by LoRee Peery
She mumbled something, too embarrassed over her behavior to articulate any thoughts. It had to be the acreage. The man drew her as much as the land did.
Sage finally turned, brushing against her shoulder, and grabbed the mirror frame at the same time. He hoisted the mirror, his movements uncharacteristically jerky. Then he released the mirror in the air before grabbing it on each side, which prevented the mirror from swiveling in its frame while he carried it toward her car.
Lanae unlatched the trunk and stood by her driver’s door. Sage loaded the mirror.
She was all shook up. And she didn’t even smile at the picture of Elvis that flashed in her mind with her choice of words.
The passion she had imagined when she read the love letter seemed like a single grain of oats in a feed bucket compared to the flood of sensation she felt at the base of the ladder.
Sage slammed the trunk lid and came to her side. “Guess that’s that, then.”
She must have looked like an idiot standing there, tongue-tied, lips parted, but nothing coming out.
He was tall enough, broad enough, to block the sun. Sage leaned, pursed, and smacked a feather-light kiss in front of Lanae’s ear.
“Better than a handshake, huh?” His voice held a joking, teasing quality. But he didn’t meet her eyes.
Geneva’s favorite words flitted through her head. Twitterpated. Discombobulated. Flummoxed. Now she knew how flustered her sister had felt at the resurgence of all those reawakened teen hormones, which was Geneva’s response to Rainn’s attention.
And my response to Sage. Good golly, Miss Molly.
Forget all the age stuff.
Besides, what’s age got to do with love?
God’s love is based on eternity. Age means nothing to Him.
But age and widowhood had made her fail as a rancher. The only way she’d make it working the land again would be with a man by her side. She shook her head to get rid of ridiculous longings. How she got in, turned the key, put her car in gear, and backed up, she had no idea whatsoever.
Forgotten in the excitement of finding the mirror, and her awareness of Sage, the old packet of letters remained on the passenger seat. She glanced at the bundle, inclined to head back up the driveway, but she decided to leave them for the time being. She put the transmission in Drive and hit the road.
****
Halfway home, turning from one highway to the next, Lanae pulled over, too shaken to continue driving.
As sudden as a deer can leap out of the ditch into a car’s path, the past slammed into Lanae.
She’d been this tuned-in to a man one other time in her life.
And her husband hadn’t been the man.
Recollection of the affair, a part of her past that was buried so deep it took over twenty years to resurface, jostled to the forefront of her mind.
Her loneliness for Keith had been palpable, and she’d tired of the despair. So she’d let a stranger in. She refused to dredge up the details of that dark corner of her past. A Christian took Christ along when delving into sin. Lanae grieved anew over grieving the Holy Spirit. Now she cried a year’s worth of unspent tears as the history of events wove through her mind.
Giving up the ranch. Leaving Keith buried in western Nebraska. Elation over a new life with Geneva and Moselle in Platteville. The beginning of Frivolities.
Dealing with the onset of fatigue and a potential terminal illness. The shock, the uncertainty of the diagnosis.
She knew there’d been talk. People in small towns meant well, but they talked about everyone’s business except their own. Dirty needles, drugs, and illicit sex—that’s what gossip came back to the shop.
What seemed like a week, but had only been minutes, drew to a close. Lanae gathered herself together. Not one vehicle had even passed. She stared off into the distance, focusing on nothing. Eventually, she blinked and settled her sight on the passenger seat.
Lanae picked up the bundle of letters, played with the ribbon, smoothing the creases where it had faded.
Love was timeless. Just look at how happy Geneva and Rainn were. She and Geneva had been messing around in Frivolities, spoofing about how much the media focused on the young and beautiful and pretty.
“I think God shows humor as we age.” Geneva said. “Life and death are His idea. So aging must be as well. We learn a lot on this journey called life. Choices, wisdom, changes in attitude. He looks at the inside as he prepares us to grow into the people He wants us to be.”
