Until Morning Comes (The Mississippi McGills)

by Peggy Webb

  He'd seen the pay phones in the foyer of the restaurant. He paid for his meal and walked over to one of them.

  Jim Roman answered on the third ring.

  “Colter! I thought you were in the middle of the desert. What's up?”

  Colter didn't get right to the point. He wanted to lay the groundwork so his best friend would survive the shock.

  “How are things in San Francisco, Jim?”

  “Great. The children are rowdy, just like their mother.” Jim paused to laugh. “And Hannah's positively blooming. You'll be back in time to oversee the arrival of my baby, won't you?”

  “I wouldn't miss it. Besides, you might faint if I'm not there to hold your hand.”

  “Don't tell Hannah. She thinks I'm strong and fearless.”

  “I won't breathe a word. How's my houseboat?”

  “Same as when you left it. Dammit, how can a doctor find time to keep all that brass polished? My boat looks scruffy by comparison. Of course, I'm rarely on it now.”

  “I’ll polish your brass when I get back, if you'll do me a favor.” Colter told Jim what he wanted.

  “You want what?”

  “You heard me the first time. Your wife's from Mississippi. Surely she can get them.”

  “Colter, what in the devil do you need all that for?”

  “A woman.”

  There was shocked silence at the other end of the line, and then hearty laughter.

  “Well, it's about time. I was beginning to think I'd have to take out ads for you. Tell me all about her.”

  “Do you have six or seven hours?”

  “It's your money.”

  Colter began to tell his best friend about Jo Beth McGill.

  o0o

  In spite of her resolutions to forget Colter and concentrate on her parents, Jo Beth was disappointed when she didn't see him for three days. She looked at the empty side of her double bed, then rose to dress for another day of desert photography.

  She had just tucked her shirt into her jeans when she heard the shots. Shoeless, she ran toward the sounds. They came again. Another shot, a short pause, and then two more in rapid succession.

  “Dad!” She burst through the front door in time to see Silas expelling spent shells from his double-barrel shotgun. “What are you doing?”

  He glanced up at her and pointed. “You see that?”

  For the first time since she'd stepped onto the porch, she noticed her surroundings. Bits of chocolate and gobs of marshmallow clung to the rafters. Peanuts, cut loose from their gooey anchors, rolled around the floor. Cracker Jack boxes, splintered in half, spilled their contents over the porch. A mealy substance that looked suspiciously like grits made a white trail down the front steps.

  “I see that, Dad. What in the world are you doing?”

  “It was that derned Toronto. I know it was him. I heard a racket and peeped out my window, and all I saw was the tail end of this big old black horse. Six o'clock in the morning is no time to be looking at the rump of a horse.”

  Jo Beth laughed. “I agree with you, but what does that have to do with you shooting all this...” She glanced around the porch again, and suddenly she remembered what she'd told Colter. She liked presents—goo goo clusters and grits and Cracker Jacks. “Oh my gosh. These are gifts.”

  “They're not gifts, Jo Beth. They're bombs. That derned Indian is planning to blow us out of our beds. Revenge, that's what it is. Just because I wouldn't let him have my daughter.” He looked proudly at his handiwork. “Do you think I took care of them all?”

  She looked at the pitiful remains of her gifts from Colter. “I believe you did, Dad.” She touched his arm. “Let's go inside and have breakfast.”

  Jo Beth settled her dad in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and quietly took the gun to her Jeep. After she'd calmed her mother, she set out into the desert.

  This time, she took no camera. She didn't need a camera for what she planned to do.

  o0o

  Colter saw her coming. He was astride the black stallion, galloping with the wind, feeling free and exultant.

  He raced toward the Jeep until he was alongside.

  “Good morning, Jo Beth.”

  She couldn't hear him above the roar of the engine and the pounding of horse's hooves, but she could tell by the smile on his face that he was feeling good about his morning's work. She waved one hand toward his camp, then turned her face from his and kept on driving.

