Sage and Sweetgrass

by LoRee Peery

  “This is spectacular!”

  For some reason, her reaction pleased him.

  “I would love to see it in June. Tell me about the flowers. We had so many on the ranch. Where did you get all the rocks?”

  They sat on an iron bench warmed by the sun. When he took the plastic container Lanae handed him, their shoulders touched. He whiffed the scent he associated with her—a little vanilla mixed with spice, and—what else, varnish? He had no business pondering the way she smelled. He leaned into the corner of the bench. Better, and safer, to answer her question. “Not much to tell. Spiderwort. The main plants are long gone, but the sun brings out tiny sprigs of new growth. Those dried up ones are beardtongue.”

  “The ones with those bell shapes?”

  “Right. Some old guys call ‘em bluebells.” He shrugged and blew before sipping and savoring the coffee.

  “That’s what we called them on the ranch.”

  “They’re both prairie-type flowers my mom said always reminded her of me.” As well as her brother Ted. Sage balanced the thermos between his knees, lifted a corner of the plastic container, and handed the lid to Lanae. “Thanks. This is quite a treat for a bachelor.” He took a bite. Approval formed in the back of his throat. “Mmmmm…I can’t decide if I like the coffee or the cheesecake better, but I think I’m in taste heaven.”

  Lanae played with the plastic lid in her lap, a contented smile softening her features. Their arms brushed, and somehow the air around the bench became smaller, filled with this exuberant woman.

  Bad idea, having her here like this, sitting so close.

  He shoveled in the three remaining cherries that slid off the top of the slice and gulped the last of the coffee. He would have liked to swipe his finger through the plastic square to get all the crumbs but good manners were too well ingrained.

  When he stood, he set the cup and container on the bench. He turned to wave an arm over the garden. “These granite rocks are all over this part of Lancaster County. Farmers don’t like ‘em cause they mess up machinery, so these are compliments of the neighbors.”

  “Most men wouldn’t like them. They’re pink.”

  Sage shrugged and let it go. The rocks had provided a project to pass the time.

  Lanae put the lid on the plastic container and stuffed it and the thermos in her shoulder bag. The bag was a riot of color that she seemed to like, judging by the way her fingers stroked the zipper closed. She leaned her tote in the bench corner, sighed as though she’d rather stay seated, and rose to her feet.

  He could watch her graceful movements for a month.

  Then she turned and picked her way along the stone path. She bent to study a huge rock with shells and other fossils imbedded in the surface. He stopped a good three strides behind.

  “Isn’t God great, the way he gives us pleasure through nature?” She turned and stepped toward him, squinting up into the sun so the fine lines fanned around her hazel eyes.

  “You haven’t said anything about family except mentioning your mother and grandmother, Sage. Have you lived here long? Do you share this lovely land with anyone besides your horses, or do you live here all alone?”

  Something about the way she looked at him, so open and expressive, made him swallow. An uncomfortable tightness grabbed him inside, twisting a latent need to connect with a good-lookin’ woman.

  “Been here five years.” His chest rose and fell. He moved his gaze away from Lanae. “I had a wife.”

  He felt, rather than saw, her lean forward. She looked as though her whole body tilted to receive more of his words.

  “She’s dead.” Too abrupt, but easier to say that way. He shot her another glance as she straightened.

  Her hand touched her chin, one finger brushing her bottom lip. “Oh, so did my husband. As I mentioned, an accident on the ranch.”

  “Ovarian cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry. That’s such a horrible disease. What was her name?”

  “Rebecca.”

  He might just as well fill her in, she’d keep asking. Sage had guessed enough about Lanae Petersen to figure she’d only be satisfied with details and having everything out in the open. Too bad he kept so much to himself.

  “Becca was a Nebraska girl. A typical one. Sporty, sassy. She worked hard and played hard. You remind me of her. You seem to be a what-you-see-is-what-you-get, sort of all-American type. Becca put the word heart in heartland.” He groped for words that lodged in his throat. “She was so full of life…”

  “You still miss her.”

