The Touch of Sage

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “I’ve had another telegram from Bridie,” Eugenia announced.

  “Oh?” Livie asked, still dealing seven cards to each player instead of one card to each alternately.

  “Reb has agreed to take over the ranch,” Eugenia said. Sighing, she folded the telegram and tucked it into her apron pocket.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want, Miss Eugenia?” Sage asked. Sage knew that since the death of her husband, Buck, Eugenia had struggled with what to do concerning their large cattle ranch outside of town. “If ya sold it, you could make a mint of money.”

  Eugenia sighed again. “Oh, don’t I know it, Sage,” she admitted. But her eyes twinkled as she looked to the young girl. “But some things are worth so much more than money, sweetheart. And…and I want to see Reb happy. He’s such a good and deservin’ man. I want the ranch to be a success again too. Buck worked so hard to see it to what it was.”

  “I still think it was might smug of that niece of yers to write and even ask such a thing,” Mary grumbled. “Offerin’ for her son to take over runnin’ Buck’s business,” she said, shaking her head in obvious disapproval. “She’s just a-hopin’ you’ll drop off and leave the ranch to him ’stead of to yer own children.”

  “Mary!” Livie exclaimed.

  “I’m just sayin’…it was a purty arrogant thing to ask,” Mary grumbled.

  But Eugenia smiled. “Reb is a wonderful boy,” she explained. “He’s had some misery of his own of recent…and I’ve always favored him. I’m glad to help him out and let him help me if he’s willin’.”

  “Is he handsome at all, Eugenia?” Rose asked.

  “For the love of Pete, Rose!” Mary exclaimed. “He’s a boy!”

  “Don’t matter if he’s a boy or not,” Rose said. “I still prefer to look at the handsome ones more than I do the plain ones.”

  Sage giggled, delighted by the women’s banter.

  Smiling, Eugenia said, “Yes, he’s handsome, Rose. I expect you’ll have quite a nice time lookin’ him over.”

  “When’s he comin’, Miss Eugenia?” Sage asked. She wondered if Eugenia would have him stay out at the ranch right away or if she had it in mind for him to board at Willows’s for a time.

  “I don’t rightly know,” Eugenia answered. “Bridie’s still havin’ a bit of trouble convincin’ him all the way. But she’s confident she will. She’s told him how important the ranch is to me and all.”

  “Do you want me to prepare the extra room for him?” Sage asked.

  Eugenia seemed thoughtful for a moment, finally saying, “It might be a good idea. I haven’t been out to the ranch house in so long, and I’m sure it’s just crawlin’ with critters.”

  Sage smiled—for Eugenia seemed very excited about the possibility of having her favorite nephew close by. Eugenia deserved happiness, and Sage was glad for her.

  “I’ll get lunch on, take Bullet for a walk, and then get right into that upstairs room, just in case,” Sage said.

  Eugenia reached out and took one of Sage’s hands in her own, squeezing it affectionately. “You’re too good to us all, Sage,” she said.

  “Rummy!” Rose giggled as she spread her cards on the table, revealing her instant win.

  Mary threw her cards to the table’s surface with angry indignation. “I told ya, Livie! I told ya! Ya have to deal ’em out proper!”

  Sage smiled as Rose leapt from her chair and began performing an elderly lady’s version of the can-can. “Rummy, rummy, rummy!” she sang as she danced.

  “It don’t count a whit, Rose,” Mary told her. “The cards weren’t dealt proper.”

  “Rummy, rummy, rummy,” Rose continued to sing, swishing her skirt and petticoats this way and that as she danced.

  “Well, why don’t we just throw a sign out on the front door?” Mary grumbled. “Willows’s Saloon and Dancehall…neked knees and ankles a-flyin’ ever’where.”

  Sage laughed, amused not only by Rose’s scandalous behavior but by Mary’s predictable response as well.

  “I’ll get us some lunch,” Sage said, smiling.

  “Oh, lunch can wait,” Eugenia said. “Come play a hand or two with us, Sage.”

  “Yes, Sage,” Livie begged. “Please do.”

  “All right,” Sage agreed, pulling a spare chair up to the table. “Just one…maybe two.”

