.
“Sorry, hon. Now do it again,” Mary Beth replied as he rolled his eyes. “Just think, by the end of the day you’ll be really good at cleaning buckets.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered as he pulled the bucket down and took it out to scrub.
“You’re good with kids,” Jacob said as she slowly examined the mare.
“I’ve got one nephew and two nieces. Someone’s got to be the favorite aunt,” she countered. “Well, really, they’re more my second cousins, but they call me Aunt M.”
“I didn’t know you did the James Bond thing,” he replied with a chuckle.
The mare didn’t look any better, so Mary Beth had Jacob get the high-powered antibiotics. “We may lose the foal. Even if it survives, there’s a higher chance of neuromuscular problems down the road,” she warned him.
He nodded gravely as she injected the wheezing animal.
The rest of the herd was looking better—even Bell was moving her head a bit easier. “The kids are doing the compresses after they get done with their chores,” Jacob explained.
“I’ll bring them some chocolate chip cookies the next time I’m out,” she offered as Jacob wrapped Jezebel’s foot. As she sat on the ground, her arm still numb from the ice she’d finally taken off, she felt a bit too helpless for her own good. She still didn’t know how she was going to get back to her truck. Unlike most barns, there weren’t any four-wheelers or other trucks around. And Mick wasn’t even saddled, for heaven’s sake.
Jacob got Jezebel’s foot wrapped and the protective boot on. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and took her hand, cautiously pulling her up.
“What are we doing?”
“Mick can carry us both. I’ll boost you up.” Instantly, he was lifting her up just as he lifted Kip up, like she weighed nothing. He sat her on Mick’s wide back and patiently waited as she swung her leg over.
“Jacob—”
But he had already mounted up behind her and was reaching around her waist to grab the reins.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you home,” he replied, his warm voice only inches from her ear. Without another word, he headed Mick back to the ranch at a slow walk as Jezebel did her best to keep up.
“I don’t know about this,” she muttered as she tried to figure out where to put her hands. His legs were pressed against hers, her back to his chest, his free hand resting on her thigh, his face—his face had to be buried in her hair. She began to sweat.
“You can ride bareback, can’t you?” he murmured.
“Do I have a choice?” she snipped.
“That’s some mouth you’ve got there, Mary Beth,” he murmured again, his voice warm and honeyed and right against her ear.
“Yes, I know. That’s what everyone says, all the time. Well, listen, you,” she said as she tried to lean forward, away from his solid chest. “This isn’t going anywhere.”
“Sure it is. Back to your truck.”
“No, this,” she snapped as she lifted his hand off her leg. “This isn’t going anywhere. I got the message loud and clear last time.”
“Last time?”
“Don’t be dense, Jacob. Look…” she sighed in frustration, “…I’m sorry if you felt I did something wrong. I didn’t know where we were and I thought I could help you out. But that’s no reason to stop talking to me.”
He was silent as he slipped his hand back on her leg.
“Seriously. Are you even listening to me?”
“Mary Beth,” he said in that low voice again, “you didn’t do anything wrong. It was crummy of me to be a jerk, and I won’t do it again.”
“I don’t think you are listening at all,” she snarled as she took his hand off her leg again. “I don’t know what your damage is, but I’m not your play toy, ready to swoon just because—because—Jesus, knock it off!”
“What?” he said, all innocent even as he traced the edge of her ear with his stiff leather nose. “I’m not doing anything.”
“If I could, I’d punch you right now, Jacob Plenty Holes,” she growled as she tried to elbow him in the ribs. That was a bad idea. “Ow!” she yelped as her sore shoulder pulled.
“See, you’re only making it worse,” he said, but he pulled his hand off her leg.
“I’m making it worse? I’ve got news for you, buddy, you haven’t even seen worse. Wait until I get off this horse…”
“Calm down.”
“Give me one good reason,” she seethed.
“First, you’re going to either hurt yourself or push one of us off this horse.”
The tone of his voice—like she was a child that had a little trouble understanding him—made her even madder. “You, I’m hoping.”
“Second,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, “I’m apologizing for being a jerk, and that rarely happens. You…you got under my skin, I guess. I’ve never had anyone get under my skin before and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
Great, she internally moaned. A new variation on it’s not you, it’s me, but this was more irritating. “And somehow, the standard seventh-grader response was the right action?”
“Ninth grade,” he corrected her.
“The year you met Susan,” she guessed, and immediately wished she had a brake or a five-second delay or a censor’s beep on her mouth—anything to keep from sticking her foot in it around him.
