MM02 - Until Morning Comes

by Peggy Webb

  Until Morning Comes

  (The Mississippi McGills, Book Two)

  Peggy Webb

  Copyright 2012 by Peggy Webb

  Cover art copyright 2012 by Kim Van Meter

  Publishing history/ Bantam Loveswept, Copyright 1990 by Peggy Webb.

  Author’s Note: The hero, Colter Gray Wolf, was a secondary character in Any Thursday, Hannah Donovan’s story in the best-selling Donovans of the Delta romantic comedy series. It is my pleasure to bring him back in this second book of the Mississippi McGills series. This book also introduces Jo Beth McGill and her dog Zar. I’m a dog lover, and always have at least one great dog as companion/protector/friend/foot-warmer under my desk on cold winter days. Zar (short for some exotic name I no longer remember) was my first beloved golden retriever.

  Chapter One

  “Hold it right there.”

  Colter Gray Wolf thought he was hearing things. Maybe he'd been in the desert too long. He shook his head to clear it and knelt closer to the stream.

  “I'm talking to you, Indian.”

  He felt something poke into his bare back. It was unmistakably the barrel of a gun. Automatically, he lifted his hands above his head in an act of surrender. The person speaking was obviously a maniac, and he wasn't going to take any chances.

  “Don't shoot. You can have whatever you want.”

  There was the unexpected sound of giggling behind him, then wheezing and snorting.

  “I don't want anything you've got. I just want you.” Colter felt his hands being dragged down and lashed behind his back. Then the gun dug into his flesh again. “Now get up real slow and turn around.

  Colter stood up and faced his captor. The person holding him captive was a bantam of a man, with a full head of curly gray hair and bright blue eyes staring out from a deeply tanned and wrinkled face. And he was holding a twelve-gauge, double-barrel shotgun. The man didn't look like a hardened criminal. Perhaps he was just frightened. Colter decided to try a friendly approach.

  “I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Colter Gray from—”

  “Quiet.” The gun stabbed toward his rib cage. “If you're a doctor, I'm the Queen of England.” The old man giggled again.

  Colter's diagnosis was swift. Senile dementia. The old man was probably harmless, but he was holding a gun. Speaking slowly and clearly, as if he were talking to one of his patients, Colter tried to reason with the man.

  “I mean you no harm. I'm camping two miles from here, and if you'll untie these ropes, I’ll leave and you'll never see me again.”

  “Heck, what do you think I captured you for? I've been looking all over these parts for somebody just like you.”

  “Why do you want someone like me?”

  “The two of us are going to be a team. I'm the Lone Badger, and you'll be Toronto. We’ll make a fortune with our act.”

  Colter stifled his chuckle, for he knew the man didn't consider his bizarre suggestion funny. And once again he marveled at the Father Creator's wisdom. Having a loved one become senile was a devastating blow for a family, but God had added the humor to compensate.

  He decided to try one more tactic.

  “That's a great idea. All we need now is a horse. Why don't you untie me so I can help you catch one?”

  “And let you run away? Shoot, I wasn't born yesterday. Nor the day before, either.” The old man poked the gun into Colter's ribs. “March.”

  Colter briefly considered kicking the old man's legs out from under him and trying to get away, but that posed too many problems. The gun could go off. Even if it didn't, even if he managed to kick the gun away, too, his captor might get to it quickly enough to shoot Colter in the back. And he hadn't come all the way to Tucson to get shot.

  He did as he was told.

  o0o

  Jo Beth was feeling great. She'd had a successful outing with her camera—photographing the giant saguaro cactus—and her dog hadn't scared up a single rattlesnake. That was one of the things she'd been worried about when she'd taken this assignment in Arizona. Rattlesnakes. That and her parents. Sara and Silas McGill were getting old. And although her brother Rick had hired full-time help for them, she felt guilty leaving them with strangers so much. So when she'd left Tupelo, she'd brought them with her.

