Rosanne Bittner (7 page)

Why did the thought of him being with another woman make her angry? Her fury deepened from the humiliation of the comment, designed, she was sure, to deliberately shock her. She refused to let him think it had worked.

“Fine,” she answered. “Just so we’re clear on the matter.” She became suddenly aware of her appearance, wondering how she looked now that she wasn’t buried under a heavy coat with her hair a disheveled mess. She wore it slicked back into a bun today, which she knew revealed every freckle on her exposed face. She probably looked like such a kid that he couldn’t see her as a woman anyway.

My
God, why does it matter?
She put a hand to her cheek, a reaction she often had when trying to hide her freckles. “I’m glad you aren’t making plans to leave here without me.” She turned and finally met his gaze again. “When worse comes to worst, a person just does what he or she has to do to survive. That’s why you can count on me.”

Sage nodded. “I hope so.” He turned and took a shirt from a hook on the wall to his right. “So, what do you think of this place?” he asked as he pulled on the shirt.

Maggie looked around the room. “I think it’s lovely—a good, solid house—big enough for a family.” She saw the hurt come into his eyes and knew he was thinking about the mysterious woman. Maggie was beginning to hate her. “You have quite a ranch here,” she continued. “It’s beautiful. I expect there’s a lot to tell about how you got to this point in your life, but that’s not my business.”

“You’re right. Meantime, you need to know there’s a side of me you haven’t seen yet, and you might not like it. You’d better be ready for it if you plan to go after those men with me. It’s my temper you’d better fear, and the violence you might witness when I lose it, not against you, but against those men.”

“I already figured as much.” Maggie heard the front door open.

“Sage?” someone called.

Maggie recognized Hank Toller’s voice. Sage’s top hand was a short burly man who constantly chewed tobacco, but his friendly personality made it easy to ignore his stained teeth. Maggie hurried down the hallway into the great room. “Hello, Hank. Sage just finished eating.” She turned to see Sage behind her. He was buttoning his shirt.

“What is it, Hank?”

“Well, it’s good to see you up,” Hank replied. He held out an envelope, and Maggie thought Hank seemed a bit upset. Usually, his jovial personality made up for his unkempt appearance, but at the moment, there was nothing jovial about him. “Joe just got back from the monthly mail run to town,” he told Sage. “This here is for you.”

Sage frowned. “Some kind of bad news?”

“Don’t know. I don’t read your mail. It’s who it’s from that’s got me worried.”

Sage took the envelope and glanced at the return address. “Jesus,” he swore. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. “By the way, Maggie and I are leaving day after tomorrow,” he told Hank as he read the letter. “Tell Julio to have Smoke and Storm ready, and a couple of pack mules.”

“You sure you’re strong enough?”

“I wish people would quit asking me that.”

Receiving the letter had put Sage in a sour mood. His whole face changed as he read, a distant darkness enshrouding him. Maggie and Hank watched quietly as he finished the letter, then wadded it up and shoved it into his pants pocket.

“What does she want?” Hank asked.

“Something she can’t have,” Sage answered. “Go on, and tend to your chores. I’m coming to see how things are going.”

Hank shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He glanced at Maggie and nodded. “Ma’am, that chicken stew is awful good. The boys were wonderin’ if you’d make more. Would you have time before you leave with Sage?”

Maggie smiled. “I’ll make a big pot before we go.”

Hank grinned. “Thanks.” His smile faded when he glanced at Sage, who was grimacing with pain as he pulled on some socks he’d left with his boots at the door. “I take it you don’t want me to give a letter to Joe to take back?”

“Hell no!” Sage shot back.

Hank turned and left. Maggie felt sorry for him. “You didn’t need to be so sharp with him, Sage.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He pulled on his boots, appearing to get angrier as he grunted in pain.

“Do you want some help?”

“No!”

Maggie decided that as dark as his mood was now, she’d better not say another word. She hung a kettle of water over the fire, needing to heat the water in order to wash dishes. She heard Sage’s footsteps thump across the wood floor, heard him pull on his jacket, and then jumped when he slammed the door as he went out.

Maggie watched him through the window over the sink. He’d said nothing about the letter. Curiosity got the better of her, and she walked to the table to see who’d sent it.

Joanna
Lightfoot
, she read in the “from” corner. So, now the mystery woman had a name, and apparently, she was Sage’s wife.

