Rosanne Bittner (12 page)

Maggie awoke to see Sage stoking the fire. He’d thrown on more logs and poked at them with a bit too much punch.

He was angry. She could tell.

He was fully dressed. She’d not heard him rise and go out for more wood. She felt groggy, yet warm and wonderful and satisfied. She pulled the blankets closer, then realized she had to use the privy. She managed to get up, keeping the blankets around her. Surprisingly, her leg didn’t hurt so much when she started walking, but she stumbled a little from sleepiness and catching a blanket in her toes.

A frowning Sage came over and picked her up. “You shouldn’t be getting up on your own yet.”

“I’m much better—just a little dizzy.”

“Too much laudanum last night. Too much of a lot of things.”

Maggie put her head on his shoulder as he carried her out. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I’m not. I’m angry with myself. I did a stupid thing last night, thanks to too much whiskey. Whiskey and reason don’t mix. I’m sorry as hell, Maggie.”

“Why? I
asked
you to make love to me. You tried to discourage me.”

“That doesn’t matter. Laudanum acts on you the same as whiskey when it comes to thinking straight.”

“It wasn’t the laudanum, and I’m a big girl, Sage. I knew what I wanted, and I’m fine with it.”

Sage set her on her feet in front of the privy. “You okay on your own now?”

Maggie was a bit worried. Did he see last night as nothing more than taking his pleasure? Were there no feelings involved? She’d told him it didn’t matter, but deep inside she dearly hoped it did.

She kept her blankets wrapped tightly. “I’m fine. You can go back inside and make us something to eat. I’m famished.”

From
all
the
lovemaking
, she thought.
It
was
wonderful, Sage. Please tell me you thought so too.
She went inside the privy and closed the door. When she came out, he was gone—back in the cabin. She saw their horses and mules grazing nearby. It was a pleasant morning—cold but still. She’d almost forgotten how quiet things were in high country when the wind didn’t blow.

She felt alive and beautiful. Everything around her was beautiful too. The sun shone brightly against gorgeous mountains of green and purple. Last night seemed like a dream… but it was ever so real. She was in love with Sage Lightfoot, and that was that. She’d learned that giving herself to a man could be beautiful and enjoyable, when she truly wanted and needed him.

Her biggest problem now wasn’t finding the outlaws, or even Sage’s mood this morning. It was the fact that Sage still didn’t know about the baby. She feared telling him more than ever. She’d likely lose him for good. He’d think everything she’d done last night was to trap him into marriage to save her honor. She decided that, for now, she would enjoy the chance to lie in Sage Lightfoot’s arms, whether he loved her or not. It felt wonderful to know he was attracted to her, that he’d wanted her. He had a way of making love that made her feel treasured. He’d taken away the ugliness of her attack with a touch amazingly gentle for his size and strength. He was beautiful to look at, beautiful to touch, and beautiful in the way he could please a woman.

She remembered his words from the night before…
I’ve wanted you since before we left
. He could growl and scowl and do all the pretending that he wanted. It didn’t matter. Sage Lightfoot loved her. Maybe he didn’t realize it himself yet, but he did.

She walked gingerly back to the cabin, determined to ignore the pain in her leg and not let it slow them down. She went inside to see a pan of bacon cooking over the fire. Sage sat watching it, his back to her. “Coffee’s hot,” he told her. “You need help getting dressed?”

“Do you
want
me to get dressed?”

He remained quiet.

“What I meant was—are we leaving today?” she added.

Sage shook his head. “You need to stay off that leg as much as possible for a couple more days. I let you walk back in here on your own just to see how you’d do. Do you want some stockings?”

“No, I’ll wrap myself in these blankets for now. I’ll clean up after I eat.” Maggie limped back to her makeshift bed.

“
I should look at that wound again—change the dressing,” Sage suggested. He walked to their supplies to take out more gauze.

Maggie noticed he’d gathered his blankets and pillow and put them on the other side of the room, as far from her bedroll as possible. So… this was his message. Last night was last night, and it wasn’t going to happen again.

We’ll see about that.

Maggie sat down and pulled her blankets away enough to expose her thigh. There was blood on the gauze, but it was dried blood—nothing fresh. “I think I’m going to be fine,” she told Sage as he came over with whiskey for the wound and clean gauze to wrap it. He remained quiet as he gently untied the old gauze and carefully unwrapped the wound.

