MM02 - Until Morning Comes by Peggy Webb

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