June 2

Flour, sugar, beans, potatoes, ammunition, rifles, six-guns, a small shovel…
for
burying
the
men
we’re after
, Maggie thought. Clean underwear, gloves, rope, tin plates and cups, a couple of forks and sharp knives, hardtack, jerky, a lantern, bedrolls, whiskey…
for
medicinal
purposes
, she mused. Four canteens of water, a porcelain coffeepot, one fry pan, a coffee grinder, sack of coffee beans, bacon, a hammer and nails for repairing a loose horseshoe if necessary, lye soap, a couple of washrags, and towels.

All items were packed neatly on two mules named Sadie and Rosa. Julio had named Rosa because she was
stubborn
—
like
my
wife
, he’d joked.

They were leaving today, and Maggie’s heartbeat quickened at the secret she was carrying. She was overdue for her time of month. She told herself that maybe the trauma of what happened had messed up her insides and caused her to be late. She couldn’t bear to consider the other possibility. Since her last time of month, James had not touched her. They were both too tired from their journey. The baby couldn’t possibly belong to James, which left only one possibility. It made her shiver to think about it. Could she love a baby spawned through violence? Did she even want it?

Whatever her situation, if Sage had any idea she might be carrying, he’d put her in jail before he’d let her come with him. She was not about to spring the news on him now, especially since she wasn’t sure yet. Still, she felt ill. Was it morning sickness, or just her nerves?

She continued tying supplies onto her own horse. She had decisions to make, and none of them would be easy. She adjusted the belt on the britches she wore. Sage insisted she wear pants, a pair of denims she’d borrowed from one of Rosa and Julio’s younger sons who was small built. She brought along two extra pairs, as well as a couple of boy’s shirts, everything far too big for her, but Sage wanted it that way. Riding for days on end wasn’t something to do wearing a dress and slips, but that wasn’t his true reasoning. He figured that from a distance she’d look like a boy, and the loose clothes hid her “feminine qualities,” as Sage put it.

Maggie finished tying her share of supplies to the black gelding Sage picked out for her. He was a medium-sized, hardy mustang called Smoke. She climbed into the saddle, more pleased with the pants than she thought she’d be. She decided then and there that all women should be allowed to wear pants when the situation called for it. They were perfect for riding.

She touched the six-gun she wore on her hip, pulling it out and slipping it back into its holster to make sure she could get to it quickly. Sage’s blacksmith had done a fine job cutting the gun belt down to a size that would fit her small hips. Feeling eager and confident, she decided not to worry about whether she was carrying. She couldn’t think about that right now. A bigger worry was Sage’s somewhat precarious physical condition and his ornery mood since he received that letter from his wife… or maybe ex-wife. Maggie was not about to ask at a time like this.

Julio handed her the lead rope to Rosa. Sage took up Sadie’s rope and settled into his saddle.

“Thanks, Julio.”

The Mexican grinned, showing several missing teeth. “Si, señor. You will ride easy the first few days until you are stronger, yes?”

Sage nodded. “I will.”

Bill rode up to them then, greeting Sage. “I wish you’d take one of us with you, boss, and leave the woman here.”

Sage glanced at Maggie. “She won’t let me.” He turned to Bill. “We’ll be all right. I need every worker here. There’s still a lot of branding to be done, and you need to cull those that should be taken to Rock Springs and on over to Cheyenne for market, plus there are fences to be mended. I’m depending on you to handle things.” He put out his hand, and Bill shook it. “If I don’t make it back,” Sage continued, “you and Joe and Hank can divide this place up however you want.”

Bill shook his head. “Won’t be the same.”

“You can do it. Just don’t be giving any of it to Joanna, no matter how much she pressures you.”

A look of disgust came into Bill’s eyes. “Don’t worry about that. She’ll never get any of it.”

Maggie sighed with the frustration of not knowing the whole truth about the woman called Joanna. “Come on, Sadie.” She cooed the mule, kicking Smoke’s sides and riding him out of the corral. She stopped to wait for Sage, gazing around the ranch grounds—the sturdy house, the barns and corrals, several hundred cattle grazing on the distant hills. It was all so beautiful. She’d been here long enough to hate leaving this place.

Sage cantered up beside her on a big Appaloosa named Storm. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go.”

As they rode past the outbuildings, Hank approached them from where he’d been culling a couple of steer. His big black horse lumbered close. “You sure you don’t want one of us to ride along?” Hank asked Sage.