  Sage didn’t comment on the obvious.

  “I’ll never go through that again. That helpless feeling of watching her be so sick. And I couldn’t do a blasted thing to help her.” He clenched his jaw, felt the muscle jump at his temple. “I’d never go through something like that again. I couldn’t stand to watch another person die.” And I’ll love her for the rest of my life. Sage hardened his reaction to the shock, the compassion he saw on Lanae’s face. “To answer your original question, Becca never lived here. My daughter Lezlie came and went a couple times.”

  “Well, it’s hard to put it there, but even the Bible tells us not to live in the past. I was sixteen forever ago. Keith was older than my parents liked, but I had written to him when I was in junior high, while he was fighting a war that never made any sense to me. He stayed enlisted after ‘Nam and was home on leave at Christmas when he asked me to marry him. I didn’t blink an eye. I loved him heart and soul. Quit school in tenth grade and finished my GED later.”

  “‘Nam got over right before I was old enough for the draft.”

  “You must be a little younger than I am, in your early fifties?”

  “I’m with you, same generation. Becca and I got married the week after we graduated from high school. It was a wild time to grow up, wasn’t it?”

  Lanae giggled that joyful school-girl sound that clutched him somewhere deep inside. “Wild is a good word for it. Crazy bell-bottoms, wild music, from soul to The Beatles.”

  Sage burst out laughing and turned away. “What I remember is all that feminist talk.”

  “I don’t know if it was feminist or not, but I’m sure glad when it came about that men could help women take care of the home.”

  They sobered. Sage stared at nothing far off in the distance. “People think we’re in troubled times now. Even though I was a little bugger, my folks were shell-shocked for years over the King and Kennedy assassinations.”

  “Mine as well. Patriotism and all. Keith pictured Jesus instead of Uncle Sam pointing His finger and saying ‘I want you. So unclutter your mind and let me in.’ He obeyed Uncle Sam and Jesus. He believed that being a little bit saved is like being a little bit pregnant. Either you are or you aren’t.”

  Sage couldn’t find humor in the pregnancy reference.

  He formed a fist and started to pace. No way would he comment on her reference to Christianity either. But he faced her, after putting a good-sized rock between them.

  “You miss him, too.” He said, repeating her words.

  “I do. At times.” Lanae zigzagged to the outside of the rock garden and started walking. “Especially here in the open. We were so at home, so in love on the ranch. We had it all.”

  They matched strides in silence, headed in the direction of the barn.

  “Tell me about your daughter.”

  “Lezlie is a nurse in Lincoln. I’m so glad she turned out as well as she did.”

  Lanae brought up God. So I will do so as well.

  “For a long time she carried a good mad-on at God.”

  The way I will forever. He clenched his fists. What was it about this woman that drew him to talk? “Lezlie was fifteen when Becca died. Thought God had betrayed her by taking her mother, so she went out and slept with the first boy to give her the opportunity.” He bent, picked up a twig, and twirled it in his fingers. “Jaxson was the result. He’s the apple of my eye.”

  Lanae stopped and squeezed his arm right ab
ove the elbow. The feminine touch of her fingers shot through him.

  “You have a grandson! We were never blessed with kids.” Lanae became intent, stared off into the distance as he had earlier. “I had some issues that resulted in surgery that kept me from ever having children.” Her hand drifted from his arm to wave in the air at her side.

  Sage had no idea what to say to that. She must keep nothing secret. He went on with his own train of thought. “I’m not going to say the road has been easy. But it’s worthwhile. Family is worth more than anything. And we need to protect the ones we love.”

  “No doubt about it. Moselle, my niece, and Geneva’s daughter, is the next best thing to a daughter an aunt could wish for. She always thought I was hard on her, that I somehow expected too much. But we talked it out not too long ago and she understands how I only wanted the best for her. And she’s found it now that she’s Mrs. Eric Todd.”

  They stopped at the corral fence. Sage rested his elbows on the top rail.

  Lanae stepped onto the bottom.

  Their elbows touched. Neither one moved.

