He slid his fingers deep inside and a strange sensation washed down her spine. He moved expertly and well. In and out. With rhythmic, sensual thrusts. In and out. Again and again. In and out. Suzanne focused on the water glistening off the man's strong masculine hands. There was something about his touch, the way he rubbed the cloth over the smooth glassy surface of the tumbler as if it were a prized specimen. He forced it over the rotating sponge, dipped it in clear hot water, and started the process all over again. The man continued his ritual, washing and rinsing until all the glassware was stacked clean and sparkling against the wall. He wiped the damp towel along the mahogany counter until it, too, glistened like the crystal. He glanced at her. For a brief instant, his gaze locked with hers and she experienced the same flash of heat, again. She averted her eyes in an effort to keep her thoughts from straying in a dangerous direction. Hot, steamy, four-alarm-fire thoughts weakened her resolve. The sudden urge to giggle overwhelmed her. Ridiculous. It wouldn't do for a sex therapist to lose sight of her purpose. Hoping for a better look, Suzanne removed her reading glasses, batted a wayward curl, and leaned forward. There was something about the way his biceps flexed when he rubbed hard against the surface of the polished wood. He was tall and good looking, not in a movie star handsome kind of way, but subliminally, on another level, a darker and far more dangerous one. His body had the look of natural strength, not from hours spent in a gym, but from real work. Muscle-forming, back breaking work. Visions of his shirtless torso skittered across her mind. She was in the Wild West and he was a cowboy. A sheep-dipped, tanned-hide, dyed-in-the-wool specimen of manly man. Yee-haw!

Desultory strains of Alan Jackson reverberated around the room and warmed the very marrow of her bones. Couples merged and booted males roamed in search of females.

'Hey there, sweet thing," a slurred voice from a corner close by drew her attention.

"Wanna dance?"

Two girls glanced at each other and giggled when a third stood and followed him into the crowd of two-stepping twosomes. Yes, Cody, Wyoming was the heart of rodeo country and the last bastion of he-men. She'd interviewed jocks in every profession: race car drivers, bullfighters, wrestlers, pro-baseball, basketball, and football players. Contacts from her postgraduate days had proven invaluable for getting inside the sports world. Always it had been the personal physician who'd made the introductions and eased the way for her interviews. And it had been easy. That is until her colleague, mentor, and onetime lover, William Addison, had laughingly suggested she end her book with a chapter on spinal injuries in the macho of all macho-men, the cowboy. She hadn't really needed another chapter. Although, she had to agree, it would round the book out nicely.

Here she was in Wyoming, sitting in a bar or was it a saloon? She stared at the pine-knotted walls papered in animal skins, while fantasies of bestseller lists filled her thoughts. Sex books usually did quite well.

Suzanne glanced down at her notepad and jotted a few more lines. Taboo among peer groups, male dysfunction is a subject that has little collected data since males rarely seek out medical attention. Dysfunction can have a number of causes from clinical to psychological. It is in extreme cases of spinal injuries----

"Excuse me."

Suzanne glanced up, straight into the raven eyes of the man she'd been staring at earlier. Staring wasn't exactly the right word. Ogling was more like it.

'Need something?" The hard angles of his face and deep dark eyes stirred something in the pit of her stomach. A thought flashed through her mind. Oh, yes, cowboy. You've got exactly what I need. "I suppose I should order?"

"It's your call--" a sassy smile crossed his lips as if he'd read her thoughts--" just want to make sure you're taken care of."

Yeah, she'd just bet he did. She glanced around the room. Suzanne straightened her back and squared her shoulders. Well, that was his mistake. He might be interesting and if it had been any other time ... but she was here for business. Pleasure always complicated things.

"So, you want a drink or what?" His voice had turned into a shout competing with the excited whoo-haas of the line-dancers who were obviously enjoying themselves.

"I--ah--no. Sure." Suzanne slid her tongue across her lips. "A cold beer would taste wonderful. Yes. I'll have a beer." It wasn't a Cosmopolitan, her drink of choice in the city, but here, in this atmosphere, beer seemed exactly right.