That process took a lifetime. The Lord had a purpose in bringing people together, no matter their age. Lanae thanked Him for Moselle and Eric, Geneva and Rainn, and the glimpse into the love Katherine had for her Teddy.
Lanae had copied the letters, intending to give the originals to Sage. “So I’m curious. I’m a romantic at heart, interested in a love from long ago.” She laughed as she talked out loud to herself. “I am going to read the letters one by one,” she said to a flock of blackbirds. “So shoot me.”
She imagined Katherine’s words as her own, reaching out to Sage, rather than addressed to Katherine’s Teddy.
She set the top letter aside, and pulled out the second. Lanae figured she’d miss the faint scent that unfolded with this original letter of longing. The copies she’d made would just smell like paper, stuffed in a corner next to her chair in the loft.
As she read, it felt as though Sage were right beside her, along with the mysterious Katherine and her Teddy. She read the letter out loud.
January 15, 1960
Friday a.m.
Dear Teddy,
It’s funny how for all the letters I write, I never get an answer. Hint, hint.
Thank you for the movie. You were so restless though. I don’t think you were truthful when you said you were all right. I could tell you were in pain. Did you fall in the grain bin and were too embarrassed, or proud, to tell me? I couldn’t determine if it was your ribs or back, but I knew something was wrong.
I wish I was there to kiss your pain away.
Honey, I have so much work to do today. Why don’t you come help me? Do you suppose we could get along working together? I can’t quite see you in a bakery, though. Or us keeping company for long hours when you close up and keep things to yourself.
Well, sweet, the time is flying, and I never know what to write about, only you. I do think about you all the time but need to sign off now and get to work.
Here’s a bushel of xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxos and lots of love,
Katherine
Katherine’s concern wrapped Lanae in a blanket of empathy.
She felt the love.
She remembered the agony of separation after Keith died. But God had pulled her through. After a time, she’d started living again. And she wanted to keep living until her own dying day. Curiosity burned. Was Ted hurt? What had made him angry?
She thought of Sage and wondered again if he had sensed her hormonal overload at the bottom of the ladder in his barn. The way she had kissed his shoulder through his clothes.
And then her distinct pleasure—like something palpable hanging in the air.
Was he as thrilled by her closeness to him as she was whenever he came near?
Could he feel her desire?
Her yearning for Sage, like Katherine’s for Ted, was growing almost too large to shape into words. It felt like a consuming fire. She tried to imagine some kind of invisible concentric waves, like a translucent aura, radiating off her body. The vibes she envisioned were for Sage alone. And she planned to be tenacious as she went after him with all her might.
Whether Sage liked it or not, Lanae was attracted to him, as much as to his home in the country. And the secret surrounding the letters, of course.
“Face it. You want the whole package.”
But a little voice whispered, is this of the Lord, or a personal desire?
Lord, help me put it behind me. I’m so sorry for my sin. Forgive me for yearning toward Sage. My future is in Your hands. Now I j
ust ask that you keep me safe as I return home. And, thank You that Sage found the mirror.
5
Sage couldn’t get the woman off his mind. And oh, how he wanted to get Lanae Petersen off his mind. Didn’t he?
Those hazel eyes, ever changing in prominent color, had kept him from a good night’s sleep.
He left his bathroom and went into the vaulted great room of the ranch home. Sage blew out pent-up lungs full of air as he surveyed the room. “You were so fine, my love.”
Becca didn’t answer. Her frozen smile beamed into the expanse from where it perched on the mantel shelf. Sage didn’t check the tears that gathered as he crossed the floor. “You’d be so proud of Lezlie. And Jax. He looks just like her. Tall, red-haired, scads of freckles. Except he has your eyes. And he wears a size fifteen shoe. Can you imagine?” He ran a crooked thumb over her smiling lips. The glass felt cold.
Lanae had been all about heat. So full of life that it hurt him to watch her. She’d warmed the air around them.
He gripped the edge of the rough-sawn pine plank of the mantel shelf, locking his elbow.