  The Jeep and the stallion came to a halt at the same time. Colter slid from his horse. Jo Beth hadn't meant to do anything of the kind, but she jumped out of the Jeep and ran straight to his arms. She squeezed him tightly around the waist and burrowed her head against his chest. He smelled like fresh air and warm woolen blankets and sunshine and leather.

  “If I'd known my gifts would be such a hit, I'd have brought twice as many.” He pulled her closer.

  “That was enough.”

  “I'm glad you didn't say you liked diamonds and rubies and pearls. The grits and goo goo clusters were hard enough to come by... express all the way from Mississippi.”

  “Oh, my.” Her chest heaved, and she shuddered.

  “They were kind of funny... Jo Beth... are you laughing or crying?” He tipped her face up with his finger.

  “A little bit of both. I think.”

  He tenderly traced the path of a tear down her cheek. “Tell me. What's wrong?”

  She sniffed and gave him a crooked smile. “It was funny, really. All those goo goo clusters stuck to the porch rafters, and all those peanuts and grits rolling around the floor.”

  “I forgot about your dog.”

  “It wasn't Zar. It was Dad. He saw you leave the gifts, then he went outside and blew them to pieces with his shotgun.” She hiccuped twice, and the tears began to come in earnest. “I took the gun.”

  Without a word Colter lifted her and carried her inside his dwelling. It was a modern version of the ancient Apache wickiup—poles lashed together in a circle, covered over with large deerskins, purchased at great expense by Colter just for the purpose of re-creating a part of his heritage.

  The flap of deer hide closed behind them. In the semi-gloom of the tepee, he sat on his blanket, still cradling Jo Beth in his arms.

  “There are modern medicines for anxiety.” he said.

  “I don't have anxiety.”

  “But I never prescribe medicine when a little tender loving care will do just as well.” He smoothed back her hair. “Or better.”

  “Colter...”

  “Lean on me, Yellow Bird.” He began to stroke her—her hair, her arms, her face, her back—with firm loving strokes that were balm to her soul. “There now. There. Is that better?”

  “Much. You have such nice hands.” She pressed her face closer to his chest and inhaled his masculine scent.

  “You are so good to touch.” His hands roamed over her face once more.

  “I shouldn't be here like this.”

  “This is where you belong.” Colter lowered her to the blanket.

  Her long hair fanned out around her face, and her blue eyes widened as she stared up at him.

  “Is this part of the cure, doctor?”

  “This is personal.” Propped on one elbow, he gazed at her for a long while, then slowly lifted a strand of golden hair and let it sift through his fingers. “As bright as a yellow bird, and just as soft.” With his index finger, he traced the contours of her face. “As delicate as a flower, and just as fair.” His finger outlined her lips, once, twice. And then he parted them softly and rubbed the moist inner lining. “Sweeter than honey from the finest clover.”

  She reached up and touched his chest. He was wearing a shirt of soft deerskin, open at the neck and laced together with long leather string. She eased her hand between the lacings and rested her palm on his bare skin. It was smooth and firm and warm.

  “Colter, you make everything I believe seem a lie.”

  “Perhaps they weren't really beliefs, only ratio
nalizations.”

  “I don't know. I don't seem to know anything anymore.” Her hand circled on his chest. “You feel so solid... so real... so good.” Her face clouded over and she started to withdraw her hand.

  “Don't.” Colter covered it with his.

  “I must.” He released her, and she put her hand at her side. “I came here to tell you that it won't work. The presents, the courtship. Even the kisses.”

  Colter listened quietly, instinctively knowing that she needed to talk.

  “Just look at me.” She sat up and shook out her hair. “Wallowing on your blanket like a wanton.” She gave him a wry grin. “Could I get you to believe that it sometimes works, but I don't want it to?”

