Masked Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy)

by Anderson, Sarah M.

  She choked a little, covering her mouth in shock as her eyes danced around his face, jumping back and forth from his eye to the scars on his nose.

  “You don’t have to be normal to be with me. I love you because you’re not normal. I love your smart mouth and how Kip always trusted you from the start, and I love how you don’t let me get away with being a jerk.”

  “You love my smart mouth?”

  “Yup. It’s all part of who I love. You.”

  Her hands snaked back up to her throat. “But-but—”

  Deliberately, he moved her hands and undid the Velcro holding the brace on her neck. She went rigid beneath his fingers, closing her eyes as if she could pray him away, but she couldn’t.

  Her neck laid bare, he traced his fingers lightly over the still-angry flesh. His scars were old, flat and faded in the almost-four years that had passed, but hers were still fresh, the pain still new. “I’m trying to tell you that it doesn’t matter to me, but I know I’m not very good with this talking thing.” She forced a little grin, but he could see she was still mortified. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand how much this bothered you, babe. I should have known. It will get better, I promise. You can wear the brace or a scarf if you want to, but you don’t have to.”

  “But I’m—it’s so ugly,” she whispered, turning away from him again.

  He couldn’t stop the chuckle that broke loose. “Compared to what? Have you seen my face?”

  “Don’t laugh at me,” she sobbed. “Please.”

  “Babe, please. What do you think of when you think of me?”

  “What?”

  He asked slower this time, enunciating all the words. “What do you think of when you think of me? Am I just a guy in a mask? Is that all you ever think about?”

  “Um, at this exact moment, it’s kinda high up there,” she whispered, swimming in the guilt.

  He beamed, so relieved she sounded almost normal. “But not always.”

  “Jacob, what does—?”

  “You think that when I look at you, all I’ll ever see is the scar, right?”

  She started to suck in air as she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Babe, please, hear me out. It’s a part of you, but it’s not who you are now. You know what I think of when I look at this?” he asked as he stroked the length of the scar, his fingers memorizing every pinhole and every ridge. “I think of love and honor and sacrifice. I think of everything you willingly almost gave up to save Kip. I think of how brave you were—braver than I ever was. I think of a warrior who fell down and accepted her scars for her family.”

  “I’m not—” she protested.

  He pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her. “You don’t have to hide from me, because you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not an ugly scar, not to me and not to Kip. It’s a badge of honor.” And slowly, he leaned down and kissed all three-plus inches of it as he wrapped his fingers through her waves of hair. By the time he finished, she’d gone from board stiff to relaxed, leaning her head back to give him better access. “It’s not the worst of you,” he murmured as he held her to his chest. “It’s the best.”

  She began to cry again, but he could tell this was different. These were tears of relief. So he let her go as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. He glanced around and finally saw where the ring had landed, just behind her.

  They were almost to yes.

  When she finally leaned back, she looked lighter, a silly smile waiting for him. “And I’m sorry I didn’t figure out how much your mother was getting on your nerves,” he said with a smirk. “I would have sent her home with Kip sooner if I had realized you needed such a break.”

  That did it. “You really bought this trailer for me?” She giggled, looking around at all the newness that was hers for the taking.

  He smiled. It felt different without the mask on—his face unencumbered by the leather. He didn’t need that piece of leather to hold him together anymore. That’s what she was for. “Manufactured home, actually. Trailers have apparently gone the way of all things. And I want you to pick out whatever you want. Even if you wanted to haul that ugly couch out of your house and bring it up here, that’d be okay with me.” She giggled again, and he couldn’t help but lift her to his lips. “I did already get the mattress…”

  “Uh huh,” she said, her voice still shaking. “When did you do all this?”

  “It was delivered two weeks ago. I decided to ask your mother for permission, and then she called your uncle, so I asked him too, and then I asked Kip what she thought, and she said you’d say yes. But she asked me where we were going to live. So I bought us this trailer.”

  She rolled her eyes as she smiled, real joy radiating from her eyes. “Uncle Hank knows?”

  “He gave his permission. So I think everyone’s said yes but you.” He leaned down and kissed her. It felt different now that he wasn’t wearing the mask. “I love you. Kip loves you. Stay here with me. Stay here with us. You belong here.”

  She reached up and traced a finger down the pale scar tissue that had once been his eyelid before it circled the scars where his nose had been reattached to his face. “This—it never really mattered to me.”

  “I know.” He leaned far over, trying to reach the ring without squishing her. “So you want to get married?”

  She beamed as he slipped the family diamond on her finger. Her eyes got all misty, but she pulled him down and kissed him hard, setting him on fire again. It wasn’t the easiest way to yes, but they’d gotten here all the same.

  “Techihhila,” she finally managed to say, not quite getting the pronunciation right. But close enough. Jacob hugged her tight before he tasted strawberries in sunshine again.

  “I thought you might.”

  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.