  Her mother hated the desert, but she endured it with good grace, as she endured everything. It was her father Jo Beth worried most about. His mind was getting worse and worse. Lately he'd begun to think of himself as Rooster Cogburn. He'd even begun to talk like that crusty old outlaw.

  She lengthened her stride when her borrowed cabin came into view. The Santa Catalina Mountains rose up behind it, and lights glowed in the window. It looked homey and cozy. But the lights reminded her that it would soon be dark. She hadn't meant to leave her parents alone for so long.

  Her golden retriever ran ahead of her, waving his tail in the air and panting with happiness. Suddenly the dog stood still, the hackles rising on his back. Jo Beth caught up to him, bent down, and put her hand on his collar.

  “What's wrong, boy?”

  He growled once, low in his throat, then went streaking toward the outdoor privy. When he reached the ramshackle, unused outhouse, he began to bark.

  Jo Beth laughed. “I agree with you, Zar. It's an eyesore. What can I say? The owner thinks it adds a bit of local color to the place.”

  Zar barked at her twice, and then put his right front paw on the door of the privy and whined. There was a muffled sound from within the structure.

  Prickles of fear rose on Jo Beth's arms, but she was no coward.

  “Hold 'em, boy,” she yelled as she unhooked her camera and ran toward the woodpile for a big stick. The first one she selected was too heavy, but the next one was just right. She hefted it in the air a couple of times for practice. She wasn't a McGill for nothing. She could hold her own with a passel of wildcats. Nobody messed with a McGill.

  She ran hack toward the privy. Zar was still standing guard at the door, growling. Jo Beth took the bold approach. Holding the stick of wood high above her head with one hand, she jerked the door open with the other.

  A bound and gagged man stared at her from the toilet seat. Not just a man. An honest-to-goodness Native American complete with braids and buckskin britches and beaded moccasins and bare bronze chest. It was the chest that held her attention the longest.

  “What are you doing in my outhouse?”

  She saw the man's eyes crinkle with laughter. He wriggled around on the seat and made a few muffled sounds.

  “Well, of course. The gag,” she said, feeling foolish.

  Impulsively she reached toward the gag, and then she pulled back. Zar was no longer growling, and the man certainly didn't look like a criminal, but she didn't want to be too hasty.

  “Listen, my dog will attack on command, and I'm very handy with this stick. I'm going to take off your gag so that you can talk, but don't any tricks. Okay?”

  The man nodded. It was strange how he could maintain his dignity, bound and gagged in an outdoor toilet. Jo Beth supposed it must be his heritage. Maybe Native Americans looked dignified at all times.

  She propped her stick against the wall and approached him again, reaching behind him to loosen his gag. It was close in the shed, he was a big man. Her leg made contact with his, and her chest was pressed against his shoulder. She felt something strangely like currents passing between them. How ridiculous, she told herself. Instant attraction was a myth and falling in love was an obsolete art. She knew because she'd tried. On severed occasions she'd picked out the perfect man and waited for the sparks to fly. It hadn't worked.

  She quickly pulled the gag loose and stepped out of touching range. Just in case of trouble, she picked up
her stick again.

  “Thank you. I'd begun to think I was going to have to spend the night tied up in here.”

  Listening to him speak was almost a mystical experience. It was a voice that could call thunder from the sky and command the stars to shine just for him.

  Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on the stick. “Who are you?”

  “In San Francisco, I'm Dr. Colter Gray, but here in the home of my ancestors, I'm Colter Gray Wolf.”

  “You're a doctor? How in the world did you get into my outhouse?”

  “Not by choice, I assure you.” Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes as he smiled. “I'm afraid I've been taken captive.”

  Zar was sitting at the man's feet now, thumping his tail on the wooden floor of the old privy and licking at the doctor's bound hands. Jo Beth had complete faith in Zar's instincts. She tossed her stick to the ground.

  “Dr. Gray—”

  “Colter.”

  “I'm almost afraid to ask who took you captive.”

  “It was a feisty old man with a twelve-gauge, double-barrel shotgun.”

  “I should have taken that gun from him a long time ago.”