He turned, strode over to the tap, and pulled the handle tipping the glass as the amber liquid rose to the top with only a slight head. Perfection. Like the guy who poured it. Suzanne blinked and shook her head. He was definitely special in the man department. But, over the last six months, it had been raining men, and she was without an umbrella. Like the song, the urge to shout Hallelujah overtook her.

She'd spent countless hours in locker rooms, dug outs, pit stops and sports bars. Up to her neck in tall lanky ones, short perfectly proportioned ones, muscle-bound Schwartzenegger ones. Gorgeous, macho men. And so far, throughout the duration of her book, she'd been immune to their charms. So why did this lone cowboy affect her to the point of distraction? She simply wouldn't think about that. She needed to find a willing subject--some cowboy rodeo stud who'd sustained a spinal injury of some sort. She didn't want serious injuries such as paraplegia, but something like residual impotence, temporary or permanent. A man who was strong enough emotionally to bare his soul and talk about his personal problems, if he had any, ones that affected a most delicate and protected part of the male anatomy. Problems those men went to great lengths to hide. And with her book, she'd help countless people who suffered in silence, not to mention increased credibility as a psychologist; and then there was ... Oprah.

But so far, she'd struck out. Cody physicians hadn't been helpful in finding her any spinal injuries. Cowboys were made out of steel. It had been the same all across Wyoming--and she'd been in just about every town--she still hadn't found a single man willing to talk about any sort of injuries, spinal or otherwise that affected his libido.

Okay, so maybe there were no dysfunctional cowboys in the Rodeo State. Maybe they just didn't have those problems? Defeat? Not exactly. She could accept striking out. There wasn't anything here for her except that gorgeous specimen behind the bar. But ogling him wasn't going to get her book written. She might as well go back home, face her editor, and leave out that chapter.

"Hey there," a high voice cut through the noise. "You been helped?" Tall, and willowy, the waitress was a perfect example of a pretty, western barmaid, a Western drawl and big hair-crimson curls. Actually, the girl reminded her more of Texas than Wyoming.

"Whew!" She slid her tray on the bar and fanned herself. "It's awfully crowded tonight." She reached over, picked up Suzanne's notebook, and rifled the pages. "You a reporter?"

"I--ah. No." Suzanne smiled and captured her book back.

"So, what're you writing? A book?"

"Not exactly." Suzanne closed her notes and leaned on it. "It's research on spinal injuries. I'm a psychologist." She stuck out her hand. "Suzanne Grey."

"How'ya doin'?" The girl returned the handshake. "Arielle Payne." Her eyes rounded in obvious surprise. "Wow! Research huh? Here? In Cody?"

Could this be the opportunity she'd had been waiting for? Did Arielle know someone who might be able to help her? "Yes, it's rather delicate research, but I could sure use some information--that is, if you'd be willing."

Arielle leaned on the bar and rested her chin on her hand. "What kind of research?"

"Vital." Suzanne smiled and glanced down at her notes.

"Oh Yeah?"

"Nothing too complicated. Like what makes a cowboy tick? Where they hang out? How do they maintain their threshold for pain and stamina? What they do for fun? And, possibly the name of that bartender over there?" Suzanne slanted her gaze toward the man in question and smiled.

Arielle eyed her quizzically, and smiled back. "Well, I guess--What do you need the information for?"

"A book I'm writing on spinal injuries and their contribution to male dysfunction."

Arielle glanced in the direction of Suzanne's gaze and turned back. "Dysfunction? All we've got here is the rodeo. Are you writing about rodeo dysfunction?"

Suzanne hadn't heard that one before. She lowered her voice. "Sexual."

Arielle's eyes widened and she leaned forward. "Sexual? And you plan to study that here?" Her smile widened into a light musical laugh. "In Cody?" Suzanne nodded. "How?"

"I'd like to talk to--" Suzanne leaned forward, "--know of any cowboy who'd be willing to bare his soul--know anyone who has sustained a spinal injury?"

