MM02 - Until Morning Comes (6 page)

“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.

“You are a man of great wisdom. I accept.”

“Good.” He took her hand and led her back into his tepee. “Now, no more serious talk. Just fun.”

He reached into his stack of supplies and took out a basket, bright with red and blue designs of leaping deer and festive with leather fringe.

“It's beautiful,” Jo Beth said.

“An Apache burden basket. And it's going to carry quite a burden today, because I'm starved.”

She helped him pack food for the picnic, then watched as he slung the basket over his shoulder and went to untether his horse.

The animal was skittish around her, and Colter spoke to him in a strange fluid tongue. After he had gentled the horse, Colter slung a blanket across the stallion's back and turned to Jo Beth.

“It's time.”

“Can't we walk? Or go in my Jeep?”

“Don't be afraid. I’ll be right here. You can hold on to me.” He caught the stallion's mane and vaulted onto his back. “Take my hand, Jo Beth. Trust me.”

“I do. And I'm not afraid of anything.”

She took his hand, and he swung her up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Hold on tight, Jo.”

He spoke those strange musical words again, and the animal moved with a grace that was more sensation than motion. Colter rode close to his horse, perfectly attuned to the animal's movements, and Jo tried to move when Colter did. For a while she was stiff and uncertain, but soon she began to relax and let herself flow with his rhythm.

The hoofbeats pounded the hard desert floor and the wind sang through her hair. At first it was a desert song, a melody of dusty packed earth, distant mountains, and shy animals hidden among the rocks. Then the music changed. It became a siren song, an intoxicating melody of strong, solid muscles and rich, masculine smells—leather and sweat and denim.

She cuddled her cheek against Colter's back. His muscles tensed, but he kept on riding, riding with the wind and the thunder of hoofbeats. Jo opened her mouth and pressed her tongue against his shirt. He tasted salty... and wonderful.

She took another taste.

The stallion veered sharply. Colter raced the last few yards toward the foothills of the mountains and came to an earth-scattering stop beside a stream. Sand and small stones spewed up around them. Before the dust had settled, Colter had dismounted, taking Jo with him.

His face was fierce as he bent toward her. He claimed her mouth quickly, urgently. She clung to him, still feeling the rocking motion of the horse, still intoxicated by the heady siren song and the nearness of her own personal doctor.

Passion burst into full bloom, as it always did with the two of them. Colter cupped her hips, fitting them into his.

“A small taste of heaven,” he murmured into her mouth, “before the picnic.”

She laced her fingers around his neck. “Colter... don't talk.... Kiss.”

There in the desert with the stallion snorting softly and nudging Colter's back, they refilled each other. He gave her strength and power and passion; she gave him softness and tenderness and desire. He gave her joy; she gave him happiness. And they gave each other another miracle.

When the kiss became so rich they had to break apart to savor it, Colter gazed into Jo Beth's face.

“Tomorrow, my Yellow Bird, we finish what we started.”

“How can you be certain?” she whispered.

“My heart understands yours, and...”

“And?”

“My time in the desert grows short, too precious to waste.”

“I’ll be leaving soon, too.”

“How soon?”

“A few days. A week at the most.”

“Then, Jo, let's finish today so that tomorrow will come quickly.”

Colter tethered the horse and they unpacked the picnic lunch. Sitting on the Indian blanket that had recently been their saddle, they shared a lunch of cheese and bread and beef jerky. Afterward, they rolled up their jeans and waded in the stream.

Their laughter echoed across the wide-open spaces. The September sun spilled its warmth on them, and they were happy.

With water swirling around her knees, Jo Beth stood in the stream and looked at Colter.

“I didn't know how much I needed this...” she said as she spread her hands wide to encompass the stream, the Indian blanket with its gay design and its burden basket, the enormous sky, even the stallion, “...this frivolous frolic.” Her laughter pealed like many children at play.

“You like frivolous frolic, do you?” Colter's eyes gleamed with mischief as he bent over and scooped up a handful of water. “How about frivolous,
wet
frolic?”

With a flick of his wrist, he dashed the water toward her, wetting the front of her jeans.

“You want a water fight, do you? You're messing with a pro.”

Lifting one foot then the other high out of the water, she ran behind him and splashed water over his back. He turned and aimed a handful at the front of her blouse. Laughing, she bent over and churned up a wave large enough to soak his jeans.

She stood with her hands on her hips, triumphantly surveying her handiwork.

“You should see yourself, Colter.” She laughed. “You're soaked. I won.”

He smiled at her, his black eyes roaming over her water-sprinkled face, her wet shirt, her damp jeans. Suddenly the smile faded, and his eyes became hooded.

“No. I think I won.”

With two strides he closed the space between them. He cupped her breasts through the damp shirt, lifting and molding them with his hands.

“And earth mother opened for the father sky, offering her ripe womb for the life-giving rains.”

“Colter?”

“Yes?” He caressed her, pressing the wet fabric against her soft skin.

“What is that?”

“Apache poetry.”

She reached out and placed her fingertips against his lips. “It's beautiful; you're beautiful.”

He was as still as only he could be, with a waiting, watchful stillness that made her breath catch high in her throat.

“Jo Beth, you are earth, I am sky. You will open, and I will fill you with my rain.”

“Fate?”

“Yes.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently drew her toward him. “Come, Yellow Bird.”

