The Touch of Sage

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

“I’ll never eat beef again,” Livie sighed.

  “Me neither,” Rose said, nodding.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Mary groaned with disgust.

  “You’ll just have to make fried chicken and bacon from now on, Sage,” Rose said. “I don’t think I can eat beef again knowing what them cows go through.”

  “They slit their throats and butcher ’em up before the meat ever gets in yer stew, Rose! And yer worried about Winnery’s heifer getting poked with a pocket knife?” Mary asked. “And besides…I’m sure we could tell ya both a thing or two ’bout where yer fried chicken and bacon come from.”

  “Oh, I know where it all comes from, Mary…you old nag,” Rose said. “I just don’t like to think about it. That’s all.”

  Mary shook her head. “Ya know, Sage,” she began, “we oughta get Reb to give us a cow when his herd gets here. Maybe these two ninnies need some toughenin’ up.”

  Sage smiled. Oh, how she loved these people—the widows, the reverend and his wife, Winnery, and—she paused in her thoughts as her eyes fell to Reb. No. She couldn’t love Reb Mitchell. There was no time for it; she was too busy. And anyway, he couldn’t possibly love her in return. He had plans—plans for reviving his aunt’s ranch, for his herd, which would soon arrive from Santa Fe. Even if his plans did include a woman, Sage knew it wouldn’t be a weathered old spinster who ran a boarding house.

  She watched him closely for a moment—the rather alluring manner in which he lounged in the big parlor chair—the way he reached up and scratched the whiskers on his chin, how his eyes seemed to sparkle when he smiled or laughed.

  “Oh!” Sage suddenly exclaimed. “Dessert! I forgot all about dessert!”

  “Well, I’m glad ya remembered it,” Reb said. “I love dessert.”

  “Me too,” Sage couldn’t help saying as she smiled at him. Oh, he was delicious!

  Chapter Three

  “And I’ve got Mary’s liniment here if ya wanna take it on back with ya, Sage,” Mr. Getcher said. “It’ll save her the trip in.”

  “Thank you,” Sage said. “Her ankles have been givin’ her fits these past few days.”

  Mr. Getcher chuckled. “And I bet ya been hearin’ about it, too.” Sage smiled and nodded. “She’s a cantankerous old bird, that Mary Farthen,” he said, still smiling. “But a body can’t help but take to her.”

  Gareth Getcher owned the general store in town. He was a chubby man with dimples on his cheeks and very little gray hair left on his head. He had always reminded Sage of someone who should’ve owned a bakery in some big city somewhere. Ever smiling and friendly, Mr. Getcher was a dear soul, and Sage was very fond of him.

  “I hear Eugenia’s nephew has everythin’ ready out at the ranch,” Mr. Getcher said. “Hear tell his herd is on its way up from Santa Fe.”

  “That’s right,” Sage confirmed.

  Everywhere she went people were talking about Eugenia Smarthing’s nephew. It was almost irritating. Didn’t folks have anything better to do? Every conversation was “Reb Mitchell” this and “Eugenia’s nephew” that. He had literally become the talk of the town, and secretly Sage resented it. She had come to feel very—well, possessive of Reb. He was Eugenia’s nephew after all, and Sage had known him before anyone else. Since his arrival, everyone in the town had taken to Reb, and Sage was jealous. The fact worried her too. She had no right, no reason to feel the way she did where he was concerned. Still, she felt it, and it troubled her—for Reb seemed to belong to everyone. Every woman he met fell in love with him—in one manner or another—and she feared the day would come when he would fall in love with one of them in return. The thought made her stomach ache.

  Why, just that very morning, Sage had walked past Milly Michaels, Katie Bird, and Dotty Betten standing outside the dress shop talking—talking about Reb Mitchell, of course. It had been Milly who stopped Sage and inquired about Reb’s welfare.

  “Have ya coaxed him out to the boardin’ house for supper yet this week, Sage?” Milly asked. Milly Michaels was all of seventeen years old, but she tried to make people think she was older—more mature and wiser to life.

  “His aunt had him out for supper last night, Milly,” Sage said. “Along with Reverend and Mrs. Tippetts and Mr. Winnery. We all had a fine time.” Although Sage was irritated with Milly’s implication that Sage chased after Reb the way Milly did, Sage tried to appear indifferent.

  “Oh, come on, Sage,” Milly said, unconvinced of Sage’s lack of concern. “You’re old, but you’re not dead. Surely he’s caught yer eye more than you let on.”

  The words echoed through Sage’s mind like pieces of a shattered windowpane. Even now standing in the general store conversing with Mr. Getcher, the memory of Milly’s words hurt.