Arielle's eyes grew wide. "Oh, cowboys don't--" A sly smile crossed her face and she leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Well ... there's Matt over there."

"The bartender?"

Arielle nodded toward the tall lanky man at the end of the bar. "Matthew McKenna. He's not really the bartender. He's your cowboy."

"My cowboy?"

"The one you've been looking for. The owner, Ray, had a car accident and he's covered in plaster. Matt's doing him a favor by keeping things going till he gets back on his feet."

"Him?" Suzanne glanced over at Matt who was busy installing a keg from behind the bar. His biceps flexed beneath his shirt as he lifted the heavy barrel in place. "But how is he my cowboy? Did he have a spinal injury? He has a sex-- a problem?"

"Well, not exactly," Arielle said coyly. "But, he was stepped on by a bull a few years back and--well ... you know"

"Stepped on? Where?"

"You know," Arielle nodded her head and winked. "In a private place."

"I think I understand."

"He's very sensitive. Won't talk about it. Not even to his own brother." She flashed Suzanne a knowing look. "I'll introduce you."

"What?" Suzanne said.

"You know." Arielle nodded. "You can talk to him. Gain his confidence ...about his problem. I'm sure it hurts to see others having a good time when he can't." She raised her eyebrows in a knowing look and Suzanne understood everything. This was perfect. He was perfect. From his outward machismo to his hidden secret. She'd be able to observe and interview. Diagnose and treat. That is, if she could get him to trust her enough.

Odd, he seemed so at home here in this hedonistic environment, not at all dysfunctional. Funny, all her vibes were off. Sensuality radiated about him. But looks were often deceiving. And in this place with the scent of musk and leather and heat all around, it would be easy to get misdirected vibes. Still, there was something about leather and man and nature especially in the wilds of Wyoming.

 

Song of Isis
~ Excerpt ~

Prologue

Northwestern University - present day

Only a lighted panel illuminated the clustered, shrouded figures. Their voices, like the beating of wings, rose in an increasing crescendo. The tallest among them, silver-haired and imposing, placed a large film against the light and traced his finger along the glowing image. "Cries of surprise erupted, then fell silent. The onlookers restrained excitement evidenced only by the flapping of their white coats.

"Where's Stone?" The obvious leader of the scientific gathering spoke with a quiet tone of authority that commanded immediate respect and attention. "She's the expert on orthopedics."

A robust radiologist nodded. "Stone's the one all right. She'll know what to make of this."

"Doesn't her father work for the Egyptian Antiquities Department?" someone asked."Yeah," another physician chimed in. "In fact, this is his find. Look here, Jim, the breaks are patterned. Odd isn't it?"

Silence fell in the room, each expert toying with his own theory. Quick footfalls tapped against the tiled hallway and grew louder. Anticipation and curiosity weighted the lab and the huddled team drew back exposing the x-ray mounted on the panel. The door opened.

"Dr. Stone." The tall man smiled. "Alex, come in." The team turned as one in her direction and shaded their eyes against the hall light.

Alexandria Stone's entrance parted the air as if it had substance. Small and dark, her carriage and demeanor made up for her delicate size to give the illusion of height and stature. Exactly as she wanted it.

The door thunked shut behind her. She flipped the switch on her beeper, crossed her arms over her chest, and eyed the eager scientists crowding the room.

"So, Doc, gentlemen, what was so important you had to interrupt my class?"

Dr. James Harrold nodded at the x-ray. "Something I thought you'd want to see."

Alex strode over to the lit panel and studied it closely.

"Wow! How old is this?" She leaned closer. "It sure looks like you've found something here."

James shook his head. "Not me, Alex. It's your father who's found something. And I was hoping you could shed some light on these fractures."

"What period is this from?" Reluctantly, she pulled her gaze from the film and met his.