  With a contented sigh, Rose returned to her seat, only to hear Mary grumble, “It would serve ya right, Rose Applewhite…if the Reverend Tippetts hisself walked in here to see ya dancin’ around like a heathen.”

  “You know as well as I do, Mary,” Rose began, “that Scarlett Tippetts was a dancehall girl in Leadville before Reverend Tippetts married her. I ’spect he wouldn’t be a bit undone.” Rose picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle.

  “One at time, Rose. Ya just be sure ya deal ’em one at a time,” Mary mumbled, irritated with being one-upped.

  Sage looked at the faces of her friends, delighted with their company. Still, the familiar, painful pinch of regret pricked at her heart, reminding her of what she didn’t have—of what she knew she never would have. Oh, she loved these dear ladies, it was true—but they did nothing to fill the loneliness, the gaping void in her soul longing for a life of wonder with a loving husband and a family all her own. The sting of buried resentment began to well up in her, but she fought it, painfully tucking it away and trying to concentrate on the cards in her hand.

  Reminding herself she was blessed—that she was happy for her sisters and their blissful lives—Sage smiled (however halfheartedly) when Mary said, “Now ya see, Livie? Proper dealin’…it’s important.”

  “I feel a win comin’ over me,” Rose giggled.

  “Well, I just hope the Reverend Tippetts is in time to see it,” Mary grumbled.

  “Maybe he just will be, Mary,” Rose said as she drew a card. “Then me and Scarlett Tippetts can both start into kickin’ up our heels.”

  “That would be a sight!” Mary exclaimed, discarding a card. “A sight indeed.”

  Eugenia glanced to the sweet young woman at her side. One look at her nephew Rebel Lee Mitchell, and the girl would be lost—or perhaps found—whichever way Eugenia chose to look at it. It was in fact dangerously daring, quite meddling in reality, but Eugenia felt warm and excited inside—happier and brighter than she had felt since Buck passed. Reb’s soul was damaged, it was true. But he wasn’t completely unrecoverable. There was a heart in him yet. There had to be! And Eugenia could only hope Sage would be the one to find it.

  Again Eugenia studied Sage—her sweet and lovely features—the smile she forced attempting to mask her profound loneliness. If only the girl knew what was about to arrive on the front porch step of Willows’s Boarding House. If only she knew.

  

  “Hush, Bullet!” Sage scolded, eating a piece of biscuit dough off her finger. “We’ll go out as soon as I get these in.” Hurriedly, Sage arranged the biscuits in a pan. It was obvious by the dog’s unceasing barking he needed to go out.

  Sliding the pan into the oven, she said to the sandy-colored dog, “Ya know, if you’d just quit chewin’ through your rope and consortin’ with Mr. Simmons’s lady dog, I could let ya out on your own.” Quickly, she untied the rope tethering the dog to the table leg and wrapped it around her wrist several times to secure it.

  At the prospect of the outdoors and some semblance of freedom, the dog instantly began to pant—excitedly jumping up and down attempting to thankfully lick Sage’s face. Bullet was only a puppy, just one and a half years old, but he was already enormous! A big dog with a puppy’s mind was, indeed, a handful. When Karoline married Joel Evans just before Christmas—well, somehow Sage inherited the handful.

  “Come on, boy,” Sage giggled as the dog smiled at her with relief. “Let’s take you out back.”

  However, at that very moment, a loud, solid knock sounded at the boarding house front door. Sage sighed—slightly irritated at the interruption—and led Bullet toward the front
door instead.

  “I guess we’ll go out front this time, boy,” she told him. “But just this once. Do you hear me?” The dog seemed to nod in agreement as he bounded happily toward the door.

  “Settle down, Bullet. Settle down,” she said, wrapping the rope around her wrist again in an effort to shorten the slack.

  Pasting on a friendly smile, Sage opened the door to greet whomever she might find on the other side. Her smile vanished instantly, however, as astonishment washed over her.

  Standing there on the front porch of Willows’s Boarding House was as tall a man as Sage had ever seen. He wore a black front-flap shirt.

  He removed his weathered, black hat to greet her with a deep, “Mornin’, miss.” Sage saw that his hair was as black as the shirt he wore—as were the finely groomed mustache and goatee he smoothed with an index finger and thumb as he greeted her. Other than the fact the color of his eyes was as dark nearly as his pupils, Sage only had time to notice one other thing—he was so extraordinarily handsome—she was left with her mouth gaping open.