Maggie winced, more at the sight of the wound than how it felt. “It looks awful! Will it leave an ugly scar?” She noticed Sage refused to meet her gaze.

“Maybe not an ugly one, but it will leave a scar, all right.” He tossed the gauze aside and dribbled whiskey on the wound. Maggie grimaced at the sting.

“Sorry. Can’t be helped.”

Maggie studied his strong hands as he rewrapped the wound. “Does it look okay? I mean, no infection?”

“Not so far. Believe me, you wouldn’t have walked on your own if it was infected. I’m amazed at how good it looks and the fact that you can walk on that leg. Either that wound wasn’t as bad as I thought, or you’re a good healer.” He finally met her gaze. “Maggie…”

“It’s okay.” Maggie touched his lips, sensing he felt guilty about last night. “I told you what I wanted, and you shouldn’t feel obligated. I’m not the kind of woman to make demands, Sage. I’m scared—and all alone in this big country. You make me feel safe.” She looked away. “And it’s okay if you just needed a woman. I wanted you no matter what your own reason was. It was another kind of healing.”

Sage rose and took the pan of bacon off the fire while they talked. “It’s not okay,” he told her. He sat beside Maggie, facing her. He reached out to push some hair off her face. “Look at me, Maggie.”

She met his eyes—eyes that could show wildness and anger—but now, they were gentle, searching.

“You deserve to be appreciated for the strong, beautiful woman you are—the respect of being loved the proper way.”

Maggie’s heart had never felt so full of love and joy. “Are you saying… you love me? I meant it when I said that I’m not asking anything like that from you.”

“You
should
ask it, because you deserve that much.”

She thought about the baby. “Maybe I don’t,” she answered.
I’m carrying a bastard child.
Why couldn’t she bring herself to tell him? The man appreciated honesty.

“Maggie… I’m telling you not to expect too much from me right off. The way I feel about you… it’s a whole different thing from Joanna. You’re a far better woman than she’ll ever be.”

Maggie smiled through tears. “It makes me feel good to hear you say that. No matter what happens, I can honestly say that I’ve never been this happy. If it lasts only a little while, I’ll still be glad.” She leaned close and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply before he could move away, loving the taste of his mouth, the delicious way he had of kissing her back.

“Damn you.” Sage whispered the words through deeper, searching kisses. “I didn’t intend to do this again.”

“I did.”

Sage moved his lips over her neck, down to her breasts, lingering there to taste and enjoy. Maggie relished allowing him his pleasure. She was still naked under the blankets. Nothing more was said. For the moment, neither wanted to worry about the right or wrong of it. Sage removed his pants and long johns, and Maggie drank in the sight of his firm thighs, his heated erection—the almost intimidating size of him. Leaving his shirt on, he knelt over her.

Maggie moved her fingers into his thick, dark hair and opened herself to him. He surged inside her, groaning with the want of her, reaching down to grasp her bottom while kissing her wildly. He moved his lips to kiss her hair, and Maggie breathed in his scent, snuggled her lips into his neck, and relished the glory of his manhood until his life pulsed into her again.

He relaxed, and they lay there together quietly for a while. Maggie moved her hands over his muscled arms and chest, adoring every part of him. Finally, Sage kissed her once more before pulling away with a deep sigh.

“Now, we definitely need to wash up somehow,” he told Maggie, “and I need a shave.” He rose and stretched. “There’s an old washtub hanging at the back of the cabin. If it’s not full of holes, I’ll heat some water and fill it for you. I have a lot of repacking to do, and the horses to tend.” He pulled on his long johns. “We’ll eat breakfast, and then I’ll leave you alone to clean up. I’ll wash outside as soon as we eat.” He looked down at her. “Maggie, we can’t do this anymore—till this is over. The last thing we need is for you to end up carrying my baby in your belly when we don’t even know—” He turned away.

“Don’t know what?” Maggie asked. “Whether we love each other? I already know I love you, Sage, with everything that’s in me, but I know there’s something in your heart for Joanna. You’re bothered by that letter.”

He walked to the fireplace and set the pan of bacon on the fire. “I don’t want to talk about Joanna.” He glanced back at her. “And so you know, I think I love you, Maggie Tucker. I just don’t want it to get in the way of what we have to do. I’ve got to think straight and be alert, and so do you.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

He turned the bacon, his back to her again. “Well, for one thing, I don’t want to worry about getting you pregnant.”