"It's believed to be from the tenth or eleventh Dynasties. No one knows, yet. But it's at least four-thousand years old. These are the x-rays your father sent. He's still chasing legends, you know." Her father's old friend and her long-time mentor grinned. "And this is definitely what legends are made of. Legendary archeologists, anyway. It looks like he's discovered an unknown sarcophagus. This could well be the find of the century."

"That's wonderful! It'll make his career." Pleasure in her father's triumph paled beside her fascination with the x-ray and she turned back to the translucent picture. "I'm joining him next week, on his dig in the Faiyum Valley. I can't wait."

"He's not in Faiyum."

"Oh?"

Jim shook his head. "No. These films are from his find near Abydos."

She snapped her head around. "What? The Valley of the Kings? Are you sure? There are no tenth Dynasty burials there."

"Who cares?" an impatient observer snapped. "What's your verdict on the x-rays?"

Jim pointed to the film. "From the pattern, I'd surmise his chest was crushed by a great deal of weight. Probably the cause of death."

Alex stared at the film until abrupt realization widened her eyes. She swivelled and crossed quickly to the window, throwing open the drapes. Sunlight blinded her momentarily and slashed across the room. The scientists blinked in surprise, throwing up their forearms to shield their eyes against the sudden glare. Ezekiel Stone had been chasing legends, no, one specific legend, all his life and now at long last it looked like he just might have found it.

"You say this is a new dig?" She forced a note of calm to her voice. "He didn't tell me. Probably didn't want to lure me away from my last few days of class..." her voice drifted off and she stared out the window as if looking halfway around the world at a quest and a dream.

"That fellow's chest wasn't crushed." Her voice softened to little more than a shocked whisper. The gathering leaned forward as one to catch her words.

"What do you mean?" Jim stepped to her side.

Alex strode back to the panel and ran her finger along the spectral glow of skeletal remains. "Look at this." She resisted the impulse to slap the screen in emphasis. "And look closely. The sternum is compressed, not crushed. These are only cursory fractures. Fractures in a significant pattern. Jim, can you think of any ancient medical practices that could account for this?"

Jim drew his brows together in a puzzled frown. His gaze searched her face as if struggling to understand the question, let alone the answer. "Alex," he shook his head, "I know you did your residency in forensic pathology and your expertise in archeological radiology is impressive. Add to that your unique childhood, you were practically raised in the tombs and pyramids of Egypt, and you may be way out of my league." He shrugged. "But, I have no idea what you're getting at."

She smothered an urge to laugh hysterically with the incredible significance of her father's discovery. "Those breaks along the sternum are indicative of only one thing." She stepped to the light switch, flipped it on and pulled a deep breath. "Cardiovascular Pulmonary Resuscitation."

Shocked silence filled the room, then laughter erupted and scorn.

"CPR? That's impossible. Absolutely ridiculous."

"You might as well claim it's a heart transplant."

"I'd say someone needs a vacation."

Anger swept through her. What a group of ignorant, closed- minded, stick-in-the-muds! And they called themselves scientists. She clenched her teeth to keep her temper in check.

"Yes, boys. It is time for a vacation. Mine." She turned on her heel, stalked to the door, and yanked it open. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in Egypt."

"Alex, don't go off half-cocked." Jim grabbed her arm. "And don't get mad at them. What you just suggested is crazy. No one knew CPR a century ago, let alone four-thousand years."

"How do you know that?" She jerked her arm free, a pleading note sounded in her voice. "Come on, Jim, don't you remember that obscure reference Dad found once and has been trying to prove ever since? You know, the one about the healer with the touch of life?"

"Of course I remember," he said impatiently. "But that's the stuff of legends, fairy tales, myths. It's right up there with the lost city of Atlantis or Camelot. It's for children, Alex, or fools."

Are you sure?" she said softly. "Are you so very sure?"

"Yes." His firm tone brooked no argument. "And I'll repeat myself: no one knew CPR in ancient Egypt."

Alex glared for a long moment, then a smile slipped through her lips and she raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. "I'd bet a month's pay...someone did."

Excerpt ©1998 Diana Kirk

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