Mystic Cowboy(67)

“Really?” Rebel snuck a glance at him, afraid Jesse wouldn’t believe his little white lie any more than Rebel did. But, to his surprise, Jesse looked thoughtful. Introspection was odd on him, but that didn’t make it bad. Hell, he might even get used to it. “My grandchildren?”

“Yes.” Shit, he didn’t want to get any more specific—specifics were easy to prove wrong, even if it took another twenty or so years to do it. “Your family, Jesse. The family you make is the family you have.”

Something about his own words rang in his ears. He’d spent six years making his tribe his family, and that had been enough. Had been, but it wasn’t now. A man couldn’t hold a tribe at night, couldn’t watch a tribe sleep in the morning, couldn’t swim in a river with a tribe. A man could love his tribe, but he could only be in love with a woman.

He was in love with Madeline.

“How do I do that?”

The longer he sat here, trying to get Jesse to see the light, the more time it would take him to get back to Madeline. “Get a job, Jesse. A real one. Even a job at the Quik-E Mart. Pick your daughter up from school, read her stories at bedtime and kiss her mother every night. It’s not hard. You just have to do it.” Jesse’s head sagged again. Rebel was just about done being the medicine man—a plastic shaman—right now. He was just about to become the big brother. “It’s what Albert wanted.”

“It did make him happy when Nelly came over. I read to her a lot then.”

“You keep the house.” Sure, a house would be nice. A house would be something Madeline would like—more than a tent, anyway. But this wasn’t where he belonged. Jesse needed a place to belong. “I need to get going.”

Jesse’s mouth was open, but when Rebel looked at him, he snapped it shut. Rebel kept the smile off his face as he stood. Jesse struggled to his feet. “I was going to go through his stuff, get it organized for the giveaway. If that’s okay with you.”

“That’d be good.” A small step toward responsibility was still a step. “And thanks for getting the sleeping bag ready.”

“I know he’s dead, but...” Jesse shrugged, but he looked pleased with the compliment. “I wanted him to be comfortable.”

How about that, Rebel thought long after he’d gotten on the road to town. There was hope for the twerp after all.



By the time Madeline’s little cabin came back into view, the sun was on the other side of the earth, marching toward night with unwavering certainty.

He wished he felt the same certainty. Well, he did. He was certain he was in love with Dr. Madeline Mitchell. But he wasn’t some kid anymore, convinced that the ideal love would triumph over all. He’d made that mistake once. He wouldn’t do it again.

Which left him with that unsettling feeling of uncertainty, and he was pretty sure no message from the past—real or made-up—would guide him toward his future path. All he had was Albert’s final words. Find his own path, no one else’s.

Hell was knowing what Jesse should do at the same time Rebel had no idea what he was supposed to do.

But then he saw her, and all his uncertainty about tomorrow and the day after melted into certainty of what he was going to do right now. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot, and she was wearing that pink shirt he loved to take off her. Then he spied them, underneath her jeans.

She had on his mocs.

His blood warmed under his skin. To hell with later. Right now, he had a beautiful woman waiting for him. Right now, he had Tanka saddled up. Right now, he was just going to be in love.

Right now, life was good.

“I was beginning to wonder,” she said as she stood, picking up the small backpack at her feet. He dismounted and found her in his arms, hugging him tight. “How are you?” She sounded worried.

“Better, now that I’m here.” He kissed her, but quickly. Lingering was for later. “Ready?”

She held him for just a second more, then turned to Tanka. “Hello there. Who are you?”

“Madeline, this is Tanka. Nelly rides him a lot.”

“You brought me Nelly’s horse?” Even in the dimming light, he could see the sharp look she shot him as she let Tanka sniff her hand. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

“Show me what you got, then.”

It wasn’t that he doubted she could ride—she’d done just fine bareback—but he wanted to see for himself that she really knew how to handle herself on a horse. He wanted her to ride with him. To be with him.

Backpack on her back, she slung her right leg over Tanka’s back with authority. “Cowboy, you’re on.” And she was gone in a cloud of summer dust.