Her heart pounded with dread. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “Maybe not. We can at least try to avoid it from here on.” He pulled the cabin’s lone chair over by the fire and sat to watch the bacon fry. “That means two things.” He glanced at her. “Either we stop doing this, or we get married. Somebody like you would make a good rancher’s wife, but God knows, getting married now would be ridiculous.”

“Because you still love Joanna?”

That look of dark anger came into his eyes again, the look she saw the day he got the letter. “No. Dealing with Joanna is a necessary evil that will need taking care of.” He turned away.
It’s okay, Sage. Once you know the truth, you won’t want to marry me anyway.

“Sage, for now, I don’t mind pretending to be married till this is over,” Maggie said aloud. “With Joanna wanting to see you again, you’ll need to get your feelings worked out before you make a decision as big as getting married again.”

I’d marry you right here and now if we had a preacher
…
if
you
knew
the
truth, accepted my baby, and were over Joanna.

Sage rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe in the next town we can find a doctor—get some protection for—”

“No!”
A
doctor
might
figure
out
I’m carrying. He might tell you.
“I’m afraid of strange doctors,” she told him. “I’d be too embarrassed.”

Sage grinned almost sheepishly then. “Well, then the only alternative is to visit one of the local whorehouses. Prostitutes know all kinds of ways to keep from getting pregnant.”

“I expect you’d know more about that than I do.” Maggie bristled. “Is that the only plan you can think of?”

Sage smiled. “I can’t think of any other.”

Maggie sat up and wrapped herself in blankets again, not fond of the idea of a wild, handsome man like Sage Lightfoot visiting a whorehouse. Sage rose, still smiling. He helped her stand then pulled her into his arms. “I have no plans to see any prostitutes for reasons other than getting something for protection,” he soothed. “Until then, I’ll try my best to keep my hands off you, but it won’t be easy.” He pulled her chin up so she had to face him. “Right now, there’s no other woman I want, not even Joanna. Understand?”

She saw only honesty in those dark eyes. What was she getting herself into by not telling him the truth? She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you so.”

I
just
hope
I
don’t have to tell you good-bye when this is over
. His strong arms came around her, and for the moment, she enjoyed the luxurious safety and comfort of his embrace.

They left, heading north. Maggie felt melancholy leaving the crumbling cabin where she’d found real love for the first time in her life. But there were still too many unanswered questions, too many obstacles in the way of their love—outlaws to be hunted, miles to be covered, another woman Sage needed to deal with… and a baby Sage didn’t know about.

“Are you ever going to tell me more about yourself?” Maggie asked. “You keep saying you’ll tell me the whole story, and here we are, riding through grassland with nothing to do but talk.”

Sage didn’t answer for a tense few minutes, and Maggie let him mull over his reply.

“I expect you deserve to know more about me, so you can make up your mind once we get back to Paradise Valley,” he finally spoke up.

Relieved, Maggie waited patiently for even more silent seconds, afraid one wrong word would change his mind.

“I was raised by a Cheyenne mother and a white trapper father,” he told her then. “He was French, and I remember him being tall. I get my build from him, I guess. My mother’s name was Bending Flower Woman, and I have only good memories of her. I have no idea if my father is still alive. His name was Franco Cherborne. He left for parts unknown when I was about eight, right before Colorado volunteers attacked the perfectly peaceful camp where I lived with my mother at Sand Creek in southern Colorado. Their intent was to murder every last person there, mostly women, children, and elders. I watched them cut my mother’s belly open.” His voice dropped lower as he revealed the ugly memory.

Dear
God
, Maggie thought.

“I ran—an eight-year-old boy lost and scared. One of those volunteers chased me down and shot me.”

Maggie drew her horse to a halt. “You were just a little boy!”

“To them I was filth that needed to be eliminated.” Sage turned his horse and faced her. “The bullet grazed my neck in such a way that I fell unconscious and couldn’t move. White missionaries found me. When I came to, I was in their wagon.” He started riding again, and Maggie trotted her horse up beside him. “They kept me so sedated I couldn’t fight them or run,” Sage continued. “Even later, I couldn’t leave because I was partially paralyzed for several weeks. They took me to their headquarters in San Francisco, and I came to realize I was better off where I was for the time being. They tended my wound, fed me. By the time I was able to move around, I figured I wouldn’t know which direction to go if I did leave, and I was still just a kid, so I stayed because I had food and a roof over my head. They took good care of me. They schooled me, taught me about religion and all that, let me live with them—showed me off in church as their ‘saved’ Indian boy.”

