Witch Dance by Peggy Webb Page B

toying with her.
    “You’re a dangerous man, Eagle Mingo. I should have let you drown.”
    Even his laughter was seductive.
    “But you didn’t, Kate. You came to me in the river . . . as you will always come to me.” He held out his hand. “Come, we have work to do.”
    To her surprise, she took joined hands. Would have fought anybody who told her to do otherwise.
    They didn’t speak again, but worked side by side, cleaning up the debris. Words weren’t necessary between them: They communicated on a different level. And when the work was finished, Eagle mounted his stallion.
    “The ones who did this will be punished, Kate.”
    “You’re damned right. If I can ever find them, I’ll see to it personally.”
    “If you are to be a medicine woman who serves my people, you will not engage yourself in this battle.”
    “You expect me to roll over and play dead?”
    “Rolling over might be nice.” His grin was pure sin. Then he sobered. “ I will find them, Kate.”
    “How?”
    “I am Eagle.”
    Without another word he wheeled his horse away and thundered across the plains. Kate felt as if she’d been snatched out of time and spun backward into a Wild West movie. Emotionally and physically drained, she leaned against the sawhorse, shading her eyes so she could catch one last fleeting glimpse of Eagle.
    Even the sun conspired against her; it polished his bare skin so that he gleamed like a museum bronze. He was Eagle, commanding everything in his sight, including her.
    “Kate Malone, you’re in serious trouble.”
    She strained her eyes into the sunset until there was nothing left of Eagle to see except a pillar of dust blooming on the horizon.
     o0o
    He’d taken the coward’s way out, not going to the clinic with her. Mild exhaustion, he’d said. Nothing to worry about.
    If only she knew.
    Clayton stood at the kitchen window and watched her coming. He’d watched out the window all day, watched them .
    Already Eagle was in her blood; Clayton could tell by the way she walked, the spring in her steps, and the tight, seductive roll of her hips. Any minute now she’d be in the house, warm from the sun and hard work, ripe with lust. His nostrils quivered at the thought of the rich female smell of her.
    When he heard the front door open, he beat a hasty retreat from the window and poured two cups of tea.
    “I’m glad you weren’t there today,” she said, her voice preceding her into the room. “It was awful.” Her hand brushed his when she reached for her tea. “Thanks. This is just what I need.”
    “What happened?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know
    “Somebody destroyed the clinic.” She tightened her grip on the teacup and jutted out her chin. “I’d like to find out who did it and beat the hell out of them.”
    Clayton’s laughter provided the release he needed. He sat in the chair next to hers and took a sip of tea. He might be able to survive the summer after all.
    “Aren’t you going to tell me to have patience?” Kate grinned at him.
    “Would it do any good?”
    “No. I just hope you have some influence with the authorities. I’d hate to be burned at the stake.”
    “I don’t think that’s done anymore, Kate, even in Witch Dance.”
    They chuckled together, then Kate lifted her arm and raked her hair off her grimy forehead. That’s when Clayton saw the scratch. When his fingers closed on her soft skin he almost lost control. Only years of medical training saved him.
    “What happened to you?”
    “Nothing to worry about. Just a scratch from a nail.”
    “Tetanus?”
    “Up-to-date, Doctor.”
    “It needs cleansing and antibiotics.”
    “Eagle cleaned it.”
    Clayton stiffened. Eagle. Always Eagle.
    “Well, I’m going to take care of it properly, then I’m prescribing a long hot bath, a good dinner, and bed for you, young lady. You’ve been working much too hard.”
    “Is it all right if I take the time to write a letter home, Doctor Dictator, sir?”
    “The letter