Rosanne Bittner (13 page)

Maggie studied the scattering of buildings below. Atlantic City. On this journey through the most rugged country she’d ever seen, she still found it astounding that anyone stayed in such remote places after the mines played out, but according to Sage, that’s what happened here. It didn’t look like much of a “city,” but maybe they could find a place to stay where they could sleep in a bed instead of on the ground.

She rode behind Sage, wondering whether they would share a bed if they did find one for the night. He’d not come near her since they made love clear back near Flaming Gorge. That sagging old cabin would forever hold a special place in her heart, but Sage had followed through with his determination not to get her pregnant, which filled her with guilt. She could probably tell him now that she was carrying, and he’d believe it was his, but she could not bring herself to deceive him that way.

For now, she’d watch him—love him—drink in the man’s masculinity and enjoy the safety of his arms. There he was, set against the vast, barren hillsides that surrounded the weathered, mostly tin-roofed buildings below. Sage was a man who fit this land like the wild mustangs. She’d grown to love this rugged, unforgiving, yet splendidly beautiful country, almost as much as she loved Sage Lightfoot. Every day brought new scenery and astounding beauty. Jagged mountains lined their surroundings all the way here. They’d ridden along ridges hundreds of feet high, below which ran the Green River like a satin ribbon, winding its way into an endless horizon.

The nights were cold, with black skies that exploded with stars—the sound of wolves and coyotes howling and yipping throughout the distant hills and canyons. The almost constant wind groaned through thick stands of pine and aspen, or whipped at a person wildly when riding through open, endless grassland.

Wyoming did something to a person. It had a way of making its way into a man’s… or a woman’s… blood and heart… or was it men like Sage who got into the blood and heart? Men out here tended to blend right in—big, sometimes mean, with jagged edges—yet they held a strange code of honor. They were a confusion of personalities. Even Whitey, who’d probably shoot a man for looking at him wrong, had proved he could be trusted.

And then there were women like Betsy, who seemed relaxed and unafraid, even though she lived in that cabin with a bunch of outlaws. Maggie suspected not one of them had ever laid a hand on the woman wrongly… except for Cutter. Betsy was probably glad the man never returned. When Maggie remembered what Sage had done to Cutter, it didn’t seem possible that he could be so gentle with her just hours later.

How did a woman handle a man like that? She’d never known anyone quite like him, a man capable of extremes when it came to violence and goodness. She remembered his remark about how some men were basically good, and some were bad through and through, and she’d need to learn to tell the difference.

Sage held up, waiting for Maggie to ride up beside him.

“We should be able to find a room at Ma Pilger’s place,” he told her. “If Ma is still there. She was in her late forties when I stayed at her rooming house a couple of times. Even then, she looked more like seventy.”

He cast Maggie a sideways glance. “That’s what the dry air out here can do to you.” Maggie figured he was thinking of everything he could to make sure she knew what she was getting into if she stayed in this country. “Do you think any of the men we’re looking for could be down there?” she asked Sage.

“Hard to say, but from here on, we need to keep our eyes open and stay alert. They could be anywhere now, unless they’ve turned on us again and headed for other parts. My gut tells me they’re here in outlaw country though.”

“How long should we keep looking?”

“Till they’re found,” he answered matter-of-factly. “If we have to head south again, I’ll leave you at the ranch and go on from there.”

“But you promised—”

“I’ve kept my promise,” he interrupted. “But the time will come when you’ve been living like this long enough. I’ll take you back, and that’s that. No more arguments.”

His tone told Maggie this wasn’t the time to protest. They reached the outskirts of Atlantic City, and Sage halted Storm and shifted in the saddle, meeting her gaze again. “We’ll get a room together tonight to make things look right.” Sage adjusted his wide-brimmed hat. “And whether you like it or not, there are women down there who can fix me up with something we can use for protection, so I intend to pay them a visit.”

Maggie felt the heat of the flush that came to her cheeks. She hated the thought of him with that kind of woman. “Just don’t stay too long. I’m sure they’d like to fix you up in more ways than one. You’re an awfully handsome man, you know.”

Sage grinned and shook his head, then turned his horse and headed into town.