She moved toward him, willing at that moment to follow him to the moon, the sun, the stars, the end of the desert, to wherever he wanted to go. He draped his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the bank. When they reached the edge of the water, he lifted her and laid her on the blanket. Then he leaned down, propped on one elbow, blocking out the sun.

With one hand, he wiped the droplets of water from her face. “I'm glad you came to the desert.”

“So am I.” She caught the front of his shirt. “Colter. Lie down beside me.”

He lay beside her, their damp legs touching, their wet shoulders pressed close together.

“The sun will dry us quickly,” he said.

“It feels good.”

“You feel good.”

She rolled onto her elbow so she could look down at his face. “Why are you such a nice man?”

“For you, I'm keeping the beast tightly chained.”

“For today?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Only for today.”

She lay beside him again and folded her hands under her head. They were content to lie together, not talking, letting the sun warm their skin and dry their clothes.

As the afternoon waned, they began to talk. Colter told her about his houseboat in San Francisco and his childhood home in the White Mountains. In a voice full of Apache cadences, he talked of the rituals, the myths, the poetry.

“Your voice is like music, full of poetry and passion,” she said.

“You bring out the music in me.” His gaze wandered over her. “And the passion.” He took her hand and pulled her up from the blanket. “We're almost dry; let's ride.”

They repacked the burden basket, threw the blanket across the stallion's back, and rode. Astride the racing stallion and clinging to Colter's back, Jo Beth felt a marvelous freedom and a sense of well-being.

“Colter, thank you for this day. It has been a beautiful gift.” She spoke loud enough to be heard over the stallion's staccato hoofbeats.

“I will give you many beautiful days as gifts.”

“We’ll see.”

As they galloped across the desert she wondered how Colter would be able to give her many beautiful days if he was in San Francisco practicing medicine and she was in Mississippi taking care of her parents. But she didn't want to spoil her gift by pointing that out. She'd just drift along and see what happened.

She smiled. It was the first time she'd felt like drifting in a long, long time. She had Colter to thank for that.

And when they reached his camp, she did. He slid off the stallion and lifted her down. She put her arms around his neck and held him close.

“You are a very special man, Colter Gray Wolf. Thank you.”

“You're a special lady, Yellow Bird. It was my pleasure.”

While he took care of the stallion, she folded the blanket and carried it along with the burden basket inside his teepee. Colter kept his dwelling place immaculate, clean and unmussed, even after their hasty preparations for the picnic.

It was much like the man, she thought, for she had never seen him look anything except immaculate and dignified, almost as if he had been sculpted instead of born. Whether he was bound in an outdoor privy or sitting astride a stallion with the wind blowing his hair or standing in the stream with water soaking his clothes, Colter always reminded her of a perfect museum bronze. His tight control might have been scary if she hadn't known that he was a man of fire and passion and poetry.

She didn't hear him enter the tepee. Only when she saw a patch of sunlight on the ground was she aware of his presence. She turned slowly to face him, and he lowered the deerskin flap.

“I was admiring your camp. It's like you—neat and unmussed.” She crossed the small space that separated them. “Are you always like that, Colter, in complete control?”

“Until now, Jo Beth. Until I met you.” He pulled her into his arms and gazed down at her. “You are rocking the foundations of my life. The things I'd hoped to find in this lonesome place don't seem to matter anymore. All that matters is you.”

His hands were gentle as they bracketed her face. His lips were tender as they brushed across hers.

“Go now, quickly, before I lose all my nobility.”

“You could never do that.”

With his arms wrapped around her, he swayed, holding her body pressed tightly against his. “Ahhh, Yellow Bird. I'm on the edge of a cliff, about to plunge over.”

She rested her head in the curve between his cheek and his shoulder. With her open mouth, she pressed kisses against his throat.

“You tempt me to stay, Colter... forever.”

They swayed together, their heartbeats joined in perfect rhythm. Finally, Jo Beth pulled out of his embrace.

“Good-bye, Colter.”

He smiled. “Only for a little while.”

He held the flap open, and she left his tepee. Standing in the opening, he watched her climb into her Jeep and drive away. Then he went inside and began his preparations for the coming night.

o0o

The sun was lowering in the west by the time Jo Beth arrived at her cabin. Silas and Sara were waiting for her on the front porch swing.

“Your Dr. Gray is a nice man, Jo Beth,” Sara said.

“Humph.” Silas set the swing into motion with his foot. “He's a wolf parading in sheep's clothing. He didn't fool me for a minute.”

Jo Beth sat on the steps sideways so she could face her parents. “How's that, Dad?”

“Shoot, I knew it was Toronto all along. If I'd a had my gun, I'd a filled his britches with bird shot and sent him on his way. How can I take care of my family without my gun? That's what I'd like to know.”

“Now, Silas.” Sara patted his arm.

Months of dealing with Silas had taught Jo Beth it was best not to argue with him. She'd learned the hard way that to placate was better than to disagree.

“Dad, I appreciate what you've done for me, but I have Zar for protection.” Hearing his name, the big golden retriever rose from his napping place on the front porch and came to sit beside Jo Beth.

“A fat lot of good he'd do against that sneaky Indian. Where's my gun?”

Desperation is often the father of inspiration. Relief flooded Jo Beth as her inspired idea took hold.

“I don't need you to protect me, but I really need your help. Dad.”

“How's that?”

“If you could help me with my photography, I could finish this job quickly. Do you think you could learn to use one of my cameras?”

“I could learn to use a derned pipe organ if somebody would teach me.”