  “Keith was killed by a skid steer loader. Out in a pasture doing who knows what. It’s hard to imagine him now, in his sixties, about the age my dad was when he died of a sudden heart attack.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Sage agreed. “Accidents happen to farmers and ranchers. People in the country gotta be thinking about what they’re doing all the time.”

  “That you do. As much as I miss the land, I don’t miss the stress. Who’d want to be a rancher these days? You live with unreliable weather, unpredictable cattle prices, critter deaths. West Nile.” Lanae’s voice rose with each issue. “A growing mountain lion problem. I’m glad to be in a small town, now.”

  They watched the horses nuzzle aside leaves, looking for remnants of green grass on the other side of the far gate.

  “What are their names?” Lanae asked.

  “Freckles, the paint, and Snorty next to her, are mine.”

  “Quarter horses have heart.”

  “Yes, ma’am, they sure do. Spooky and Ranger belong to a guy who only uses them for hunting. They were pretty wild when I first met them.”

  At the sound of Sage’s voice, all four horses moseyed up to the fence, each trying to get closest to his hands. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he brushed their noses.

  “How long does it take you to get a horse to do your bidding?”

  Sage pushed the brim of his hat up with a finger and resettled it. He’d rather talk about the horses than his work with them. “Less than a day.”

  “That’s an incredible gift.”

  “It’s just something I do.”

  “So this hunting, it’s in Montana?”

  “You got it. Bighorn mountain sheep in the early fall.” It tickled Sage that she appeared so interested.

  “And you’re able to get the horses used to commands and being packed and ridden again in such a short time? It could take Keith days to settle a horse. You must be a horse whisperer, a man who meets the horses on a spiritual level.”

  “You do know horses. I get ‘em ready early in the summer, then just ride them and enjoy them until the owner comes for the trip west. This year the guy decided he likes the way I take care of his horses, so they’re boarded here for now. And will stay here as long as it works out.”

  He made the mistake of looking her full in the face. And such was the impact of her green-gold-brown eyes, Sage felt as though he’d been kicked by Ranger. She licked her lips, and he wondered what she was thinking before she spoke.

  “So, tell me, I’m curious to a fault. How did you get such an unusual name?”

  Sage swallowed. He was close enough to pick up her scent again, so strange here in the outdoors. And oh boy, did she smell better than a horse. He couldn’t name it, but he believed he’d recognize Lanae’s scent in a crowd, female and fresh, hers alone.

  He tore his gaze back to the horses. With so much oxygen in the great outdoors, why did he feel like he couldn’t get a deep breath?

  Sage tried to remember Becca’s dark brown eyes. Then he decided to talk, instead. “My mother said my grandmother Juanita named Mom and my aunts after purple flowers: Iris and Lilac. Violet was my mother. When she took a look at me she thought of the prairie spiderwort flower. Then she said out loud to my folks, ‘purple sage.’”

  “Well, I love it.”

  “No way was my mother going to call me anything purple,” Sage continued without humor, “so she settled for Sage. I guess Mom agreed with the name. Gramma used to say that Uncle—” I almost said Uncle Ted’s name! Sage pretended to cough. “Uh, she said my uncle’s eyes were the color of wild blue flax.” He stepped back from the fence. “Enough about family.” Anything to get off that subject. “Tell me about this business of yours,” he invited.

  Her eyes lit up. Her whole face turned animated. He couldn’t help but laugh when she started to speak.

  “Oh, it’s just so crazy, and I love everything about it! Perfect for the three of us. Moselle knows antiques and can drop some old designer names, but Geneva and me? We wouldn’t know a furniture designer name if it was engraved on a thousand-dollar handbag. But we do like old things, especially if they’re handmade.” She mimicked using a crochet hook. “We believe in handcrafted items with our names, though. Geneva quilts. I crochet. Moselle does creative artsy stuff with a glue gun. She came up with the idea for Frivolities shadow boxes.”

  “I can sure tell what you’re into. What else?”