Maggie followed, studying their surroundings as Sage halted the horses in front of a dry goods store. “Might as well stock up on a few things. Then you can rest, clean up, and change while I have a look around town.”

And
visit
the
prostitutes
, Maggie thought. Two women dressed in neat frocks and wearing bonnets stood conversing near the doorway of the supply store. Both studied her curiously as Maggie climbed down from her horse. She felt self-conscious of the way she was dressed. She needed another bath after several more days on the trail. She nodded to them as she followed Sage inside the store. They nodded in return, and as Maggie stepped through the doorway, she heard one whisper, “It’s a girl!”

Much as Maggie preferred wearing pants for days of riding horseback, she was eager to look like a woman again, partly to remind Sage she could be pretty when cleaned up. He’d promised they would eat in a real restaurant tonight, a relief from the work of campfire cooking.

The store clerk approached Maggie. “Help you, sir?”

Maggie pushed her hat back slightly and met his gaze.

“Oh, sorry! I mean… ma’am?”

Sage chuckled. “She’s my wife, and we’ve been on the trail a long time. Pants make an easier ride for a woman.”

The clerk reddened. “I see! Well, I didn’t mean any insult, ma’am.”

“None taken,” Maggie answered. She repositioned her gun belt.

“You figuring on getting into a shoot-out?” Sage teased.

Maggie waved him off. “I’ll shoot
you
if you keep making fun of me,” she answered.

Sage turned to look at a variety of tobacco under glass. “Look around, and see what you need.” He glanced at the clerk. “You got any good face creams?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” He pointed to a shelf to Maggie’s left. “Right over there, ma’am.”

Maggie glanced at two old men who sat near a heating stove in the center of the small store. A pipe from the stove ran through the ceiling, and a kettle of water sat on top of the wood burner. The two old men looked her over, grinning. Maggie wasn’t sure if it was out of kindliness, or humor at her appearance. The plank floors creaked as she walked to the shelf of face creams. She studied them, while Sage ordered tobacco and cigarette papers, as well as four flasks of whiskey.

“We’ll also need about ten pounds of potatoes, three or four cans of beans, five pounds of flour and sugar, lard and bacon, a couple of large towels, laudanum, and ammunition.”

“Yes, sir.” The clerk called to a young boy in back. “Sammy, come out here and start filling this man’s order.” He turned back to Sage. “What kind of ammunition do you need?”

Sage rattled off the caliber of bullets and shotgun shells he needed—bullets for Maggie’s Sharps and his repeating rifle. Maggie picked out a jar of cream then noticed several spools of brightly colored ribbon, thinking how she’d like to tie them into her hair. She had some money of her own left, and she asked Sammy to cut some of the ribbon for her. Maybe tonight she’d wear a real dress and put one of the ribbons in her hair… for Sage.

“Ma Pilger still have a rooming house a couple blocks north?” Sage asked the clerk.

“Yes, sir, she’s still there. Do you know her?”

“I do. It’s been a few years though. I wasn’t sure she’d still be around.”

“Are you here to stay awhile, or are you passing through?” the clerk asked.

“Passing through.”

“Well, sir, if you’re here at least for tonight, you might want to take your wife to the spring barn dance. It’s just about the equivalent of four blocks east. Ma can tell you where it will be. There’ll be food there, lots of desserts. Perhaps if you’ve been on the trail a long time, your wife would enjoy putting on a dress and going to a dance. You’re certainly welcome.”

Sage began rolling a cigarette. “Well, now, that’s not a bad idea. We were going to go out to eat, but if we can get the same thing along with some socializing, I think my wife would like that just fine.” He glanced at Maggie.

“A dance and homemade eats sounds wonderful,” she told him. She walked back to the counter with the cream and the ribbons. “I don’t know if I have a fancy enough dress though.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Sage told her.

Maggie wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he seemed pretty sure of it, so she decided not to question him in front of others. She looked at the clerk. “How much are these ribbons?” she asked, reaching into her pants pocket.

Sage grabbed her arm. “I’ll get it all. You don’t need to be spending that money I gave you, honey.”

Honey?
Sage gave her a warning look that reminded her that a wife wouldn’t be paying for supplies when her husband was with her.

“Go pick out some peppermint,” he told her, “and some rouge, or something like that if you need it.”

