Mystic Cowboy(11)

“Good! That was good, Nell-Bell.” He touched Blue Eye’s sides, and the mare picked up the pace to a slow canter.

Tanka followed suit, leading to the “Whee!” that the wind picked up and wrapped around both of them.

Rebel wanted to go faster too. He loved nothing more than to give Blue Eye all of her lead and let her run as wild and free as a horse got these days. In her third summer, Blue Eye was, hands down, the best horse he’d ever owned. And he’d owned a lot of them.

Too bad no one but Nelly would ride with him. The language wasn’t the only part of the tribe that would die if the kids didn’t learn it. And with Jesse out of commission for the next few months—a year, maybe—it was up to Rebel. Like normal.

Blue Eye was pulling hard, just itching to leave old Tanka in the dust, but the clinic was just over the next hill. Rebel brought her back to a walk, and she snorted in disgust.

“Aww, Webel!” At least Blue Eye wasn’t the only one disgusted right now.

“Sorry, kiddo. We’re almost here.”

“Mommy says the new doctor is mad.”

“Oh?” Crazy or angry? He wasn’t sure Nelly knew the crazy definition. He’d go with angry, but as far as he was concerned, crazy was not off the table. Because, if she wasn’t a little nuts, what the hell was a doctor with stunning blue eyes and a smart mouth to match doing in the middle of the White Sandy?

Dr. Mitchell. She had a thin face that, on a less attractive woman would look horsy, but on her it just looked regal. Everything about her was long and lean, and despite the tied-back hair and sexless lab coat, she still managed to look delicate. Feminine. Beautiful.

“What else did your mom say?” A question that had nothing to do with those blue eyes. Or those legs. Nothing at all.

“Just that Daddy better not whine.”

He chuckled as they wove their way to the hitching post through the cars haphazardly parked around the clinic. “Sounded a lot like whining to me when I got there.” He reached up and pulled Nelly off her horse. “You won’t tattle on your daddy, will you?”

Her little pug nose wrinkled with the weight of the decision. “I guess not—not if he’s gonna keep reading me stories.”

Yeah, Nelly is her mother’s daughter. Rebel grinned at the little girl. “Tȟunkášila Albert made him promise. He’ll keep his promise.”

“That means grandfather, right? I thought Albert wasn’t my grandfather. He’s yours.” Yup. Nelly was going to be a great lawyer.

“Tȟunkášila Albert is everyone’s grandfather,” he scolded her as he tied the horses.

Everybody’s grandfather—even Nobody’s. After Rebel dropped off Nelly, he had to go check on Nobody’s wound. “Nelly,” he said as he lifted her down, “you promise me that if you or your mom or grandma start to feel sick, you’ll tell Tȟunkášila Albert or me right away, okay?” The sickness was coming. That’s what the vision meant. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Nelly getting sick. Not before he figured out what it was. Not before he figured out if there was a way to stop it.

“Yes, Webel,” she said with a dutiful tone as he lifted her over the fan that was propping the door to the clinic open. And then she was gone, wriggling out of his hands and sprinting through the crowded waiting room to Tara’s arms. “Mommy! Mommy, Webel let me go faster!”

“Hi, sugar.” Tara glared at Rebel over the top of Nelly’s head. “How fast?”

“Not fast enough,” Nelly said with full lip-pout action.

Tara was not a big fan of anything faster, not when every time Jesse went faster, he broke something new. Time to cover. “Jesse was getting pretty tired, and Albert had some stuff to do,” he explained, fully aware that the whole waiting room was listening. “So I brought her.”

“Tara!” Dr. Mitchell yelled, pretty much eliminating all doubt about what kind of mad she was. “This speculum is broken! Where are the others?”

“Check the top drawer!” Tara rolled her eyes. “All day long, she yells,” she said in a voice just loud enough that the only person who wouldn’t hear it was Dr. Mitchell. “All day long.”

“Those are all broken too! Where are the ones that work?”

“We don’t have any others!” Tara shouted back. “Rebel, do me a big favor and pay your bill.” She dug out a hand-written bill with the adding-machine paper stapled to it. “The sooner she can go buy her damn supplies, the sooner she’ll stop being a—”

“We don’t have a single speculum that works?” Dr. Mitchell appeared before them.