“Yeah,” he said as he held her tight. “I did.”
About the Author
Award-winning author Sarah M. Anderson may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains. When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.
She’s sold over eighteen books to Harlequin Desire and Superromance, as well as Samhain. She won RT Reviewer’s Choice 2012 Desire of the Year for A Man of Privilege.
When she’s not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband.
Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at:
Her Newsletter
Her Website
On Facebook
On Twitter
On Goodreads
By Snail Mail at: Sarah M. Anderson, 200 N 8th ST #193, Quincy IL 62301-9996
Acknowledgements
I could not have written this book without the generous help of the following people, all of whom I owe drinks and/or chocolate: Jules Bennett, Elizabeth Otto, Maisey Yates, Heidi Moore, and Jill Marsal. Deepest thanks go to Mary Dieterich for editing and Leah Hanlin for designing the book.
Men of the White Sandy
Mystic Cowboy
Masked Cowboy
Lawyers in Love
A Man of His Word
A Man of Privilege
A Man of Distinction
The Boltons
Straddling the Line
Bringing Home the Bachelor
Expecting a Bolton Baby
Rich, Rugged Ranchers
A Real Cowboy
The Texas Cattleman’s Club
What a Rancher Wants
Rodeo Dreamers
Rodeo Dreams
The Beaumont Heirs
Not the Boss’s Baby
Tempted by the Cowboy
A Beaumont Christmas Wedding
Mystic Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy #1)
© 2013, 2014 by Sarah M. Anderson
From Samhain Publishing
The White Sandy Reservation needs a doctor, and Madeline Mitchell needs to do a little good in the world. It seems like a perfect fit, until she meets the medicine man, Rebel Runs Fast. As far as Madeline can tell, Rebel’s sole mission is to convince her patients that modern medicine can’t help them. And the fact that he makes her heart race every time he looks at her only irritates her more.
Rebel swore off the white man’s world—and women—years ago. But he’s never met a woman like Dr. Mitchell. She doesn’t speak the language, understand the customs, or believe he’s anything more than a charlatan—but she stays, determined to help his people. He tries to convince himself that his tribe doesn’t need her, but when patients start getting sick with strange symptoms, he realizes that he needs her more than ever.
Excerpt from Mystic Cowboy
And suddenly, it got a whole lot less boring. Tara gasped in shock as the fan was kicked out of the door. Now what? Madeline spun around in her pitiful supply closet.
Two men stood in front of Tara. Well, one man stood. He was tall and straight, all the more so compared to the broken people she’d looked at all day. His jet-black hair hung long and loose under a straw cowboy hat, all the way down to his denim-clad butt. Even though he was supporting the other man, he was moving from one black cowboy boot to the other, his hips shifting in a subtle-but-sexy motion. He was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off, revealing a set of honest biceps that looked like carved caramel—the best kind of delicious.
“Find a nice cowboy.” Mellie’s voice floated back up her from their last conversation. “Ride him a little. Have fun!”
Now, Madeline wasn’t exactly a thrill-seeking adrenaline junkie. On more than one occasion, she’d been accused of being the party pooper, the stick in the mud, a real-bring-me-downer in the room. Several times, it had been pointed out that she wouldn’t know fun if it walked up and bit her in the ass. And that was just what Mellie said to her face. God only knew what everyone else said behind her back.
But there he was, standing in her waiting room. Fun in cowboy boots. No biting in the ass required, because she knew him immediately, and all she wanted to do was find a horse and ride. With him. The heat started at her neck and flashed southward. She could feel her curls trying to break free into a full-fledged frizz with the sudden temperature change, which only made things that much worse.
“Jesse!” Tara said in a voice that was just one small step below shouting. “What did you do now?”
“Give me a hand, will you?” Fun in Cowboy Boots called back to Clarence. He pivoted just a little, revealing the other man who was leaning all of his weight on Fun’s right side.
Not good. The second guy’s leg was being held together with what looked like broomsticks and duct tape. His right arm hung limp, and his scratched face was contorted in pain.
“Damn, Rebel, what happened?” Clarence was already hefting the broken man—Jesse?—onto the nearest free table, leading to a volley of clenched grunts from the injured man. “I thought we might get through this month without you trying to kill yourself, you know.”
Did Clarence really just call this guy Rebel? Well, it was official. She’d heard it all today.
Rebel—if that was his real name—was shaking his head when he caught her staring. He had beautiful black eyes, the kind of black that didn’t so much show you the window to his soul, but reflected yours back on you. Those eyes widened in surprise. “You know how it goes, Clarence,” he said, his gaze bearing down on her with enough heat that the rest of the clinic felt suddenly cool by comparison. “Life with Jesse is always an adventure.”
Tara was next to the exam table now, holding Jesse’s hand as she felt his head. “Do I even want to know?”
“Not really,” Rebel replied, taking his time as he looked her over. His thumbs were hanging from his belt loops, which only made the shifting thing he was doing look more intentional. Aside from the long hair, he looked like every cowboy fantasy she’d ever had. Did he have a horse, or was her imagination way out of control? “You must be the new doctor, ma’am.” He took off his hat and nodded. All that black hair, so straight it made her jealous, flowed around him like a cape.