Sage pushed back his hat and glanced at Maggie before answering with a slight grin. “You men need to stop worrying. I’ve got a bear-shooter with me. That should suffice.”

Hank chuckled, a laugh that—as always—led to a loose cough. He spit out some tobacco juice and turned his gaze to Maggie. “You keep shooting straight, ma’am, and watch your back. I wish you luck finding them men that killed your husband.”

“Thank you, Hank.” Maggie noticed Hank and Sage share a look that made her a little nervous. She knew Hank and the other men couldn’t help but be a bit curious about her and Sage traveling alone together for what could be weeks.

“Take good care of that nice little lady,” Hank told Sage with a wink.

Maggie thought how she didn’t look like much of a lady now, wearing boy’s pants and a sheepskin jacket covering whatever curves that showed under her shirt. She wore her hair in a bun under a wide-brimmed hat, another effort at looking like a boy from a distance.

“We’ll be all right,” Sage assured Hank. He kicked the sides of his horse and headed through the grassy valley, leading Sadie and scattering cattle as he rode past. Maggie followed, breathing deeply against the butterflies in her stomach. She couldn’t help a little secret apprehension, but she wasn’t about to back out now. And she was, after all, with Sage Lightfoot. She couldn’t imagine any other man with whom she’d be safer when it came to facing the wrong kind of men. She just hoped it wasn’t Sage himself she needed to watch out for.

After several minutes at a gentle lope, Sage slowed Storm to a walk. Maggie rode up beside him. “How can you be so sure where those men are headed?” she asked.

“Just a reasonable guess. They’ll figure their best bet is to go someplace where the law won’t go, and that’s up by Lander or south toward Rock Springs, even into Utah and Green River. We’ll go south first. I’m figuring they’ll head for warmer parts. We’ll check things around a place called Brown’s Park. There are canyons and caves—a thousand places to hide. Some outlaws even run their own ranches there—with stolen horses and cattle, of course.”

They rode for several minutes at a slower pace. “Did you ever steal horses or cattle?” Maggie dared to ask.

Sage leaned down and jerked up a piece of straw-like grass, then stuck it in his mouth to chew on. “How do you think I started this ranch?” He looked at her and grinned. “I don’t care what anybody thinks. It’s done, and I live by the law now… more or less.”

More
or
less?

Sage cantered his horse slightly ahead of her again. This was their second day of travel. They made their way south through the same area they’d traveled before Sage’s bear attack, and Maggie realized they must be just a day or so away from where James was buried. As though he read her mind, Sage circled his horse to ride beside her.

“We’ll veer west soon—head toward Tipton, so we won’t go by where I found you… unless you want to visit your man’s grave.”

Your
man’s grave…
What happened to the woman she was before her attack?
Who
am
I? What am I doing here? What will I do when this is over?
“No,” she answered. “If this is the shortest way, let’s keep going. I don’t want to go back to that place.”

“I don’t blame you.” He threw down the straw. “Tell me more about yourself, Maggie. Is that farm in Missouri all you’ve ever known?”

Maggie shrugged. “Pretty much. It was a good distance from any decent-sized town. Every once in a while, my pa would get a newspaper when he did go to town, and I’d read about theaters and fancy stores—things like that.”

“How did you learn to read?”

“I went to a little school a mile away three days a week… until my mother died. I was ten. After that my pa made me quit and stay home—do my mother’s chores and help on the farm. There was a good neighbor lady about two miles from ours who taught reading and writing and math. She came over once in a while, mainly to bring books so I could keep up on my reading. She never stayed long because my pa didn’t like her being there. It kept me from my work.”

Maggie thought about that woman, one of the few kind people she could remember from her childhood.

“She was the closest thing to a refined lady I’ve ever known,” she added. “Her name was Matilda, and she was from St. Louis, almost too fancy for the farm she lived on. I guess she loved her husband a whole lot because she left all that civilization to work in the fields.”

“That’s more than I can say for some women I’ve known.”

Maggie figured he was thinking about Joanna. “Well, I guess Matilda did miss her old life some. I think it made her feel good to teach us kids and show us how educated she was. And her husband let her go back to St. Louis with her family for a week every year. She offered to take me once, but Pa said I was needed on the farm. Sometimes, I wish I’d have run off and gone with her anyway.”

