Rosanne Bittner (8 page)

The days were long, the nights cold. For Sage the cold nights were made worse by his constant battle with a growing attraction to Maggie Tucker. They’d been on the trail for sixteen days now, and she’d not complained about the heat, the cold, or the hard ground she had to sleep on every night. She knew how to tend the horses, pack the gear, handle a rifle, build a good fire, and cook decent food under rugged conditions. She could lift things no woman her size should be able to lift, and she never asked for help. There was a kind of spark and bravery about her he’d not seen in the pioneer women out here. She was as far a cry from Joanna as anyone he’d come across.

They rode over rocky ground and through high grass, over shale, through canyons, across streams and rivers, and up steep mountain slopes. Sage enjoyed the awe in Maggie’s eyes when she viewed the immense red-rock canyon that was Flaming Gorge. He liked that she seemed impressed with this country that he loved—appreciated its beauty and respected its dangers. She learned fast and wasn’t afraid of the unknown. At night they listened to wolves howling, and Sage noticed she never seemed afraid when that howling came a bit too close to camp. Even during that night they spent in Wolf Canyon, she seemed amazingly calm as she soothed the horses, while he kept watch for the predators.

“Are there wolves in Missouri?” he asked.

“None that I ever came across, but I suppose there can be wolves anywhere. All I know is you don’t hear any howling at night where I come from.”

Sage halted his horse to study the horizon—like a far-off rim of the world. “How is it then that you weren’t afraid that night at Wolf Canyon?”

Maggie grinned, her freckles looking browner from days in the sun. “Oh, I was plenty scared. I just didn’t dare let the horses know it. And you didn’t need me whimpering and shivering when you were so busy watching for those yellow eyes in the firelight.”

Sage nodded. “You’re a straight-thinking woman, Maggie.”

“Well, I guess out here, you need to think straight,” Maggie answered. “Even back home I had to think about survival. Farm work isn’t easy. And my pa would only beat me harder if I cried or complained.”

Sage hated the thought of the hard life she’d led. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever known true gentleness, ever wore a really pretty dress and went dancing. Long ago, he’d known a good life… when he was much younger and had a place to call home… until the reality of his heritage had slammed him in the face and taught him about surviving on his own. The only time he thought he had a chance at living a normal life again was when Joanna came along, but she’d destroyed that dream quick enough.

Now, here was Maggie Tucker, as different from Joanna as she could be, the kind it took to put up with life out here. The fact that she’d apparently been abused as a child and then lived in a loveless marriage worked on his thoughts every night. He didn’t quite know what to do with these feelings because he’d vowed to never, ever let himself care about another woman again. Whores were the only kind he dared deal with. You could use a whore and then leave without worrying about feelings. Feelings could get in the way of a lot of things, and right now, he needed to avoid them if he was going up against men like those they were after. Feelings could get in the way of thinking fast and staying alive.

They neared a small ranch near Brown’s Park, where Sage knew stolen stock was kept. Beyond this place lay some of the most lawless country that existed in the Rockies, other than up north at Hole-In-The-Wall. From here on, he needed to think like the men he was after, and that meant not caring about anything but staying alive and protecting his own back… and Maggie’s. The thought of the bastards who’d abused her getting their hands on her again stirred a rage deeper than what he already felt for what they’d done to Standing Wolf and his wife.

He pointed to the scattering of buildings and corrals in the valley below. “The last I knew, that place was run by a man named Buck Kelley. In the sixties and seventies, he hunted buffalo. Of course, I didn’t know him then—didn’t meet him till after the money in buffalo hunting dried up, and most of the buffalo were gone. He turned to cattle rustling because back then it was good money, and for the most part, you could get away with it. Ranches had sprung up all over the place, so the pickings were easy. Buck and I rustled a lot of stock.”

He saw the questions in Maggie’s eyes. She was still trying to figure him out… was he good? Or bad? Sometimes Sage didn’t know the answer himself. “I bought out my share of Buck’s operation about five years ago,” he continued, “including two good breeding bulls and eight cows. That was enough to get me going on my own. I’ve never had too much trouble with other rustlers, at least not those who knew who I was. They knew enough to leave me alone or suffer the consequences.”

He pulled a cheroot from an inside pocket of his jacket as Maggie scanned the lush, fertile valley below. “It’s pretty down there.”

“Pretty, but full of men who’ll give you a good look-over when we get down there, so don’t forget you’re my wife. You’re wearing a wedding band, so that will help.” He regarded her with amusement. “And Lord knows, you aren’t terribly fetching in that getup,” he teased.

She raised her chin. “I don’t care to be fetching,” she answered. “Not to any man for a long time.”

Sage lit the smoke and drew on it to get it burning. “Well, Maggie, the men who live down there don’t need much to get them excited. A new face is always something of interest. Don’t take too much for granted because you aren’t all gussied up. Some men want only one thing.”

Sage regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.

“I am aware of that,” Maggie answered coldly, staring straight ahead.