And just that fast, his tears dried. His breathing hitched.
He had felt feverish with Lanae Petersen in the barn as her warmth reached out to him at the base of the ladder. Sage doubted he could have moved if lightning had struck the peaked roof. He’d heard the expression of time standing still but until that moment had never experienced it.
He had sensed her awareness of him in her placidness, almost like she was breathing him in. She was so close that he had imagined her embracing him from behind. And it had taken a mountain of willpower not to turn and grab her close.
It’d been so long since he’d felt that way.
Not since Becca was alive. But Becca hadn’t made my pores sweat inward.
Their desire, his and Lanae’s, he reluctantly admonished, had been thick in the air. It was a felt thing, an almost tangible longing he couldn’t put a word to. More than a physical level. Those reawakened feelings had come out of nowhere.
Lanae Petersen had come out of nowhere.
All because he decided to get rid of the dresser.
She’d answered an ad in the paper.
He’d taken a phone call, given directions.
And Lanae Petersen drove directly into his life.
He hadn’t moved back there in the barn. The experience was a spiritual moment, when her soul reached out and touched his on a plane he’d never known existed. The moment had shattered when Lanae mentioned Christmas.
Christmas always reminded him of Becca. How could he forget the holiday that turned his world colorless? Becca had died on Christmas Eve. And the life he’d known became history. Every year since then, he’d taken Lezlie and Jaxson on a trip instead of celebrating Christmas.
And this year, he planned to look at some property while they were on vacation in the sunny South. Nebraska winters were getting a bit too harsh for his constitution. It was time for change.
But, what if a new life experience was right here at home?
****
If it’s worth going through, I want the experience now.
“He’s tied to the mystery letters. I can feel it in my soul.” Lanae spoke to a gold and white display of angel ornaments as she went about the business of Frivolities, preoccupied with thoughts of Sage.
The letters stayed on her mind, and turned into her excuse to stay in contact with him. The letters belonged to him. Or, someone in his family.
She couldn’t get the writer off her mind. Katherine—whoever she was—had emoted such passion through her words. Lanae read between the lines and imagined Katherine as stirred up over her Teddy, much as Lanae remained shook up over the barn episode with Sage. What had possessed her to behave that way?
Throughout the day, the cowboy came to the forefront of her mind except when she was talking shop or busy with a customer.
Lanae glanced toward the front when the jangling bell announced another potential buyer coming through the door. Smile of greeting in place, her heart picked up its pace.
The sight of Sage sauntering into Frivolities drew a grin. This cowboy was way out of his element. He removed the hat, revealing his close cut brown hair and a serious what-have-I-gotten-myself-into frown.
Lanae, as well as Geneva and Moselle, wanted all men to feel out of their element in Frivolities.
Only this guy made her breath hitch, and her spine stiffen to full walk-with-a-book-on-your-head attention.
Hmm, maybe the women should do something about that. Create a masculine corner? She tucked away the nugget and planned a men’s shopping guide as an idea to bring up with the others.
For now, her every cell felt riveted on the man shutting the door behind him with complete mastery, like he didn’t want to make a whisper of a sound as the latch clicked back in place.
Too late. The bell had announced his arrival.
He looked down at his hat as though he’d never seen it before and arranged it back on his head at the precise angle he wanted. Then Sage rolled on in, gaze ever on the move. His muscles bunched, clearly defined in upper body and legs. That V-shape of a cowboy—complete with hat, boots, turquoise belt buckle, and narrow hips fitted into snug denims.
Lanae’s mouth went dry. Sweat prickled her palms.
Something twinkled. Was that really a diamond stud in his ear?
She felt as though every nerve ending in her body woke up.
When he was close enough for Lanae to catch the scent of the outdoors on his clothes, she looked down at his working man’s hands. They were white-scarred and rough, with knobby, swollen knuckles that reminded her of Geneva’s arthritic fingers.