Sage reined Storm to a halt. “We’d better let the horses rest for a few minutes. I wouldn’t mind one of those biscuits you brought along.” He dismounted, and Maggie followed suit. She walked back to Sadie and pulled a couple of biscuits from a gunnysack, handing one to Sage. Because of his height, he cast a shadow over her, a relief from the bright sun.

She turned away and ate the biscuit, hoping that the small bit of food would stave off the nausea that kept visiting her in waves all morning. If she vomited, Sage might think she was weak. She shook off the worry over her condition and studied the high mountains in the distance. “Are we headed for those rocky mountains?”

“We are.”

“They look intimidating.”

Sage chewed on another bit of biscuit. “They can be,” he answered then. “Those mountains remind me of a snorting bull, all brass and threat, daring a man to approach. But a bull can be put down, and so can those mountains, if a man respects them, understands the danger, and is prepared.” He finished the biscuit. “We’ll get through. There’s a place we’ll go around called Flaming Gorge. When you see that, you’ll know you’ve seen heaven itself.”

Maggie smiled and turned to face him. “Thank you for bringing me with you. I need to do this. Even if we don’t kill those men, I need to face them again… show them they didn’t beat me down to a sobbing, helpless woman who’s ashamed of what happened. I’m not ashamed.”

“You
shouldn’t
be. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they see you’re with me.” Sage studied their surroundings. “Why don’t you take that six-gun you’re wearing, and see if you’re getting better at hitting something?”

Maggie pulled out the gun, a single-action, forty-five caliber Colt revolver that belonged to Sage. “What should I shoot at?”

Sage grinned. “Sorry, but you do look funny handling that thing.” He picked up the reins and ropes to the horses and mules and handed them to her. “Hang on to the stock while I go set up a target.” He walked several yards and set some small rocks on a much larger rock. He returned to take hold of the ropes and led the horses farther away, tying them to a bush. “Try hitting those smaller stones.”

Maggie supported her right wrist with her left hand because the revolver was so heavy. Wind blew a strand of hair over her eyes, and she paused to brush it away. “Were you telling the truth when you said the wind never stops blowing in Wyoming?” she asked.

“I was, but I should have said almost never. Once in a while, you get a calm day.”

Maggie took careful aim then fired. She heard a ping, but none of the smaller rocks moved. “I think all I hit was the big one.”

Sage leaned down behind her. He reached around her, supporting her hand with his own. “You jerked it when you fired. Hold it steady, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t just suddenly pull it. That makes a handgun move too easy. Shooting this thing is a lot different from that old Sharps of yours.”

Maggie tried to ignore the feel of his arms around her, the strength of his hand. She aimed carefully and did as she was told. One of the smaller rocks burst into several pieces and disappeared. “I hit one!” she exclaimed. She turned her head when she spoke.

So close. She felt a sudden urge to hug him, but checked her emotions.

Sage straightened. “Okay, try it on your own.”

Maggie cocked the gun and took aim, again supporting her wrist. She squeezed the trigger as Sage instructed. Another rock went flying. She held the gun in the air. “I hit another one!” She danced in a circle.

Sage grinned and returned to the horses. “Reload before you holster it,” he yelled back. “You never know when you might need all six bullets. We’ll practice every time we stop. Right now, we’d better get moving again. We have a lot of miles ahead of us.”

Maggie did as she was told, wondering what he was thinking when their faces were so close.
Soiled
goods, I’ll bet…
an
unrefined
farm
girl
who’s had a husband and a kid and been taken by three other men…
a
freckle-faced, barely schooled spit of a woman no man could really want out of plain, old love
.

Sage walked up to her with the horses. “By the way, when we get to more civilized places, and people see that you’re a woman, we’ll have to say we’re married. You’ll be safer that way.”

Maggie turned and mounted up. “If you say so. Just don’t get any ideas about proving it.”

Sage climbed onto Storm with the ease of a man accustomed to long hours in the saddle. “Now that you’re learning how to use that side arm, I wouldn’t think of it. You’re dangerous enough with a rifle.” He chuckled as he took off at a leisurely lope.

Lord
knows, if you ever touched me gentle-like, Sage Lightfoot, I’d sure never shoot you for it
, Maggie thought. Her stomach lurched then, and she quickly vomited, while Sage rode ahead. Thank God he didn’t notice. She washed her mouth out with some water from her canteen and hurried to catch up.