“I didn’t mean to wake up the pain of it.” Sage straightened in his saddle. “Buck up. We’ve got visitors…”

Maggie noticed that a few men were heading up the steep grade toward her and Sage. “By the way, I don’t know the names of the men we’re hunting,” she told Sage. “That night… everything was too horrible for me to remember if they even called each other by name.” She pulled up on Smoke’s reins when he slipped a little on some loose rock. “Take it easy, boy.”

Sage replied with the thin cigar sitting at the corner of his mouth. “The fat, bald one is Cleve Fletcher. The ugly one with the beard and a scar over his eye is Jasper. I don’t know his last name. The young one called himself Jimmy Hart and thought he was good with a gun. I aim to test him on that when I find him.”

“And the men headed up here? Will you know any of them?”

“Not likely. Those who ride with a leader, like Buck, come and go. He could have all new men riding with him by now, but it’s likely Buck isn’t around now. That’s why we need to be careful. Just take it easy, and follow my lead no matter what. Don’t go doing something stupid on your own, like pull that six-gun, or go for your Sharps. Understand?”

“I understand. The only men I care to pull a gun on are those who attacked me. I’ve got no quarrel with any others.”

“Not yet you don’t.” Sage spoke the words as he watched the four riders come closer.

Wet sod spewed from beneath horses’ hooves as the rough-looking men made their way up the grassy slope, still soft from a recent snowmelt.

“Don’t make a move,” Sage told Maggie.

Maggie swallowed, anxiety tempting her to pull out her old Sharps. The men bearing down on them were no less menacing than the grizzly she’d shot. None bore a resemblance to those who’d attacked her, other than the fact that they weren’t cleaner or less mean-looking. One was a big-bellied man who reminded her of Hank Toller. She wondered how his horse managed to keep up with the others, what with the weight it carried.

The second man looked pure Indian, his black waist-length hair flying in the afternoon breeze, a bandana tied around his forehead. He wore a heavy fur vest, and Maggie could see crisscrossed gun belts under it, packed with enough ammunition to fight a small war. In addition to that, a huge knife hung from one of his belts.

The third man was ordinary in looks—plain, mousy brown hair that dangled in curls from under a stained hat. He wore a wool coat that looked too big for him.

The fourth man was built tall and strong, much like Sage, but he was fair, with steely blue eyes and blond hair that Maggie figured would look even lighter if it didn’t need washing. He wore a long, black coat, under which Maggie had no doubt he carried more than one weapon.

Sage casually puffed on the cigar as the men rode within ten feet of him and Maggie. With a sideways glance Maggie noticed Sage nod. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Who the hell are you?” the blond man demanded.

“Name’s Sage Lightfoot. I’m not here for trouble. Just looking for Buck Kelley. He still around?”

The fat man sniffed. “How do you know Buck?”

“Rode with him once, about five years ago.”

“Buck ain’t around no more,” the fat man answered. “Broke his neck when a mustang he tried to bust threw him against a fence post. He’s buried down below.”

Sage straightened. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good friend.”

“And that means you have no friends left here,” the Indian spoke up, turning his dark gaze to Maggie. “What you doing comin’ here with a woman you hide under men’s clothes?”

“You the law?” the fat man asked before Sage could answer the first question.

“I already told you I was good friends with Buck Kelley, and he sure as hell didn’t hang out with lawmen. Besides, what lawman would ride into a place like this with a woman along?”

“Then why is she here?” the Indian asked—then grinned. “You wanting to trade her for something?”

All four men laughed and whistled. The fat one looked Maggie over with unnerving hunger, and the Indian sneered. “I think maybe you will trade the woman whether you want to or not,” he told Sage with a haughty grin. Sage’s forty-five caliber was out of its holster so fast that Maggie never saw the movement. “This woman happens to be my
wife
,” he growled, aiming the gun at the Indian. “Lay a hand on her, and you’ll join Buck down there beside his grave!” He scanned the lot of them menacingly. “I’m looking for three men who killed a friend of mine and stole money from me.” He glared at the big Indian again. “I lived with your kind long enough to know how to handle the likes of you, so don’t piss me off. Fact is—I
am
your kind. Remember that!”

Maggie shivered. Everything about Sage spelled ruthless. He seemed no less dangerous than the Indian who glared back with pure hatred.

“Calm down, Lightfoot,” the blond-haired man spoke up. “Around here we have to make sure what kind of man is riding in.”

“Well, now you know, so tell these men to keep their eyes off my wife, or their guts will be slop for the pigs come morning.”

The apparent leader of the bunch nodded. “It’s done.” He turned to the other three. “Ride back to the house. Tell Betsy to put on some food for these two, and get out a bathtub for the woman here.”

The fat man and the curly-haired man left with scowls on their faces.

The Indian stared at Sage a little longer, obviously summing him up. “I think maybe I will go back and take a
cold
bath,” he snarled. He yanked his horse around and rode off.