  “I assume you know this person.”

  “Silas McGill, my father.” Jo Beth knelt at Colter's feet and began to work at the ropes that bound his ankles. “I'm Jo Beth McGill, and I can't tell you how sorry I am that this happened. Dad's been somewhat confused lately. I had no idea he had gotten this bad.” She looked up at him. “I do apologize.”

  “Apology accepted. There's no harm done.”

  A streak of gold from the setting sun fell across Colter's face. He looked like a museum bronze. Jo Beth quickly turned her attention back to the ropes. The stubborn knots came loose. She pulled the rope aside and gasped.

  “Your ankles!”

  There were angry red marks on his ankles where the tight rope had bitten into his flesh. She tossed the rope away and began to rub his reddened ankles. Suddenly, she felt him stiffen.

  “It's merely a slight abrasion from the ropes,” Colter said. “Nothing serious.”

  “Of course.” She jerked her hands away, then stood up quickly. “Let me untie your hands.”

  She had to lean over him again in order to get to the ropes on his hands. She felt a trickle of sweat roll between her breasts. It was too hot for a September evening in the desert. She decided that they must be in for a heat wave.

  She worked silently at the tightly knotted ropes, trying to ignore the fact that she was wrapped around Colter Gray Wolf as snuggly as cellophane on a caramel candy. Another trickle of sweat dampened the front of her blouse.

  Colter looked at the view closest to him—the contour of her breast. It was nicely rounded... and soft... and very, very feminine. His glance swung upward. He could see a profile of her face. It was classically beautiful, with a finely sculpted nose, high cheekbones, and full, lush lips. Her eyes were startlingly blue, and her hair was exceedingly fair.

  Jo Beth McGill was the antithesis of everything Native American. She would fit right into his white world in San Francisco, but she would be a misfit in his Apache village. Not that it mattered one way or the other. He was in the desert to think, not to find a woman—especially not a blond woman.

  “There.” A line of sweat streaked down Jo Beth's cheek as she straightened up and held the piece of rope aloft. “You're free.”

  He wanted to tell her that he would never be free until he discovered exactly who he was, but the impulse quickly died.

  “Thank you. May I call you Jo Beth?”

  “Certainly.” She stepped out of the small shack to give him room to stand up.

  He started to stand, and then sank back onto the toilet seat. Jo Beth reached for his arm.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I've been sitting here a while. It will take a bit of time to get the circulation going again. I’ll be fine.” He looked pointedly at the hand on his arm.

  Jo Beth's cheeks flushed, and she strode toward her camera, acting as if she'd intended to go after it right that minute anyhow.

  “Are you staying around here somewhere?”

  “Yes. My campsite is about three miles south of here. Easy walking distance”—he chuckled—”when I can walk.”

  She slung her camera over her shoulder and turned to face him. His legs had finally decided to cooperate. He was standing just outside the privy door. The sight almost took her breath away. Even with a toilet for a backdrop. Colter Gray Wolf looked as if he had stepped down from the canvas of a Remington. His skin, polished by the setting sun, was all the colors of the earth—rich brown and subtle red and burnished gold. His eyes were black and vivid in a face as bold as Caesar's must have been when he'd conquered Gaul.

  Honest-to-goodness sparks flew from that tall, handsome hunk right across the desert evening and landed smack dab in the middle of her stomach. Her midriff felt as if it were on fire. Of course, it could be indigestion. She'd had a rather suspicious-tasting lunch of leftovers she'd packed from the refrigerator.

  Which brought her to another matter. Food. She was starving.

  “You’ll do no walking tonight, Colter Gray Wolf. You're coming in to supper with us, and afterward I’ll take you back to your camp in my Jeep.”

  “That's kind of you, but I can manage from here.”

  “I'm not being kind; I'm trying to salve my conscience. I feel partly responsible for your predicament.” She glanced toward the outhouse, and laughter began to well up. She tried to stop the laughter with her hand, but it spilled out.