Oooh, her first ma’am. From an honest-to-God cowboy, no less. She felt the sudden urge to curtsey, but then realized what he’d said right before the ma’am. She was the doctor, and she had a job to do. Wrenching her eyes from the caramel-colored cowboy to the patient, Madeline tried to regain her professional composure. “Dr. Mitchell, please. And this is Jesse?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That wasn’t helpful. “I need to know how this happened, Mister…”
“Rebel,” he said, those hips still moving.
She was not staring like a schoolgirl at this man. “Excuse me?”
“Just Rebel, ma’am.”
A shiver ran down her spine. One more ma’am and she might swoon. “Dr. Mitchell,” she said with more force as she turned to her patient.
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Masked Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy #2)
© 2013, 2014 by Sarah M. Anderson
From Samhain Publishing
Mary Beth is the kind of woman who wishes she had a five-second delay on her mouth. The swath of verbal destruction she leaves is why she goes west to start over. But any resolve to hold her tongue is lost immediately when she meets Jacob, a Lakota cowboy who says next to nothing – especially about the black leather
mask that covers half his face.
Jacob’s silence is his armor in a white man’s world, but even that isn’t enough to protect him—or the mute girl he guards—from forces he can’t control. Fascinated by the masked cowboy and drawn to defend the girl, Mary Beth finds herself in the middle of a decades-old power struggle that only she could talk her way out of.
Excerpt from Masked Cowboy
Mary Beth followed Robin’s gaze, blinking through the streaking evening sun.
Down the center of the street, a cowboy was riding a horse, leading another behind him. As he got closer, Mary Beth could see the cowboy was shirtless. The golden light settled over his dark hat and shimmered off his bare shoulders. His front was still in light shadows, but if the rest of him was as carved as those dark brown shoulders, things were about to get interesting.
“Mmm,” Robin hummed and Mary Beth swore the whole restaurant was humming in pleasure with her.
As the lone rider got closer, the shadows eased back a bit, and Mary Beth realized that there was something different about this cowboy.
He had an eye patch.
Whoa, hunk on the hoof, just like in a romance novel. But as she blinked through the angular sunlight, Mary Beth realized that the patch was far larger than the kind a pirate would wear. The swath of dark leather started at his left temple, covered his left eye and continued down over the center of his face, coming to a sharp point over his nose.
Mary Beth shook her head, but the patch remained the same. “He wears a mask?” she whispered to Robin, afraid to break the spell that gripped the café.
“Shhh,” Robin hissed.
The masked cowboy rode right up to the café and stopped mere feet from Mary Beth’s table before he slid out of the saddle, his leg muscles twitching through his tight jeans the whole way down. He paused for split second, clearly enjoying every female eye trained on his bare torso before he walked up to Mary Beth’s table.
“Robin,” he said, gently tipping his black felt hat, its brim creased from countless such tips. His one eye, nestled between a strong eyebrow and a stronger cheekbone, swept over the scene before it settled on Mary Beth.
“Jacob,” Robin practically sang. She held out the tray with the towel and the water.
Jacob, the masked, shirtless cowboy, gracefully lifted the glass of water from the tray before he set his hat in its place. He took a huge drink, then grabbed the towel, leaned forward and poured the rest of the water over his head.
The water rushed through his slightly overgrown jet-black hair as he stood up, his mask covered with the towel. Rivulets raced down his browned, chiseled chest before he slowly mopped them up, his gaze grabbing Mary Beth’s face and refusing to let it go again.
She was sure her mouth was on the table, but she couldn’t help it. Every fiber in her body was vibrating as she watched the towel trace passed his pecs, down his lean abs—the muscles moving just beneath the smooth surface of his skin—and follow a faint trail of hair that ended in his jeans. The mask notwithstanding, this man was quite possibly the most ideal specimen of masculinity she’d ever laid eyes on. Nothing like pasty Greg Meyers.
A hint of a smile on his face, Jacob handed the towel back to Robin, took the to-go bag, pivoted and walked to the saddlebag of his paint. Mary Beth admiringly noted the huge tear in the seat of his pants, just under his left butt cheek. It was hard to tell what was more promising—his rock-solid chest or that flash of ass. Pausing again for just a second, he tucked the meal in the bag after he whipped out an Anthrax T-shirt that might have been black back in the 80s.
As he began to unbuckle his jeans, Mary Beth heard the entire café suck in a hot breath.
He won’t. Mary Beth’s brain stuttered in shock. He wouldn’t!
The top button gave under his nimble fingers, and then the second. Mary Beth couldn’t help but stare at the treasure trail of dark fur that crested at an even darker line peaking just over the undone buttons.
Jesus Christ, is he even wearing underwear? She gasped, unable to look away as she squirmed in her chair.
Jacob slipped the tee over his head, tucked it in and buttoned back up. As he took his hat off Robin’s tray, the whole café—the sum total of women in Faith Ridge—sighed and leaned back in their chairs. Mary Beth wondered if there were enough cigarettes in town for the collective orgasm that had just happened in broad daylight.
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Teaser
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Other Books by the Author
Excerpt from Mystic Cowboy
Excerpt from Masked Cowboy
Nobody (Men of the White Sandy) (Volume 3) Page 28