“Yeah,” he said, but instead of the sorrow she expected, he sounded almost silly. “That was the last time I had to try to figure out what to do about a girl.”
“Okay, well, in girl world, for future reference,” she started, “you don’t ignore someone you just slept with for a month. You ask them out on dates or say, ‘Let’s be friends’, but you don’t ignore them.”
“Okay. Mental note made,” he responded with a brief hug.
“Why are you apologizing now?” she demanded, pretty sure he was tracing his leather nose over her hair. “It’s been a month of ice-cold cowboy, and now you’re all warm and snuggly? I’m not sleeping with you,�
�� she emphatically stated.
She could hear the leather creak. He must be smiling.
“I don’t like not talking to you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You are an amazing woman, Mary Beth, and I want to make it up to you.”
Her insides started to go all gooey, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook just yet. “Is there a third?” she asked as he rested his hand back on her leg. “Because that was a good start, but it wasn’t the rest of the apology.”
He was silent as Mick navigated a small stream. But as soon as they were safely across, he leaned forward and kissed her neck. The hot touch of his lips made her shiver with the promise of what he could do, but she knew he wasn’t going to.
“I can’t ask you out. You don’t date clients,” he said simply.
“I don’t sleep with them either, and see where that got me,” she retorted. “Don’t kiss me if you aren’t going to ask me out.”
“I can’t help it. I like kissing you,” he replied again, his mouth moving against the skin under her ponytail.
“Jesus, Jacob.” She shuddered as his other hand left her leg and circled just under her breasts, pulling her back to his chest. “You are totally cheating right now.”
“Try to understand,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s been almost eight years since I felt anything for a woman—any woman. I’d given up on all of this,” he said as he kissed her neck again, “until you came along.”
Eight years? For crying out loud, she considered herself in a drought if she’d gone six months without sex. No wonder he was such a grump sometimes. The man had a sex backlog that would kill anyone else.
Slowly, he nuzzled his way up to her ear before he took the lobe in his lips, tugging gently. She couldn’t help but turn to meet his mouth, her breath coming in short, hurried pants. Who could think about eight years when he was seducing her right now?
“But you…you taste like strawberries in sunshine, and I still haven’t figured out how I can be around you without sweeping you off your feet or ignoring you. I don’t know how to find a happy medium. I’m sorry I’m not good at this.”
Oh, sweet Lord, she thought as his tongue traced the edges of her ear. How strong does one woman have to be?
“Well,” she tried as her eyes fluttered from the touch of the hot wetness of his mouth, “let me help you out. Focus on not being a jerk, okay? Right now, you are still being a jerk, because you are turning me on with no intention of doing anything about it.”
“Are you turned on?” he asked as he cupped her breast, his thumb already pulling her nipple tight.
“Jesus, Jacob, stop it right now, or I’m going to stab you in the leg.” She tried to grab at her knife with her right hand, but the twist pulled at her shoulder again, and she moaned a bit.
“Calm down. I’ll stop.” His hand left her breast and slowly traveled back down to her leg.
“Okay.” She blew hard, trying to get her mind to focus. “Ways Jacob can not be a jerk. One: No seducing without intent to satisfy. Two: Answer questions with more than a grunt. Three: Don’t ignore me and don’t treat me like your special toy.”
“Technically, that was three and four,” he corrected as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She could just see the black leather tip of his nose in her peripheral vision.
“Whatever. Can you handle that?”
“I will do my best. I don’t want you to be mad at me, although you are pretty funny when you’re all worked up.”
“Great. Here for your amusement,” she scoffed.
Jacob pulled Mick to a halt and quickly slid off, still resting his hand on her leg.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re close to the ranch,” he replied as his fingers trailed down her the whole length of her leg, a thousand goose bumps in their wake. “I don’t think the hands should see us…together.”
“This is what you call together?” she shot at him, shaking free from his touch.
“You know what I mean.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “But don’t be a jerk, Jacob.”
He looked up at her, his eye dancing as he smiled that good smile, the one that turned her brain to jelly. “I promise, I’ll do better.”
It was a hard promise to keep. Every day she came out to the ranch, starting when she slid out of the cab of her truck, her boots crunching the frost-covered gravel as she held her left arm close to her side with her mouth already screwed into a challenge, he had to resolve not to be a jerk all over again. Every night as he lay in bed and stared at the mask on the small shelf next to his bed, he wondered how he’d do it again the next day she came out.
It had been a relief to know she still wanted him, but damn if he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a teenager again, hopelessly in puppy love with another woman so far out of his league she was in a different sport.
