by Peggy Webb
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 pers
onally,” she said.
“Should I?”
“No. It's the artist in me. I always stop to admire 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?”
“It's Silas this and Silas that.... Silas come and Silas go.” He left his rocking chair, muttering all the way to the door.
Jo Beth smiled at Colter. “He didn't remember a thing. You're safe here.”
His gaze raked over her. “I'm not too sure about that.”
Shivers crawled up her spine, and she couldn't blame them on indigestion.
“I can guarantee it,” she said.
“I've found that life has very few guarantees.”
They assessed each other again, two wary wildcats, and then they washed up and joined her parents at the dinner table. Jo Beth discovered that Colter Gray Wolf was very adept at keeping dinner-table conversation interesting and lively. She guessed he'd had lots of practice at that sort of thing out in San Francisco. She also noticed that he was patient and extraordinarily compassionate when her father ventured off into one of his fantasies.
While her parents were in the kitchen getting dessert, she leaned closer to him.
“You have quite a bedside manner, Dr. Gray.”
“That's what all the women say to me.”
“And a sense of humor, too, I might add.”
“In my profession, it helps.”
“I can understand that—dealing with hundreds of sick people. It's hard enough dealing with only one. It breaks my heart to see Dad this way.” Instinctively her hand balled into a fist.
Colter covered her hand, which lay on the white tablecloth, and gently unclenched her fingers, one by one.
“He's not in pain, Jo Beth. He's not even aware that his words and actions are inappropriate and sometimes foolish. In your perception, he is a prisoner of his failing mind, but to him, everything seems normal. That's a compensation of our Father Creator.”
“Other doctors have told me that, but none so beautifully as you. Thank you.”
“It's the least I can do. After all, if you hadn't come along, I'd probably have spent the rest of my natural life in that outdoor privy.”
Her smile was his reward, and almost his downfall. When she smiled she looked like a mischievous angel. He didn't need any blond angels in his life right now. It was already complicated enough.
“Who wants cherry pie?”
Colter would be forever grateful to Sara McGill for chosing that moment to come through the door. If she hadn't, he might have done something rash, such as run his fingers through Jo Beth's hair to see if it was as silky as it looked.
Silas was not far behind Sara. “You wouldn't believe the trouble I had getting those cherries. Why, I had to take my twelve-gauge gun and shoot the derned tree into submission. And while I was out killing cherries, I ran upon this Indian by the creek....” He stopped speaking in midsentence and looked at Colter. “Jezebel's jewels! It's Toronto! Jo Beth, hide in the closet. Sara, where's my gun?”
Silas dropped the dessert plates to the floor, and then stared down at the broken dishes as if he couldn't figure out where they'd come from.
Jo Beth turned to her mother. “Toronto?”
Sarah shrugged. “Yesterday, Rooster Cogburn; today, the Lone Badger.”
Hearing his name, Silas started around the table toward Colter.
Jo Beth intercepted him. “Now, Dad, this man is not Toronto. He's our guest. Don't you remember? Dr. Colter Gray.”
She caught his arm, but although he was seventy-six years old, Silas was still strong. He broke loose and launched himself at Colter.
“I took you prisoner. How did you escape?”
“Dad, I—”
Colter shook his head at her. He stood up and held the old man's shoulders. “You were very brave to capture me like that. Most men don't have the courage you do.”
“I'm brave, all right. You didn't think of that when you got out of the outhouse to mess with my daughter, did you?” He twisted his head to look at his wife. “Sara, help me get this prisoner back in the outhouse where he belongs.”
“I'm begging you for mercy, Mr. McGill.” Colter spoke with the sincerity of a contrite prisoner. “You look like a just man. If you'll let me leave, I promise that I will disappear into the desert, and you'll never see me again.”
“We could have made a good team, you and me, but I didn't count on you getting sweet on my daughter. She's just sixteen. I don't want some derned savage taking her captive.”
“I promise I will not take your daughter captive.”
“You won't touch her?”
“No.”
“Then you can go.”
“Let's seal the bargain with a handshake.”
Colter checked Silas's pulse under the guise of shaking his hand. It was a little fast, but not alarming. And his eyes didn't look so wild now. Cautiously, he released the man and stepped back.
Jo Beth started toward him, but he shook his head and continued his walk toward the front door. He didn't even say, “Thank you for dinner,” for fear of setting Silas McGill off again.
He didn't make a sound as he walked from the dining room and through the den. He moved so swiftly and quietly, they didn't even hear the squeaky screen door close behind him.
Jo Beth stared after him for five seconds before turning her attention back to her father. He was sitting calmly at the table, cutting himself a huge hunk of cherry pie, his prisoner already forgotten now that he was out of sight.
“Have some pie, Jo Beth. And whatever happened to your guest? Didn't he stay for dessert?”
“No, Dad. He had to leave early.” She glanced toward her mother. “Mom?”
“Go after him, darling.”
Jo Beth ran
toward the door, stopping in the den long enough to jerk the Jeep keys off the top of the sideboard. By the time she reached the front porch, she was breathless. Nerves, that's what it was.
In order to regain her composure, she leaned against a rough-hewn porch post and stared into the darkness. She sensed rather than heard the movement, and suddenly Colter was standing in the path of feeble light cast by the naked bulb on the front porch.
“I promised not to take you captive, but don't tempt me.”
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Author’s Note: Colter Gray Wolf first appeared as a secondary character in book four of the Donovan’s of the Delta Series, Any Thursday. It’s my pleasure to bring him back in this second book of the Mississippi McGills series.
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Coming October 1, 2012 – Elvis and the Blue Christmas Corpse (A Southern Cousins Mystery, Book Five)
Coming December, 2012, The Tender Mercy of Roses by Anna Michaels in trade paperback (available now in digital and hardcover)
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About Peggy Webb
In a career that spans 26 years, the Mississippi author has written almost 70 books. Writing as Peggy Webb, she pens romance and the popular, comedic Southern Cousins Mystery Series starring Elvis, the basset hound who thinks he’s the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll reincarnated. Writing as Anna Michaels, she pens literary fiction. She has been on the romance bestseller list numerous times and has won many awards, including a Romantic Times Pioneer Award for creating the sub-genre of romantic comedy. Several of her romances have been optioned for film.
The Tender Mercy of Roses, 2011, written as Anna Michaels, is a Delta Magazine Top Five Pick, a Literary Guild and Doubleday Book Club Featured Alternate. Pat Conroy, author of The Prince of Tides, calls it “astonishing.”