  Her awe of the stranger at her door was cut short when Bullet began jumping about in excitement. The dog planted both front paws firmly on the stranger’s stomach, licking the front of his shirt.

  “Down, Bullet!” Sage scolded. “Down!” Bullet obeyed long enough for Sage to utter, “I’m sorry, sir. He…” Instantly the dog squeezed himself between the stranger’s knees in an effort to escape. The rope around Bullet’s neck was still anchored securely around Sage’s wrist as he managed to break between the stranger’s legs. Sage went with him, hitting her face solidly on the man’s knee as he raised one long leg to let the dog through.

  Bullet was desperate. He continued pulling against the rope in an effort to escape. Sage, flat on her stomach on the porch, shouted, “Bullet!” The dog kept pulling. Her arm was so outstretched with the dog’s pull on the rope, she could not even begin to lift or right herself.

  “Here, boy!” she heard the stranger command with a shrill whistle. “Bullet! Here.” Sage looked to see the dog immediately cease his barking and attempted escape. He straightened his ears as much as they would straighten and looked to the stranger.

  “Here, Bullet,” the stranger repeated, his voice deep and commanding. As the dog came toward the man, the rope slackened. Sage’s hand quit turning purple. Sage felt the stranger’s strong hands, one at her elbow and one at her waist, as he helped her to her feet.

  “You all right, miss?” the stranger asked.

  “Yes. I-I…” Sage stammered. Perhaps it was the sound of Sage’s voice, or perhaps the fact the dog was incapable of remaining calm for more than a few seconds—whatever the reason, Bullet suddenly bolted round one of the stranger’s legs and through his knees again. This retightened the slack in the rope. Furthermore, the rope was now entwined around one of the stranger’s legs as well. Before Sage could utter another word, she felt her body slam into the solid mass of the stranger’s, his chin meeting brutally with her forehead. Horrified—embarrassed beyond description—Sage looked up into the stranger’s handsome face.

  “Mighty unruly pup ya got there,” the stranger mumbled a moment before Bullet’s tug on the rope sent the man stumbling backward, taking Sage with him. Sage heard herself scream as the man lost his footing and fell flat on his back, pulling her down on top of him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she began to apologize as she watched the stranger grimace. No doubt the fall, coupled with the weight of Sage’s body on his, caused him great discomfort. To make matters worse, Bullet now stood over them—happily licking the man’s face. The man did not explode with anger—simply reached to his side and pulled a knife from his boot. Awkwardly, he reached down and cut the rope twisted around his leg.

  Once he had unwound the rope from about his leg, the man tossed it at the dog and said, “Take care of yer business, boy.” Bullet bounded off as happy as any dog could be.

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Sage argued. “He’ll go off and find Mr. Simmons’s lady dog and then…”

  “Then Mr. Simmons will have a new litter, won’t he?” the stranger stated, smiling as he looked at Sage. Sage was enchanted by his charming smile for a moment before realizing she still lay tangled up on the porch with a strange man. Gasping, she struggled to her feet, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek as the man then slowly stood. Sage removed the rope from her wrist, wishing she could simply disappear and not have to face such an uncomfortable situation. She had never been so physically intimate with a man—especially a complete stranger! The humiliation of it all turned her cheeks ripe as a late summer tomato.

  “Ya busted yer lip there, miss,” he said. “Probably when ya hit my knee fallin’ down so hard.”

  Embarrassed and thinking the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, Sage touched the corner of her mouth with her fingers. Yep. She was bleeding. She pressed the wound with the hem of her apron.

  “I’m so sorry about all this, Mr.…Mr.…” she stammered.

  “Mitchell,” the man answered, still frowning at her.

  “He’s just a pup, and he gets so excited,” she explained.

  “Ya sure yer all right, miss?” the man asked.

  “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” Feeling very self-conscious as the stranger stared at her disbelieving, she ventured, “How ’bout you?”

  Mr. Mitchell smiled—chuckled a bit. “Oh, I’m just fine, ma’am.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Mitchell?” Sage ventured, blushing under his gaze.