Not that it hadn’t been torture to ignore her. Every wounded look she’d shot him, every smart-ass comment she’d muttered under her breath when she thought he couldn’t hear her, every single time she’d tried to smile at him only to have the smile die on her face, it had torn him up.
God, but he hated being a jerk. Wasn’t his nature. But keeping his mouth shut was. That was what his grandfather had taught him, and Jacob had always been a good student.
Jacob wondered what his grandfather would do. Samuel Plenty Holes, the respected council elder, had raised Jacob after his parents disappeared back in the early 70s. It was at his grandfather’s knee that Jacob had learned how the tribe worked and what his place would be as a tribal leader.
Never a demonstrative man, Samuel had lived the philosophy of his favorite author, Mark Twain. “It is better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.” The only time Jacob had ever left the state was the year he turned ten, and his grandfather had packed him into the beat-up Ford still parked behind his trailer today and driven him to Hannibal, Missouri, to tour his hero’s home.
Jacob still had his leather-bound copy of Huckleberry Finn Samuel had gotten him on the trip tucked between his mattress and the thin wall.
Of course, that trip had also taught him what it was to be an Indian in a white man’s world. Far removed from the familiar brown sameness of the rez, Jacob clearly remembered the shock and shame that filled him as complete strangers walked up to his grandfather—the leader of the Lakota tribe—and said, “How!” like it was the best joke they’d ever heard.
And all Samuel did was smile kindly, as if the joke was indeed somewhat funny. Better to be thought an ignorant savage than open your mouth and prove some idiot right.
At least the experience had prepared him for college. His grandfather had been one of only a handful of Lakota men with a college degree, and it had never been a question of if Jacob would get his as well. He’d gotten his bachelor’s in three years, and his MBA a year later. That had finally shut some of those washitu up, to have that kind of power in the white world.
It had taken a long time for Jacob to realize his grandfather was a powerful man, but after years of going with him to council meetings, he figured it out. As the tribe struggled through the years, Samuel sat silent through the raucous procedures until everyone else was argued out. Then he’d make his pronouncement of what the tribe should do, and the tribe would do it.
He wasn’t always right. Jacob could remember loud arguments—in private, of course—with his best friend, the medicine man, Henry Steele. Samuel felt the tribe had to modernize to avoid extermination and extinction, but Henry had fervently believed that the only thing that could save their people was a return to the old ways.
He still remembered the last thing his grandfather said to him before he died of a heart attack a month before Jacob’s vision quest.
“Thakóžala, what’s right and what’s honorable aren’t always the same. As a Plenty Holes, it falls to you to decide for the tribe.”
Jacob had never figured out which kept his grandfather from tellin
g him what had happened to his parents. Henry had finally told him they’d gotten into drug running and never come back from a trip to Mexico one summer when he was two.
He did his best. Working for Buck wasn’t honorable, but keeping a Lakota hand on the land was the right thing to do. He gave his friends—the next generation of Lakota men—good paying jobs as long as they stayed clean and took care of their families. He set up anonymous scholarships for kids who wanted to go to college, and made small loans to people like Ronny. He encouraged the young ones to respect the old ways, even if they chose a different path.
And, while it wasn’t honorable, he kept working at his plan to steal back the Lakota land.
The McGillis men had been trying to destroy the tribe for years—rumor had it that Buck’s great-grandfather had bribed BIA officials to give him the cows meant for the Lakotas one winter just to starve them off the land, and not much had changed since then. Jacob could still remember how mad his grandfather got every time Buck’s father, Clint McGillis, trucked in case after case of beer to the rodeos, making money off the ruination of the Lakota people.
Samuel Plenty Holes hadn’t been able to stop the McGillis men. But Jacob was determined. It’s what his grandfather would have wanted, and moreover, what he would have expected.
Mary Beth Hofstetter? Another matter entirely. While ignoring Mary Beth may have been the honorable thing, it wasn’t the right thing. Not even close.
To fall in love with a white woman? A complete stranger to their ways? He couldn’t shake the feeling that his grandfather’s spirit wanagi was frowning down on him. Sometimes when she shot off that mouth of hers, he could almost hear the old man rumbling in displeasure, just like he used to rumble at Henry.
But for all their arguments, Samuel Plenty Holes had loved Henry Steele as family. The two had been fast friends for more than fifty years, each bringing out the best in the other in good times and bad.
Maybe that was part of it. Everyone else treated Samuel Plenty Holes with respect, but no one got close to him except Henry. His grandfather and Henry had never thought of each other as leader and medicine man. They were just brothers.
Masked Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy) Page 10