  “Reb says it’s a fine herd he’s bringin’ up,” Mr. Getcher said, pulling Sage’s thoughts back to the moment at hand.

  “Miss Eugenia seems to trust in it,” she said.

  “Well,” Mr. Getcher continued, “He’s a fine boy. A fine boy. He’ll make some gal a good husband.” Mr. Getcher winked at Sage, and the sick feeling in her stomach thickened—for she knew it wouldn’t be her—old Sage Willows, the town spinster.

  Sage forced a smile and sighed. “Well, I best be gettin’ back. If I’m not there when the ladies take to rummy…fists will be flyin’ for certain.”

  Mr. Getcher chuckled. “Well, ya have a nice afternoon, Sage,” he said. “And tell them ladies I send my regards.”

  “I will,” Sage said, smiling at the man. He was a kindhearted soul, and Sage knew he rather liked Mary. She giggled at the thought of cranky old Mary and sweet-natured Mr. Getcher being fond of one another.

  Sage stepped out of the general store and started toward the boarding house. But no sooner had her thoughts of romance between Mary and Mr. Getcher caused her to smile than she felt anxiety rise in her when she heard Forest Simmons’s angry voice behind her.

  “Sage Willows!” he nearly shouted. “That mutt of yers done put my lady in the puppy way last month!”

  Inhaling deeply, trying to find the strength to deal with yet another altercation with Mr. Simmons, Sage turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Simmons,” she told him. “I’ve given him over to Reb Mitchell. What more do you want me to do?”

  Mr. Simmons’s eyes narrowed. “Well,” he began, “if ya don’t want to take care of my lady and her litter ’til them dadburned pups are weaned…then I’ll just have to drown ’em.”

  Sage felt sick. She hated Forest Simmons! Hated him for the mean old man he was—hated him for offering to marry her on several occasions. Forest Simmons had proposed to Sage three times. Each time he had told her he was willing to save her from spinsterhood if she would marry him and birth him a few boys. The thought always made Sage want to vomit, but she had kindly turned him down each time instead. Even if he hadn’t been old and ugly, any man who would drown puppies made Sage’s stomach churn.

  “You know I can’t see puppies drowned, Mr. Simmons,” she said. “But…I…”

  At that very moment, Bullet came bounding up to Sage, sitting at her feet and panting happily as he looked up at her. Sage felt a wave of respite wash over her, for if Bullet was nearby then so was his owner.

  “Hey there, Forest,” Reb greeted, sauntering over from the blacksmith’s shop across the way. Reb reached out and took Forest’s hand, shaking it firmly. “I hear yer lady dog is expectin’ a litter,” he said. Sage wanted to burst into tears of relief at the sound of his voice. She looked to him and smiled when he quickly winked at her.

  “Yep. She is…no thanks to yer mutt, here,” Forest grumbled.

  “Oh, he’s a good dog…ain’t ya, Bullet?” Reb said, patting his dog on the head. “And I was wonderin’ if you’d be willin’ to let me take that litter off yer hands once they’re weaned.” Sage’s mouth gaped open slightly. She knew full well Reb had no use for a litter of pups. He already had Bullet.

  “The whole litter?” Forest asked,
disbelieving Reb’s sincerity.

  “Yep,” Reb confirmed. “My saddle pal, Charlie Dugger, is headin’ up here from Santa Fe with my cattle, and they make up a purty big herd. I think havin’ a few more dogs like Bullet around the ranch might come in handy. Charlie’s wantin’ a dog of his own whether or not he stays on with me…and I just thought ya might be lookin’ to give them pups away.”

  Forest looked at Sage. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Well, I don’t know…” he said. Sage was furious at his antics and couldn’t hold her tongue.

  “I’m certain Mr. Simmons wouldn’t mind handin’ the litter over to you, Reb,” she said, smiling sarcastically at the old man. “He was just now tellin’ me how he planned on drownin’ them once they were born.”

  Mr. Simmons’s face tightened as he glared at Sage, but he spoke to Reb. “I just don’t have the time to run around after a litter of pups. I told Sage here she’d have to take my lady and the pups in ’til they were weaned. I don’t have the time for it.”

  “Drown ’em?” Reb exclaimed. “Hell! I mean…heck,” he corrected, glancing to Sage. “I’ll take yer lady and her pups ’til the litter is weaned. Better havin’ ’em out at the ranch than cooped up at the boardin’ house with the ladies.”

  “I s’pose,” Forest mumbled. Sage was delighted in his obvious vexation. He had wanted to bully her around because he was just plain mean. But, like everyone else in town, Reb’s charm won him over.