  “It is rather funny, isn't it? I can hear some of the things my colleagues in San Francisco would say.”

  Jo Beth regained her composure. “Then it's settled. You're coming in to supper.”

  “How can I resist such an invitation? Jo Beth McGill, you're almost as persuasive as your father.”

  “I would have used the stick if you had refused.”

  “Somehow I don't doubt that for a minute. But perhaps I shouldn't see your father again. I don't want to upset him.”

  “I promise that everything will be okay. He forgets very quickly. And my mother's cooking will make up for any inconvenience.” She started to chuckle again.

  “Perhaps you should have captured the moment for posterity before you released me.” He nodded toward her camera. “That's some fancy equipment you're carrying.”

  “It goes with the job. I'm a photojournalist. Free-lance.”

  They had reached the cabin now. Lights from the windows glowed across the unpainted wooden front porch. One naked bulb cast an eerie glow above the front door.

  Jo Beth and Colter climbed the steps side by side. She was acutely aware of him, of the lean solid lines of his body, of the silent way he walked, of that smooth expanse of bare chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see exactly what the porch light was doing to his magnificent skin.

  She thought of turning her head just a little to sneak another peek, but sneaking had never been her style. Instead, she boldly admired him.

  Colter went still. With one moccasined foot poised on the front porch, he stopped and slowly turned toward her. His face gave away none of his feelings.

  The air around them was charged with currents. Jo Beth continued her silent admiration, and Colter took it in stride. Or perhaps as his due, she decided. After all, such a man was probably accustomed to being fawned over.

  The moment stretched out until it was fairly humming. A small trickle of perspiration inched from under her heavy hair and dampened the side of her cheek. She thought he might say something clever to break the silence, but he remained as impassive as the snowcapped Rockies, and just as cool.

  Great. She felt as if she had run five miles in the desert, and Colter Gray Wolf wasn't even sweating. He was probably used to women panting over him, too.

  “I hope you don't take this personally,” she said.

  “Should I?”

  “No. It's the artist in me. I always stop to admi
re a beautiful view.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her temperature went up fifteen degrees. Good heavens. She'd just bared her soul, and all he'd said was thank you. Well, she could be just as insouciant.

  “You're welcome.”

  She led the way through the front door. Sara and Silas McGill were sitting in rocking chairs with their backs to the door, holding hands. Sara was humming her favorite song, “Amazing Grace,” and Silas was telling about the time he'd hitched a railroad car going West that turned out to be a circus wagon full of lions. The last time Jo Beth had heard that story, the wagon had been full of snakes.

  Her heart broke a little every time she heard his stories. They were all make-believe. Silas had almost completely forgotten that he had been a highly respected university professor with a Ph.D. in anthropology and that his only adventures had been occasional digs that turned up nothing more dangerous than a few old bones.

  “Mom. Dad. I've brought a guest to dinner.”

  Her parents turned at the same time. Colter braced himself for the moment of recognition, but the old man merely smiled at him.

  “Is he taking you to the prom, Jo Beth?” Silas asked.

  Sara patted his hand. “Now, Silas. Jo Beth is too old for proms. Remember?”

  Colter smiled at Jo Beth. “Are you?”

  “If you're asking my age, I don't mind admitting to twenty-nine, but not a year more.” She unslung her camera and placed it on the top of a claw-footed oak sideboard. “This is Dr. Colter Gray. He's camping near here. I found him in the...”

  “In the desert.” Colter walked forward and bent gallantly over Sara McGill's hand. She was tall and slim, her hair still showing that it had once been blond. Jo Beth might have her father's feistiness, but she certainly had her mother's looks. “I hope my being here doesn't inconvenience you, Mrs. McGill.”

  “Not at all. We welcome company out here in the desert,” Sara said.

  Colter shook Silas's hand. The old man peered at him closely. “Say, haven't I seen you somewhere before?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Why don't you two wash up while Silas and I set the table.” Sara held herself tall as she walked across the braided rug toward the dining room. In the door she turned to her husband and called, “Silas. Are you coming?”