  “I believe that, Jo, and I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. You don't want to neglect your parents.” He smoothed back her hair. “I've seen these situations—the parents getting older and sicker, needing more and more attention, and the adult children struggling with their consciences, trying to decide what is best and what is merely selfish.” He put his hands on her neck and began to massage the tense muscles. “You're not selfish, Jo. I know that. But neither should you be self-sacrificing.”

  “I'm not a martyr, Colter. What I do for my parents is done out of love.”

  “I know that, too.” He kissed her cheek. “Lie back down, Jo, on your stomach.”

  She arched her eyebrows at him. “At this time of the morning and with our clothes on?”

  He roared with laughter. “Don't tempt me, lady.” Still chuckling, he eased her back down on the blanket. He bent close and looked directly into her eyes. “Our time is coming, Yellow Bird.”

  “Why do you call me that?”

  “In Apache legends, the wolf is all-powerful, a creature of great cunning and might. No one can tame him, save one—the beautiful yellow bird. You're my Yellow Bird, Jo.”

  She cupped his face. “Can I change my mind about this not working, Gray Wolf?”

  “Yes. You can change your mind... tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Because today you're going to do just what the doctor orders. First, a massage, then a nice quiet day doing whatever makes you happy. What makes you happy?”

  “Reading a good book, listening to music, walking in the woods, playing with my dog, sitting in the sunshine and refilling my inner vessel.”

  “I like you, Jo.”

  “I like you, Colter.” Her fingers traced his high cheekbones. “And what will you be doing while I'm lazing around being happy?”

  “I'm going to pay your father a visit.”

  “You can't.” She tried to sit up, but he held her down.

  “I'm going as a doctor, Jo. There are certain mild medications that can be used for people like Silas.”

  “I don't want him to be a zombie. He's always been bright and vital and active. I want him to go fiercely into the night.” Even lying down she spoke with great passion and conviction.

  “He will. I promise you that.” Colter gently rolled Jo Beth onto her stomach.

  “What?”

  “Just what the doctor orders.” He tugged at her waistband and eased his hands underneath her shirt.

  Chapter Four

  She shivered as his hands skimmed over her bare skin.

  “Your trapezius muscles are very tight, Jo.” His fingers were firm but gentle as they worked at her shoulders. She felt the knotted muscles begin to loosen. His hands moved down her arms. “And your deltoids.”

  “I like it when you talk sexy, doctor.”

  “And I like it when you laugh. Do you know that your laughter reminds me of children at play?”

  “What a lovely thought.”

  He accepted her compliment silently and continued to massage her back. He knew the name of every muscle he was touching—the deltoids, the biceps, the pectoralis major. Ahh, he thought. The pectoralis major. With the heels of his palms resting flat on her back, he massaged the soft silky flesh at the sides of her breasts.

  She sighed.

  “Does that feel good, Jo?”

  “What you do with your hands is magic.”

  What he was doing with his hands would be more than magic if he didn't move them. What he was doing with his hands right now, he decided, was pure seduction.

  He left her intoxicating pectoralis major and placed his hands flat just above the waistband of her jeans. With long, even strokes, he rubbed her from waist to neck, over and over, until she felt limp and relaxed under his fingers.

  He withdrew his hands and smoothed her shirt down.

  “Jo,” he said softly.

  She didn't stir. With one hand under her cheek and her hair spread like warm honey over his blanket, she was fast asleep.

  He felt a glow of satisfaction. Jo Beth had paid him the ultimate compliment: She had trusted him enough to fall asleep in his tepee. He studied her. She was wonderfully fashioned—lean torso, slim waist, and long, trim legs. He smiled. She was barefoot.

  Once again he felt good. She had come straight to him, not even taking the time to put on her shoes.

  He carefully lifted her feet, one at a time, and wiped the dust off the soles. Then he leaned down and kissed the milky white, blue-veined skin where her left foot arched.

  “Rest, my Yellow Bird. Dream of me.”

  She stirred in her sleep, smiling. Then she pressed closer to his blanket, and her breathing became even once more.