  “Well,” he began, studying Sage from head to toe, his amused grin broadening, “the sign says this is Willows’s Boardin’ House.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Sage Willows.”

  “Oh. Then I’m pleased to meet ya, Mrs. Willows.” Mr. Mitchell offered a hand to Sage. As she took it, she instantly wished she hadn’t accepted his friendly greeting of a handshake. As he grasped her hand firmly, it seemed as though some strange unseen source of heat traveled from Sage’s hand, up the length of her arm, and into her bosom.

  “Miss Willows,” she corrected him, releasing his hand as quickly as she could.

  “Oh,” he said. “Pleased to meet ya, Miss Willows.” The man stooped to pick up his hat, which had fallen to the porch during the ruckus with Bullet. “I’m lookin’ for Eugenia Smarthing.”

  “Oohhh!” Sage exclaimed. “You must be her nephew up from Santa Fe.” Sage smiled. “She’s been so excited about your comin’. All we’ve been hearin’ for weeks now is Reb this and Reb that. She’ll be so glad you’re here!”

  The man chuckled—his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Well, I’m mighty excited to see her too.”

  Sage looked at him, finding it rather difficult to breathe regularly. “So…you’re Eugenia’s nephew?”

  “Yep. My mother is Bridie Mitchell, Eugenia’s niece,” he explained.

  “Well…come on in,” Sage said. “I’ll run up and tell her you’re here.”

  Reb Mitchell nodded, but as Sage turned, expecting him to follow her into the house, he caught hold of her right hand. Once again startled by his touch, Sage stopped and looked back at him.

  “That there’s one nasty rope burn, Miss Willows,” he mumbled as he inspected the red chaffing on Sage’s wrist.

  “Oh,” Sage said. Having been distracted by the man’s presence, she hadn’t been aware of the pain of the wound until that very moment. “It…it’ll be fine,” she stammered, slowly pulling her hand from his grasp. “I’ll take care of it as soon as I’ve fetched your aunt.” He was intoxicatingly handsome, this nephew of Eugenia Smarthing’s. Sage felt a tremor of jealousy travel the length of her body at the thought of the way all the young girls in town would instantly take to fawning over him like a new puppy.

  “I didn’t telegram her I was on my way,” he said as he stepped into the house, hanging his hat on the hat rack near the front door. “Figured I’d just surprise her. I hope ya don’t mind, miss.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Mitche
ll,” Sage said. “And please, call me Sage.”

  “All right, Sage. And you can call me whatever ya want,” he said. Sage turned around, astounded more by the flirtatious intonation of his voice than by the implied intimacy of his words. Further, her mouth gaped open slightly as he actually winked at her and added, “As long as it ain’t ‘Mr. Mitchell.’ ”

  Sage was completely unsettled. The man had the manners of a saloon hound! No amount of good looks gave a man leave to be so improperly forward.

  Still, Sage was so undone by his flirtation—by his pure attractiveness—she was at a loss as to how to reprimand him. She could only gesture toward the parlor and say, “Please have a seat…and I’ll let your aunt know you’re here.”

  Reb Mitchell smiled as he watched the young woman run up the stairs. He had unsettled her and enjoyed observing the consequences. Chuckling, he stepped into the parlor of Willows’s Boarding House. The room was cozy with a happy atmosphere. He was pleased his great-aunt had found a haven after her husband’s passing. It was definitely a room meant for ladies—all ivory lace and doilies, framed photographs, and fringed curtains.

  Reb’s curiosity was piqued. How had a young girl such as Sage Willows come to be the proprietress of this house? She seemed a pleasant girl and was unusually pretty. Yet Reb knew all about women—especially the pretty ones. Like every other man on the face of the earth, he had been the victim of their catty, vindictive ways. He would ride clear of Miss Sage Willows.

  Still, he couldn’t stop the chuckle rising in his throat as he thought of the chaos the dog created at the door. Tangled up in the rope, lying on top of him out on the front porch for all the world to see—what a sight it must have been to anyone watching. No doubt she would wring the dog’s neck when he came home. Reb felt guilty for finding amusement and pleasure in Sage Willows’s obvious embarrassment—though not guilty enough to stifle another chuckle.