He hesitated, lighting a cheroot.

“They sound like good people.”

Sage grunted a rather evil laugh then took a draw on his smoke. “Yeah, well, I thought so at the time,” he continued. “I thought I meant something to them, believed they loved me. I came to think of them as my parents, loved and trusted them like parents. Trouble was, there was a wealthy family who lived up the street and often donated money to the church. They had a daughter about my age.”

Maggie felt his instant tension. “Joanna?”

He met her gaze, and there it was… the deepest hurt Maggie had ever seen in anyone’s eyes.

“Joanna.” He turned away. “Her parents invited me and my so-called Christian adoptive parents to their house a few times—I believe more as a curiosity than anything else—and to show friends and neighbors the good their money was doing.” He snickered. “Saving the savages, so to speak.”

He shifted in his saddle, and Maggie could tell he was struggling with anger.

“What they didn’t realize was Joanna and I felt a real attraction to each other. We began making secret plans to meet. She was—I don’t know—about sixteen, I guess. I was eighteen. One thing led to another, and we got caught in some pretty heavy kissing and in a rather compromising position behind a barn. We were dressed and all, but what they saw was enough for the good Christian people who raised me to instantly condemn me.”

He rubbed a hand across his forehead and adjusted his hat again. Maggie sensed his restlessness was a way to keep from exploding.

“I was dragged away and severely beaten by several men. I think they would have hung me if they could have gotten away with it. Joanna was promptly sent to some fancy finishing school in the East. My so-called parents who ‘loved’ their fellow man banned me from church and said they were disappointed that all their years of teaching hadn’t rid my savage soul of Satan’s lusts. They gave me ten dollars, told me I was old enough to make my own way in the world, and out the door I went. I think they had orders to get rid of me or lose whatever donations Joanna’s parents made to their church.”

Maggie closed her eyes, aching for him.

“Life sure can punch you in the gut sometimes,” Sage continued with a sigh, “and I’ve been punched more than once. I headed back toward where I’d come from, not sure what the hell I’d do. Most of the Cheyenne were on reservations, which I wanted no part of. I did find one renegade band—lived with them awhile, even raided with them. But I’d lived the civilized way too long, and I knew the time would soon come when they, too, would end up on a reservation, and me with them, if I didn’t light out. So I left. I ended up in northern Utah working for a rancher who turned out to be a horse thief. His ranch was a way station for stolen stock—horses and cattle both. They treated me well, befriended me, so I fell in with that life—helped steal horses and cattle—even robbed a stage once. I learned to like liquor and bawdy women. Hell, I’d gone so far to the other side of life that no respectable woman would have anything to do with me anyway.”

He stared ahead at distant mountains.

“Through it all, I never forgot Joanna—always wondered if she thought about me anymore.” He turned to Maggie. “After one last robbery, I gave up my share of the profit in return for some real fine horses and a few head of cattle, and I headed away from outlaw country. I wanted to find a place to settle. I brought three men I knew I could trust. You’ve already met them—Joe Cable, Bill Summers, and Hank Toller.”

“And you settled in Paradise Valley.”

Sage nodded. “I came upon that valley, and I knew that was where I wanted to be. That’s why I named it Paradise. It was far enough from civilization to let me mind my own business, and far enough from outlaw country to not worry too much about getting robbed. I promised the men that if they helped me build a ranch, they’d get their fair share of whatever I earned. When I filed a claim on the land, I used the white name my missionary parents gave me, Sage—for finding me amid sagebrush, I guess—but the last name they gave me was theirs—Graham. I figured I’d have an easier time with claims using that name, which I did. I got the land—one hundred sixty-two acres under the Homestead Act. The men with me each filed for another hundred sixty-two acres adjoining it, turned them over to me, and we kept claiming more and more land through fake names, then putting it in my name until—well, I just kept spreading out and finding ways to keep it going. Now it’s a good sixty thousand acres. I’ve never used the name Graham for anything besides claims. I hated the missionaries for trying to make me deny my Indian blood. My Cheyenne name was Lightfoot. From what I remember, they called me that because when I was born, one foot was whiter than the other, I guess.”