  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: www.sarahmanderson.com or www.facebook.com/pages/Sarah-M-Anderson-Author. You can also find Sarah at Twitter: @SarahMAnderson1, Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/4982413.Sarah_M_Anderson or contact Sarah by snail mail at Sarah M. Anderson, 200 N 8th ST 193, Quincy IL 62301-9996.

  Look for these titles by Sarah M. Anderson

  Now Available:

  Men of the White Sandy

  Mystic Cowboy

  One good man could drive her all kinds of crazy.

  Mystic Cowboy

  © 2013 Sarah M. Anderson

  Men of the White Sandy, Book 1

  Just who does Rebel Runs Fast think he is? Dr. Madeline Mitchell, the new doctor on the White Sandy Lakota Indian Reservation, knows there’s a good answer to that question. Somewhere.

  Sure, the Lakota medicine man is every cowboy-and-Indian fantasy she ever had, but he sends patients to sweat lodges instead of clinical trials, talks them out of flu vaccines. Even more irritating, he makes her heart race.

  Rebel swore off the white man's world—and its women—years ago. Madeline doesn't speak the language, understand the customs, or believe he's anything more than a charlatan. Yet she stays, determined to help his people. And he keeps finding excuses to spend more time at the clinic.

  When he discovers her in the throes of dangerous heat stroke, Rebel’s efforts to cool h
er down sets fire to a passion neither thought they wanted. But when the people start falling violently ill, the cultural gap stretches the connection between their hearts to the breaking point…

  Warning: This book contains smoking-hot skinny dipping, emotional and emotionally satisfying sex, and a shirtless cowboy who is also an Indian.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mystic Cowboy:

  “Well.” She looked down at Nelly, who had graduated to cautious peering at the new white woman on the rez. “Hello. I’m Dr. Mitchell. I’m the new doctor.”

  The last three doctors who’d thought they could save the world had all told the kids to call them Dr. Jerry, Dr. Blaine, and Dr. Nate, but not the new doctor. She seemed almost as afraid of Nelly as Nelly was of her.

  What was her name? He was dying to find out. He wanted to wrap his tongue around it, and then maybe wrap his tongue around a few other things.

  Ow. His zipper was intruding again. Damn white women.

  Dr. Mitchell waited, but she got no response from Nelly. Unexpectedly, a warm smile broke out on her face. “Tara, this shouldn’t be a problem. And please add…speculums…to the list.” She turned fire-red again.

  His zipper was going to kill him.

  “Rebel came in to get his bill,” Tara said. She turned demanding eyes to him. “Didn’t you, Rebel?”

  “Sure.” He took the bill and looked it over. And looked again, because he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. “One thousand dollars?”

  “I understood that you paid your—horse!”

  “What?”

  But then he heard the rest of the waiting room gasp as Nelly squealed, “Blue Eye! Get out!”

  Rebel spun to see that Blue Eye was straddling the fan, no doubt enjoying the breeze as she checked out what all the hubbub was about.

  “Horse!” Dr. Mitchell screamed again. “Horse in the clinic!”

  “Get, shoo, Blue Eye.” Finally, the chance to get his pants adjusted. He grabbed the mare’s lead and backed her out of the clinic. “Stay out here, or you’ll have the mad doctor after you.”

  Blue Eye knocked his hat off his head and sniffed his hair, which was her way of saying, “Can we go now?”

  Rebel knew she’d become an increasingly large pain in the ass until they got the hell out of town and back to the wide open spaces again. “Give me a second,” he muttered as he cinched the lead down tight and went back in. If he was lucky, he had five minutes before the horse figured her way out of the tie again. But he wasn’t ready to leave, not just yet.

  Dr. Mitchell was waiting for him, her eyes all ice and her cheeks all fire again. Her crossed arms were suddenly making that lab coat a whole lot less sexless as she huffed at him. “Horses do not belong in this clinic,” she said, like that wasn’t some obvious statement.

  He grinned and saw the way her eyes got…deeper, somehow. It had been a long time, but not so long that he’d forgotten what that look meant on a woman’s face. That was attraction, pure and simple. “She was just curious,” he said, trying to stretch time just a little. The longer he stalled, the more he could look at her. “Not a big deal.”

  She was a sea of emotions. He thought he caught a glimpse of amusement under the attraction, but then both were gone, and she wore the meanest look he’d ever seen on a woman. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen eyes that damn blue, and he was positive that no one had ever tried to kill him by glaring alone. “Pay your bill, sir. And control your animal. Clarence! Bring me the next patient.” And she stomped off.

  He watched her go. What he wouldn’t give to see her without that doctor’s coat on. He strongly suspected that underneath she had a long, elegant body. The kind of body that gave a man just enough to hold onto, but no more. The kind of body that someone should be properly appreciating.

  The kind of body he couldn’t see right now. But what he could see was the way she sort of wobbled in her boots, like she was hurting.

  Moccasins. A woman like that—a woman who was on her feet all day, yelling at people about medical supplies—a woman like that could probably use a nice pair of moccasins.

  He kept his voice low. “Tara, what’s her name?”