  Colter changed shirts quietly, tossing aside the buckskin and substituting an ordinary blue denim. Next he tucked his braids under an old San Francisco Giants baseball cap, picked up his medical bag, and left his tepee.

  o0o

  Jo Beth was awake when he returned from her cabin. She was sitting cross-legged in the sunshine beside the flap of his tepee, her jeans rolled up and her face turned toward the sun. And she was smiling.

  He climbed from the truck and walked toward her.

  “Hi. You look different with your braids tucked under that cap.”

  “More professional?” He dropped to his knees beside her.

  She assessed the denim shirt, open at the throat so that his fine bronze chest showed through; the well-used, oft-washed jeans, getting threadbare at one knee; the faded baseball cap.

  “For San Francisco, maybe, but not for Mississippi.”

  He smiled. “Tell me about Mississippi. I've been there only once.”

  “What city?”

  “Greenville. My friend Jim Roman married a Delta woman, Hannah Donovan.”

  “I can't believe you know the Donovans!”

  “Only Hannah. I've met the others, of course, but I don't know them.”

  “Hannah's brother Jacob is my brother Rick's best friend. That makes us almost friends.”

  “Almost friends and nearly lovers.”

  They exchanged a long look. Her face glowed with sunshine and laughter and anticipation. He put one palm on her sun-warmed cheek.

  She covered it with her own. They stayed that way for a long while, in silent awe of the thing that was happening between them—the magic, the beauty, the miracle.

  “You saw my father?”

  “Yes. He accepted me. In fact, his mind was relatively clear. I gave Sara a mild medication to use when he is agitated and out of control.”

  He took off his baseball cap and placed it on top of his medical bag. Just that single gesture, that releasing of his braids, made him look fiercely native.

  Desire spiraled through Jo Beth. Why had she come to Colter this morning? she wondered. Was it only to tell him to stay away? If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her honesty. And it was time to be honest with herself. She had come to Colter because of who he was. Not just a doctor, not just a man. Colter Gray Wolf was a man of strength and courage and kindness and humor. He'd shown his generosity of spirit in dealing with her parents. She'd hungered for him as naturally as the earth hungered for spring rains. And she had not been disappointed. He'd
covered her and refreshed her.

  She reached out and touched his face. “Thank you.”

  “You're more than welcome.”

  He caught her hands and stood up, pulling her with him. “Have you ever ridden bareback, Jo Beth?”

  She gave him an arch smile. “I'm not sure I should answer that, on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

  He roared with laughter. “I'm speaking of horses.”

  “Well, I was too.”

  “Of course you were. I never question the word of a sweet little Yellow Bird.” He patted her flushed cheek.

  She stared into his eyes until she thought she might drown in all that blackness, and then she turned to study the tethered stallion.

  “Surely you don't mean that beast? He's monstrous.”

  “He's a stallion, and really quite tame if you know how to handle him.”

  “My brother Andrew loves horses. He was always trying to teach me to ride, but I kept ending up in the dirt.”

  “Jo, I promise you won't end up in the dirt.” He let his gaze sweep over her. “On second thought, I take that back. You'll end up in the dirt only if I want you to.”

  “I'm not sure I can trust a fast-talking wolf like you.”

  “You can trust me for today. After today I make no promises.”

  “Why can I trust you for only one day?”

  “It's my gift to you.”

  “One Dad can't destroy with a double-barrel shotgun.” Her smile was bittersweet. “I would love to accept your gift, Colter, but I can't.”

  “Why can't you?”

  “I should get back and see about my parents. I should finish my work so I can get them out of the desert and back home.”

  “Jo, listen to me.” He bracketed her face with his hands, sliding his fingers into her shiny hair. “You can't continue to give if you are empty. Let me refill you.”

  He felt her skin heat up, and he smiled. “Let me refill you with laughter and happiness and a giddy sense of fun, so you will return to your work and your obligations refreshed.”

  She took a moment to think about all he had said, and then she smiled.