Maggie did just that, stifling an urge to burst out laughing. They finished with their supplies and paid. When they walked out to pack them onto Sadie and Rosa, Maggie noticed the two women were gone.

“We’ll unload this stuff at Ma’s, and I’ll take the horses and mules to a livery—have their hooves and shoes checked, feed them some oats, and give them a good rest,” Sage told Maggie.

She faced him. “We can really go to that dance tonight?”

Sage kept his cigarette at the corner of his mouth. “If that’s what you want.”

“I’d love it.”

“And I’ll be there with the prettiest girl.”

Maggie put a hand to her freckled cheek. “I sure don’t look it right now.” She frowned. “And what did you mean about taking care of a dress for tonight?”

“Don’t worry about that. Let’s get you to Ma’s and get you a bath and some rest.” He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her onto Smoke’s back. “And try to remember, we’re married. Don’t be paying for things yourself when I’m along.”

“Yes, sir.”

A big, bearded man in a black coat and hat rode up just then. Maggie watched Sage stiffen as he stepped away from Smoke and watched the man dismount and tie his big roan gelding to the hitching post. The man turned, and for a tense moment, he and Sage glared at each other. Finally, the bearded man grinned.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned if it ain’t Sage Lightfoot,” he said, pushing his coat behind his gun as though he might need to draw it. Maggie cautiously moved her hand to her own six-gun.

“Leave it be, Maggie,” Sage told her, as though he could see her from the back of his head.

The bearded man glanced at her. “You got a woman protectin’ you now, do ya?” he asked Sage.

Sage moved away from Maggie and the horses, keeping his eyes on the bearded man. “More like me protecting her from the likes of you.”

The man chuckled. “Well, I heard you married some fancy woman from San Francisco a while back and was all settled on that ranch stocked with stolen cattle, Sage.” He glanced at Maggie again then back to Sage. “She don’t look like no fancy San Francisco woman. Fact is, she don’t look like a woman at all. You takin’ a fancy to the young ones now?”

Sage took the cigarette from his mouth and stepped it out. “What have you been up to over these years, John?” he asked. “You still robbing and killing? Still beating up on innocent women?”

The bearded man lost his smile. “Ain’t a whore alive who’s innocent, nor one who don’t expect a man to be a little rough once in a while. Some of ’em actually like it.”

“I asked what you’ve been up to.” Sage looked around as though making sure the man didn’t have some friends about.

“The usual… same as when you run with us. Not a bad life, Sage, if you remember. Money when you need it, plenty of liquor and cards, all the women a man could ask for.” John put his hands on his hips. “Which makes me wonder how in hell you go from bein’ married to a fancy lady and settled on a ranch to showin’ up here in outlaw country with a little whip of a woman who looks like she’s tryin’ to hide her curves under boy’s pants and a big hat.”

“None of your business. We’re only here for tonight so stay out of my way.”

The man snickered. “Oh, I’ll do that, all right. Last time we mixed, I ended up with a broken jaw, a broken nose, cracked ribs, a broken wrist, and according to the doctor, I had a punctured lung and a lacerated liver—but I didn’t have my gun on me then. A gun makes a big difference.”

“If I hear you’ve done anything like what you did last time we mixed, fists or guns, it won’t matter. You’ll be in worse shape… most likely, dead. I was hoping that’s how I left you back then.”

Maggie could tell the bearded man was only pretending not to be afraid. He glanced at Sage’s gun then backed up slightly. “Hey, Lightfoot, it’s only by chance that we happened into each other after all these years. You’re goin’ your way for your own reasons, and I’m goin’ mine, so no sense in us tanglin’ at this late date.”

Sage nodded. “Glad you understand that. And the woman on that horse is my wife, so get your filthy eyes and thoughts off her. You already know I’ve got little patience for a woman beater. Wouldn’t take much for me to be offended at one who looks wrongly at my own wife.”

The bearded man tipped his hat to Maggie. “Ma’am…” With one last glance at Sage, he turned and walked into the store. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Sage mounted Storm and took the reins to both packhorses.

“Let’s go,” he told Maggie.

Maggie followed him up the street. She could already see a sign that read
Ma
Pilger’s
. She cantered Smoke up beside Sage’s horse. “Who was that?” she asked Sage.