And then she swallowed, trying to digest the idea of his hands touching her. The calluses would be rough, yet she knew those hands calmed horses on a daily basis.
“Hi. I washed these for you. We left them on the bench in my rock garden.” His voice drew her gaze to meet his.
“Thanks. Sage, you didn’t have to bring them in. I haven’t even missed them yet.” Lanae hadn’t noticed that he carried her thermos and plastic container
“That’s OK. Talked to Lezlie this morning about the day Jaxson is going to spend with me and I realized that it’s almost Christmas. I haven’t got a thing for her.” He swallowed and looked around, frown lines deepening.
His grin gave Lanae a glimpse of the little boy he must have been.
“I figured this would be a good place to get something different for her.” His gaze roved and came back to her face. “Lezlie has enough western things. Besides, that theme really isn’t her thing anymore.”
“Where would you like to start?”
“I’m kind of afraid to move around much in here. So. Haven’t a clue.” He shot her a sheepish grin. “You sure do have a lot of woman-stuff.”
“That’s the whole idea.” She couldn’t help but answer his grin with a wide smile of her own.
He was so out of his league.
She loved it.
“Can you tell me a little about Lezlie? The colors she likes, or does she collect anything?”
His eyes appeared to refocus. “Turtles. She loves turtles.”
“OK then. As wild as it sounds, it just so happens Geneva has a wall quilt with a turtle motif.”
She led him through displays of Victorian tree decorations, cat and dog themed items, linens in a refinished pie cupboard, feather boas, tiaras, and other little girl things that turned them into princesses.
“Who does the fancy work? Doilies, aren’t they called? My mom used to do stuff like that. It’s nice and feminine, if you like that kind of thing.”
Lanae sighed with pleasure. Sage noticed the fruit of her hands. So warmed inside by his compliment, she felt her smile spread. “Yes, they’re crocheted doilies. Those are some of my contributions to Frivolities.”
He fingered the three-dimensional flower on a table runner, his broad, tanned hand looking so masculine against her finery. His
rough touch gentled probably so he wouldn’t snag the linen where it met the crocheted rose.
“You do good work.” He returned his hand to his side. “Where are those turtles?”
Lanae got a kick out of watching expressions on the faces of customers. She’d remember this customer’s reaction for quite some time.
When she showed him the wall quilt, his frown turned into a smile. As though a weight had lifted, he murmured, “It’s perfect.”
Lanae was proud as punch at Sage’s reaction to Geneva’s quilted piece.
“Orange is Lezlie’s favorite color. She likes olive green, too. But it reminds me of the military, so I don’t quite get how any woman can like it.” He tilted his head and returned his attention to the appliquéd quilt. “I would have never thought to put orange and purple together.”
“Geneva can’t help herself. Purple is her favorite color.” The last two words came in stereo.
Sage raised a brow and tipped his hat to Geneva.
“Welcome to Frivolities. And I’m going to guess that your name is Sage.”
“That it is, ma’am.”
Geneva extended her hand, catching Lanae’s eye in the movement. “So, who else likes the color purple?”
“My daughter likes orange. And she has a thing for turtles so I don’t even need to ask a price. This artwork is sold.”
“Sphtt,” Geneva sputtered and splayed her hand at the base of her throat. “Artwork, indeed. It’s just what I do.”
“The way Sage listens to horses,” Lanae said.
“I understand you have a wonderful home.” Geneva continued as if she’d not heard her sister’s comment. “Lanae wants to move back to the country now, thanks to you.”
“I never said—” Lanae began.
But Sage jumped in, “Well, I wouldn’t know about that.” He avoided a direct look at Lanae and spoke to the hanging turtle. “Think you could wrap that up so I can be on my way?”
“I’ll rustle you up some brew for the journey. Caramel flavored coffee with white chocolate syrup sound all right?”
Sage joined Lanae’s laugh at the wording of Geneva’s offer.
Yup. Lanae could get mighty used to cowboy lingo again.