  “Merchandise women like, whether they’re three or eighty-three. Lots of fancy and silly, frilly stuff. We cater to females. Young and old alike. Some older gals come in and buy a small porcelain doll or a reproduction of something that reminds them of their childhood. We sell vintage things, too, like ruffled aprons and handkerchiefs. And right after Christmas we’re going to start etiquette classes. Playing dress-up with young girls, and the whole afternoon tea time with delicate sandwiches and flowered teapots.”

  “Well then. Whatever you say. You make me want to catch my breath.” He threw his head back and laughed.

  She had as much energy as a galloping steed.

  “Let’s fetch that mirror.”

  Anything so she forgets the name Ted.

  Yeah, right. The way I’ve forgotten what he did.

  ****

  There is so much more to life than a beating heart. I want to be more and feel more than just hanging around for the next breath.

  Lanae noticed every movement Sage made as he picked up and repositioned the ladder. She watched and enjoyed the play of muscles in his forearms, thighs, back. So many thoughts chased through her mind. After the comment Sage made about illness, she couldn’t tell him about the disease that nearly killed her, hepatitis C. Like many, he wouldn’t believe she was cured.

  Here in the barn, all her senses had come to life. Lanae tried to take deep breaths. She even counted and stopped at her age, fifty-three. Keith was the last man she had reacted to with such tingling awareness. The memory felt like a lifetime ago.

  I am a woman.

  Sage is all man.

  Moselle and Geneva found their mates.

  Could mine be in front of me, Lord?

  Her gaze followed Sage as he climbed the ladder. From the rafters, she picked out a glint of the mirror caught in the sun’s reflection through the open door. She looked closer. The frame was made of swirled pieces, the glass itself oval, hinged at each side so it tilted. Her fingers itched to touch the old frame.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to get it all refinished and put together. We plan to display the vanity as a backdrop for some sort of Christmas decorations,” she said when he brought the mirror to the top of the ladder. Lanae stepped to the ladder and lifted a hand to help balance the mirror so Sage could descend less encumbered.

  “Thanks. Looks like the glass needs re-silvered or replaced, depending on your choice.”

  “Re-silvered. Then again, maybe left original is th
e best. The edges are beveled, so I may want to keep it as-is.”

  He bent over so they could set the mirror down, Sage taking most of the weight before he climbed the rest of the way off the ladder.

  She was so close to his shoulder that all she had to do was move a half inch and she could kiss him. Her lips parted, she drew in air and blew it out as quietly as she could.

  The smells of the barn, the dryness of the hay, mixed with the distinct, moist smell of horse leavings, took her right back to the ranch where she and Keith had shared so much love.

  But this isn’t Keith. This is Sage Diamond. And he’s as sweet smelling as his name.

  She inhaled his own unique blend of manliness, the slight tang of sweat, and the hint of horses on his jacket. He smelled every bit as good, as mouthwatering, as a silvery leaf of sage growing in a pasture or garden. She had often savored the spicy condiment at the peak of its summer growth on the ranch.

  Sage Diamond.

  Suspended in the moment, Lanae couldn’t move. Couldn’t draw a breath. She closed her eyes. Her lips felt swollen. Her uneven mouth breathing seemed to emanate from the pit of her stomach. She absorbed his body temperature, so much higher than her own.

  Sage thrust his shoulders back and brushed her nose.

  She couldn’t control the urge.

  Lanae puckered and kissed his shoulder, the well-worn fabric of his denim work jacket tickling her lips.

  Time stopped.

  Does he feel me?

  Horse nickering and shuffling faded. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

  Or was it his heart?

  The air vibrated with tension.

  They were alone in this world, his world.

  Feeling alive after serious illness was one thing. Sure, her mind and heart sought joy and fullness of life. But being around Sage felt like she’d been transported to the forever ago. Back when she was sixteen, coming to life in the presence of the love of her life. She felt as awake as a new bride, quickening in the height of awareness, as though she were in love. Lanae jerked back. And almost tripped over the mirror.

  Love?

  Lust?

  Lord, what’s going on here? Should I be feeling this way?