  Tara rolled her eyes with expert precision. “Madeline, Madison—something Mad.” She snorted as she answered the phone. “Suits her too.”

  Something Mad.

  That just about described how she was driving him.

  Their love never died, but her secrets could break his trust beyond repair.

  Texas Two Step

  © 2012 Cynthia D’Alba

  Texas Montgomery Mavericks, Book 1

  After six years and too much self-recrimination, rancher Mitch Landry is ready to admit he was wrong. He’d loved Olivia Montgomery but commitment wasn’t high on his list back then. That was his first mistake. He’s just divorced his second, and he’s set to do whatever it takes to convince Olivia to give him another try.

  Through hard work, determination and more than a few tears, Olivia survived the break-up with Mitch. She’s rebuilt her life around her business and the son she loves more than life itself. She’s not proud of the mistakes she’s made—particularly the secrets she’s kept—but when life hands you manure, you use it to make something better of yourself…lest you get stuck in it.

  At a hot, muggy Dallas wedding, they reconnect. Olivia’s first instinct is to play it cool, but after one devastating kiss things flare real out of control, real fast. Maybe a quick roll in the hay will get him out of her system once and for all. Funny thing about hay though, once it’s tangled in your hair, getting it out risks revealing things that were never meant to see the light of day. Warning: Bourbon shooters, shirtless cowboys, and a hot rendezvous or two…

  Warning: Contains hot sex, a vindictive ex-wife and hot chocolate-chip cookies.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Texas Two Step:

  He kissed her and the world stopped revolving. She swayed into him. Ran her fingers into his thick, wavy hair. Stroked his tongue with hers. Tasted the champagne inside of his mouth. Sucked gently on his tongue. Soaked him up like an arid desert in an unexpected rainstorm.

  Olivia could have blamed the dim lights, or the romantic setting, or even Mitch’s raw animal magnetism for her response to his kiss. Instead, she admitted she wanted this night, this man, his touch, his kiss. All of her fantasies started this way.

  Could reality be as good as her imagination?

  What would it be like to be with him again? Make love with him again?

  There was curiosity, but that wasn’t what was driving her response to his kiss. Desire ran rampant through her veins. A soul-deep lust consumed her.

  Their love story was history, so she’d waste no time planning a future that would never come. She’d take what he offered, take what she wanted. Here and now, not a future. Tonight was all there was. She’d not walk away from his arms until she’d gotten what she needed.

  Mitch’s mouth scorched her lips as he took her mouth with a rough passion that left no doubt of his intentions. He pulled the pins holding her chignon and threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her head in place as he plundered her mouth with his tongue.

  Returning his kiss with a fervor matching his, she allowed the all-consuming yearning to fill her. The desire to touch him, be close to him, make love with him overwhelmed her.

  She flattened her hands against his chest. His heat seared through the shirt’s material and burned into her flesh. She stroked hard muscles sculpted from years of physical labor. His nipples stiffened to her caress. The soft cotton of his shirt teased the nerve endings in her palms.

  He leaned his huge body over her and cupped her breast in his work-roughened hand. He squeezed and flicked her now distended nipple.

  Ripples of sexual longing echoed through her. She moaned into his mouth and, arching her back, pressed her breast firmly into his palm, wordlessly begging for more.

  Mitch gave her what she wanted, fondling and stroking her breasts until
she wanted to rip her clothes off. She groaned, burning with a frantic desperation to feel skin against skin.

  Olivia slipped the buttons on his shirt through the holes with ease. She separated the shirt’s edges until she could feel the crinkle of his chest hair and the direct hot flesh of his chest beneath her hands.

  The tantalizing scent of Mitch filled her nose. She’d probably smelled the same cologne on other men, but the cologne’s interaction with Mitch’s body chemistry produced a bouquet unlike any other on Earth. She lowered her head to his chest, first kissing then flicking her tongue on his turgid nipple before wrapping her lips around it. His skin was a dichotomy. Sweet and salty. Dangerous and comforting. Past and present.

  There’d be no turning back for her now. She’d had a sample of her addiction, and she had to have more.

  When she sucked his nipple between her lips, he groaned and slid his hand under the hem of her dress. Her abdominal muscles danced and jerked when his thick fingers touched her inner thigh.

  He stroked fingers along the inside of her thigh, the silk of her stockings tickling and enflaming her flesh at the same time. “Your silk stockings drive me wild,” he said, nibbling along her chin. “Your skin was always silky and smooth. I love to touch you. I’ve always loved to touch you. I loved the way you moaned and twisted at my touch. The way your eyes would glaze over when I stroked you.” His hand moved higher, stopping at the top of the stocking. “But tonight, I want—no, need—to see you in these stockings. These stockings, my necklace and nothing else.” His voice was coarse and guttural and harsh.

  Olivia quivered at his words. Emotional fires she’d suppressed since finding out she was pregnant with Adam flared. She’d believed them stomped out and dead. She’d been wrong. She was dry tinder to his lit match.