He smoked quietly then, and Maggie couldn’t imagine the hurt he’d suffered—the terror a little boy would feel at watching his mother being mutilated, the abandonment of his father, and then being banished by the only other people he’d learned to trust.

“I guess I grew out of the white foot thing because there’s no difference in my feet now.” He looked at Maggie and smiled sadly. “Anyway, I kept the name and built the ranch, and I eventually built the bigger log house I live in now, hoping to settle with a wife and have kids.”

Maggie winced with pain in her leg as she shifted in her own saddle to get more comfortable. “Obviously, you found Joanna again?”

He smashed out the cheroot against a concha on his saddle and put the stub back in a vest pocket to smoke later.

“Oh, I found her all right. I should have left well enough alone, but I wrote a letter to the Grahams back in San Francisco to let them know how I was doing. I wanted to make sure they knew I’d made something of myself in spite of what they did to me—that I was worth a lot more than the ten bucks they gave me when they turned me out. In the letter I asked them to please let Joanna know where she could find me, if she cared to. A few months later, I got a message that a Joanna Hawkins was in Cheyenne—wanted to know if I’d come for her.”

He leaned forward and rested his arms on his saddle horn.

“I figured the Grahams must have told her about me after all, but later, I learned Joanna found the letter after they died. Either way, I couldn’t believe I’d found her. I charged down to Cheyenne as fast as I could—and there she was, at the rooming house where she said she’d be—and God, she was the picture of heaven—ten times prettier than I’d remembered.”

He looked away. Storm bent his head to graze.

“She fell into my arms like all the years in-between never happened—said how glad she was that I wrote that letter—said she never forgot me.”

Maggie could feel his mood darkening.

“She claimed she still loved me and wanted to marry me—share Paradise Valley with me, raise a family there. We married two days later. I took her back to the ranch, and the men were all struck by how pretty she was—things were fine… for a few weeks.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t long before she began asking why we didn’t go to town more often… why we had to live so far out in the wilds… why couldn’t we live in Cheyenne or Rock Springs, since I was the boss and could just tell the men what to do and let them take care of it. She wanted a fancier house… wanted to throw lavish parties… wanted to order dresses from back East… wanted to spend weekends in Cheyenne—maybe help establish a library in our name—an opera house.”

He took off his wide-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his hair. “As I’m sure you know by now, it’s obvious I’m not cut out for the fancy life,” he continued, repositioning his hat. “And an ex-outlaw who’s half Indian isn’t exactly welcome in the circles Joanna liked to run in. She gradually got more demanding, showing her true colors and the real reason she’d looked me up. Once she threw it back at me that maybe her parents were right—that the Indian in me would never go away, and I’d never behave like a white man, no matter how much money I had.”

He pulled on Storm’s reins to stop the horse’s grazing.

“Finally, after another big argument, she admitted her parents were both dead, and they were so far in debt that the estate left her nothing. She almost married another man in San Francisco, but someone told him she’d once been caught behind a barn with an Indian, so he left her. She was desperate, so she came to Cheyenne to find me—figured if I had such a big ranch, I must have decent money, and that’s all she really wanted. She hated ranch life and the smell of cattle, and the fact that I, along with half my men, were former outlaws. I hated her so much that to keep myself from wrapping my hands around her pretty throat and squeezing until her face was purple, I threw her and her things into a wagon—drove her to Cheyenne—never saying one word. I drew money out of the bank, took her to a lawyer for a quick divorce, handed her the money, and told her to have a good life in San Francisco. That was a year ago and the end of our relationship… until I got that damn letter.”

He kicked Storm into a faster gait. “And that’s that, Maggie. That’s the whole story, and I’m done talking about it. It’s not easy for a man like me to admit he’s been roped and tied and castrated by a woman.”

Maggie watched his back as he rode away. How could any woman do to a man what Joanna had done to Sage? No wonder he didn’t like talking about it. No wonder he wasn’t sure about marriage.

Why on earth had Joanna written him about coming back? What did she want this time? The thought crushed Maggie’s heart. Joanna still had a hold on the man—of that Maggie had no doubt. And from Sage’s description, Joanna was beautiful, sophisticated, and educated… all the things Maggie wasn’t. She figured she was pretty enough… but not beautiful in the way someone like Joanna must be.

Maggie decided that all she had was the here and now, and she vowed to love Sage Lightfoot as best she could—the way he deserved to be loved—until the day came that she would likely lose him to another woman… or because of the secret life she carried.