His Medicine Woman. Stella Bagwell

answered by closing the last bit of distance between their lips.

      In the flash of an instant, the kiss became a frenzied give-and-take that had their mouths crashing together, their tongues tangling. The crush of his hard mouth was bruising, almost savage in its possession, yet Bridget’s senses thrilled to the utterly masculine domination.

      Years of emptiness and longing fueled her need to get closer and without even knowing it, her arms slid around his neck, her body pressed into his.

      But just as passion was beginning to consume her and the heat of his body spread through hers like liquid fire, he tore his mouth free and rapidly stepped back from her.

      Pinning her with an accusing glare, he asked hoarsely, “Are you happy now? To know you still wield power over me?”

      Completely dazed, her lungs heaving, Bridget stared at him. “Power?” she whispered in disbelief. “Is that what you think this is about?”

      “What am I supposed to think? You come here tempting me.”

      She gasped. “I didn’t just show up here! You asked me to come to your home! Remember?”

      But for a tiny muscle twitching in his jaw, his face was as hard as a piece of granite.

      “Yes. And already I regret it.”

      His answer was like a punch in the stomach and she was still reeling from the pain when he turned on his heel and left the room.

      Moments later, she heard the front door slam and the cold sound reverberated through her trembling body.

      Tempt him? Yes, maybe a part of her had wanted to push him into some sort of reaction, she thought dismally. Maybe she’d wanted to see if there was still a spark between them, a vestige of desire leftover from the past.

      Dazedly, her fingers lifted to her swollen lips. His wild kiss had given her the answer, she supposed. Five years had changed nothing. He might still want her, but he was determined not to have her.

      So what, if anything, could she do about filling the chasm between them? Bridget didn’t know. But she was sure of one thing. She was older, wiser and much, much stronger than the woman he’d pushed out of his life five years ago. This time he was going to find that pushing her away wouldn’t be easy.

      Chapter Four

      Johnny had hiked halfway up the mountain behind the Chino house before he realized where he was or what he was doing and the only reason he’d noticed was because one of his dogs, a Redbone named Rowdy, had nearly tripped him.

      Pausing on the well-trodden trail, he looked over his shoulder to the eastern ridge of mountains, then down below where the house sat nestled in the small clearing.

      The sun was still low in the clear sky, while wood smoke drifted from the chimney and spiraled lazily downward in the heavy, dew-drenched air. Clouds of vapors created by his rapid breaths swirled about his head and reminded him how far the temperature had dropped this morning.

      When he’d slammed out of the house, he’d not taken the time to grab a jacket. But he hardly needed one, he thought with self-disgust. Even before he’d made the rapid climb, his whole body had been heated and burning from Bridget’s kiss.

      Damn it! Why did he have to be such a fool? So weak and willing?

      He’d thought the past years would have dimmed his passion for the woman. He’d believed that fire she’d built in his gut so long ago had turned to nothing more than a candle flame, just a warm, flickering memory.

      God, how wrong he’d been.

      Touching her again had set off an explosion in him and now he could only imagine what she was thinking.

      That he still loved her? Wanted her?

      Hell, Johnny, she already knew that much. You didn’t have to grab her and kiss her just to point all that out to her again.

      With a helpless groan, he scrubbed his face with both hands while wishing there was some way he could wipe Bridget and the whole hopeless situation completely out of his mind. But there was no magic potion to take away his misery. Like a wolf pining for his one and only mate, he was caught as surely as an animal snared in a steel trap.

      Wearily, he eased his lanky frame onto a nearby boulder and, resting his forearms across his parted knees, he bent his head and closed his eyes.

      Maybe by the time he got to be as old as his grandfather, if he was to be that blessed, he would be over this fascination with Bridget. Maybe by then his body would be too old to burn with longing, his heart too hard to ache.

      God only knew that he’d certainly never planned to get involved with her. Even though he’d been a childhood friend of Brady Donovan, he’d never considered him or his family a part of his own social circle. He’d never looked at Bridget with a plan to seduce her. Hell, he’d never even thought to get near enough to have a conversation with her, much less make love to her.

      She was the stuff that poor Apaches could only dream about. And Johnny had never been much of a dreamer. He was a realist. Even as a young boy, he’d known what he could or couldn’t expect out of life. And Bridget had come under the heading of couldn’t.

      But shortly after he’d come home from his last stint in the army, he’d unexpectedly run into her at an isolated cabin on the lake where he and Brady had often gone to camp and fish. She’d been alone, trying to recuperate from the stress of studying for final exams at medical school and he’d taken one look at her lovely face and fallen like an idiot walking too close to a dangerous ledge.

      Before Johnny could stop it, his mind wandered back to a bright spring day. The leaves on the aspens had been pale green and hardly bigger than a squirrel’s ear, while the snowmelt had left the streams flowing and the lake rising. He’d been home from Iraq less than a week and his soul had been craving the peace and quiet he could only find in the wilderness of the Sacramento Mountains near his home. He’d gone to the old cabin with the intentions of enjoying several days of solitude. Never in his wildest imaginings had he expected to find Bridget sitting on the rickety front porch, sipping coffee from an old, chipped granite cup.

      In spite of his friendship with Brady, he’d never formally met Bridget or, for that matter, any of his sisters. Mainly because Johnny had always avoided attending anything and everything that involved his friend’s family. As long as the two of them were away from the sprawling Diamond D it was easier to forget that the Donovans had money and class and the Chinos lacked it. Still, there’d been a handful of occasions when he’d seen Bridget from a distance and that day at the old cabin, he’d instantly recognized her bright copper hair and pale face.

      She’d greeted him like an old friend, calling him by his first name and inviting him to share her coffee as though their chance meeting was nothing out of the ordinary. Johnny’s first instinct was to get out of there as fast as his legs could carry him. He’d even gone so far as to apologize for intruding and turned on his heel to leave. But with a hand on his arm she’d stopped him and urged him back to the little porch.

      Thirty minutes later he’d been enthralled by her warm smile and gentle voice, the sparkle in her green eyes. And by the time the sun had settled behind the mountain and shadows had darkened the woods, she’d persuaded him to stay and share the cabin with her.

      Johnny had never meant to make love to her, but she’d seemed to want him as much as he’d wanted her, making it impossible for him to refuse all that she’d offered. After three days they’d left the cabin and gone back to their respective homes, but by then their taste for each other had been whetted and not long afterward, Bridget had driven to the reservation to see him.

      What followed was a white-hot affair that had changed Johnny’s life. Loving Bridget had pushed his hopes and dreams beyond a mundane life on the reservation. Her love and compassion had helped him deal with the haunting memories of serving in the military and seeing, in a far too personal way, the brutality of war. Fighting battles for freedom were oftentimes necessary, but those battles