The blond man held his arms at his sides then. “I’m not going to use a gun, mister,” he told Sage. “You can put yours away.”

Sage slowly released the hammer of his revolver and slid it into its holster.

“Name’s Whitey,” the blond man told Sage. “The fat one is Stu. The one who rode beside me is Bo—a friend for years. I don’t know their last names. The Indian, who I’ll probably end up killing someday unless you beat me to it, is called Cutter.” Maggie thought about the knife the man wore and felt a bit light-headed. The blond man nodded toward her. “What’s her name?”

Sage took the cheroot from his lips. “Maggie,” he answered for her.

Whitey took his smoke from his lips and flicked off ashes as he turned his horse. “Well,” he called, “you’re welcome to come down to the house. Betsy is a good cook.” He looked at Maggie and grinned a bit sheepishly. “I, uh, hope you won’t be offended by Betsy. She kind of belongs to all of us, if you know what I mean.” Maggie couldn’t imagine how any woman could share a bed with any of the men she’d just met. This was indeed a world she knew nothing about, but Sage seemed to know it well.

“We’re obliged for a meal and maybe a bed for the night,” Sage told Whitey.

“You’ve got it.” Whitey turned back around. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he called out to Maggie. “Nobody will harm you.”

He rode on down the hill, and Maggie pulled her coat collar closer around her neck. “I wish I could believe that,” she commented.

She caught up with Sage. “You pulled that gun awful fast. It was kind of unsettling to see how quick you are with it.”

Sage said nothing. Something about him was different… dark… still seething… an outlaw. “Is it really true that you’re their kind?”

“I already told you that. You’ve been warned.”

Maggie could see that “other” side of him wasn’t going to go away soon. It was a side she wasn’t familiar with… and it scared her.

“Just keep doing as I say, and don’t make my job harder than it needs to be,” he continued. “Don’t forget that I didn’t want to bring you along in the first place. What just happened is an example of why having you with me makes tracking those men more difficult.”

“Don’t take what happened out on me,” she grumped. “I appreciate your skills, but it kind of scares me, now that I’ve seen the kind of men you used to ride with.”

Maggie instantly regretted her words. Sage halted his horse and looked at her. It was as though she’d slapped him in the face. A surprising hurt passed quickly in his dark eyes, replaced just as quickly by a stiff pride.

“You saw it in Bill and Joe and the others back at the ranch too,” he seethed. “Men can change, Maggie, and sometimes, they were good to begin with. Men like those down there were born bad and
won’t
change. You have to know how to tell the difference out here. If those men see one weak spot in me, they’ll jump on it, like a wolf on an injured rabbit. And believe me, you could be carrying an
arsenal
of guns, and they’d still get to you! Our best bet is to make sure they believe you’re my wife. If they figure any different, then in their minds I have no real claim on you. Do you know what that means?”

Maggie stiffened. “I understand better than most.”
You
bastard!
Part of her wanted to scream, part of her wanted to cry. She didn’t like this Sage Lightfoot.

Sage closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess you do,” he said quietly. He circled his horse. “Look, Maggie, you need to trust that I know men like those down there, and I know how to deal with them. You can’t let anything I do cause you alarm over being with me.”

Maggie looked away. “I guess it was the look of that Indian. I never saw anybody who looked more menacing, not even in the eyes of the men who…” She faced him again. “Could you… I mean… can you really take on somebody like that Indian if you have to?”

Sage’s countenance completely changed. He actually laughed, shaking his head. “Jesus, you’re something.” His horse skittered, and he reined it to a halt. “I can take him on, as you put it.
Bet
on it!” He rode ahead again. “Think what you want of me, Maggie. I told you what it would be like if you came along,” he called back. “And don’t be surprised by anything that’s said or done when we get to that cabin. Trust me.”

You’re a complex man, Sage Lightfoot.
“I’d feel a lot better if I could figure out whether you’re bad or good,” she said.
I
haven’t seen you drunk yet.

“You’ll know by the time we get back to Paradise Valley.”

That was sure. She’d seen his quick temper, and she’d been warned. She couldn’t help wondering how furious he’d be if she told him she was carrying… all the more reason she needed to hide that fact until this was over. She was one hundred percent positive now. Too much time had passed, and every morning brought nausea that so far, she’d been able to control in front of Sage. Her belly wasn’t any bigger, and even if it were, it wouldn’t be noticed because of the way she was dressed. She remembered her first pregnancy didn’t show for a good four months.

My little Suzie. Her precious girl lay buried back in Missouri… all alone… so tiny. Her baby had shown her the only real love she’d known in her life, other than what she remembered of her own mother. She longed for that kind of love again… pure, simple, forgiving, affectionate, sweet. More and more, she wanted the baby growing inside her now, but first she had to survive this trip and keep her secret from Sage through it all. He was enough like the men below that his attitude toward her might change if he knew the truth. She’d seen how quickly he could change, and even his good side could be intimidating at times.

Lord knew, nothing in her life had taught her she could trust any man completely.