  “Anyway,” Reb said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Forest. “Can ya just imagine Mary Farthen, Livie, and the rest of them ladies a-chasin’ around after a litter of pups?”

  Sage’s eyebrows rose in astonishment as she heard Forest Simmons chuckle, something akin to a smile spreading across his face.

  “It would be a sight,” Forest chuckled. With a heavy sigh, the old man finally agreed. “All righty, then. You can take my lady and her litter out to Buck’s old ranch…just ’til the litter is weaned. As long as I don’t have to bother with no rambunctious mess of dogs ya can have the pups, I guess.”

  “Thank ya, Forest,” Reb said, shaking the man’s hand again. “I can’t thank ya enough for doin’ me such a favor.”

  Forest smiled proudly, and Sage smiled too, amazed at Reb’s having won the old goat over.

  “I’ll bring her out in a week or two when she’s closer to bustin’,” Forest said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Reb said. “I’ll come in and get her when yer ready.”

  “Okeydokey,” Forest said. “Good day to ya, Miss Sage,” the man said before turning and leaving by way of entering the general store.

  Reb released a heavy sigh once the man was out of earshot and said, “Did I earn myself another pan of sage stuffin’, Miss Willows?”

  Sage smiled at him. How chivalrous he had been, coming to her rescue as he had!

  “Oh, I think so,” she answered. “I thought he was gonna eat me alive!”

  Reb chuckled. “Ol’ Forest might be old and ugly, but I don’t think he has enough teeth left in his head to take to bein’ a cannibal.”

  Sage covered her mouth with one hand, but not before a rather loud, unladylike laugh escaped.

  Reb smiled as he watched Sage giggle. Her eyes seemed to light up with delight in a way he had never seen them light up before, and the fact caused some sort of long-absent warmth to seep into his veins.

  He had been at the smithy and just happened to glance across the way to the general store in time to see Sage come out with a basket full of goods in hand. He had also seen Forest Simmons approach her—seen the way the color drained from Sage’s pretty face as the cranky old goat spoke to her. Further, he suspected what Forest was chewing her out about and knew he couldn’t let Sage endure it any longer.

  The last thing Rebel needed was a litter of rowdy pups tearing up his ranch house and outbuildings. But for some reason, Sage Willows brought out his protective nature, and now he found himself anticipating raising half a dozen pups. Still, he didn’t put it past Forest to be serious about wanting to drown the litter, and that was just plain ridiculous.

  “Thank you, Reb,” Sage said once she had managed to stifle her delightful giggles. “Just let me know when you want to come by for supper, and I’ll make sure stuffin’ is on the table for you.”

  “Good deal,” he said. Unexpectedly then, Sage reached up, brushing at something on Reb’s cheek. Reb was instantly unsettled by her touch. The soft, familiar scent of sage tickled his breath, and he suspected she had been pinching sage leaves again. Further, an instant pleasure welled up in his chest at the feel of her fingers on his skin, and he turned his face from her. The sensations her caressive touch had evoked in him had long been guarded—safely dormant somewhere deep within. She was dangerous—a threat to his resolve—and he hadn’t been prepared to defend himself from such feelings. Most of the time he could flirt, tease, even do a little sparking with a girl here and there without risking the slightest crack in his heart of stone. But Sage Willows was different. Reb had discovered the need to be well prepared defensively when in her presence, and at that moment he hadn’t been.

  Sage let her hand fall from Reb’s cheek—her fingers going to her collar buttons and fiddling with them nervously.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You had…you had dirt on your face.” She felt tears welling in her eyes. It had been a natural instinct that moved her hand to his cheek, but he was obviously not in need or want of her touch. Trying to distract herself from the desire to cry because of his obvious rejection, she reached down and patted Bullet’s happy head.

  “Y-you just let your aunt know what day you’ll be by for supper,” Sage choked, brushing past Reb quickly. In that same moment, she noticed the clouds moving in from the west, and she thanked the heavens for them. She knew she would sorely need them this day.

  Reb squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment, knowing he had offended her. But he was self-protective, empty—with nothing to offer a woman. He knew her gesture had been merely that of one friend looking out for another, but he also recognized the warmth in his body when she had touched him—knew it sprang from desire—from the want of her continued touch. It would’ve been dangerous to allow her to continue touching him when his resistance was down. Yet now he had slighted her, and that knowledge also caused him to feel.

  “Come on, Bullet,” he grumbled. “Let’s get on home.”

  Sage set the basket of things she had purchased from the general store on the boarding house front porch. The rain hadn’t arrived yet, and she needed it so desperately. Careless of her well-being—as her impending tears often found her—Sage went to the barn and saddled Drifter.

  She could feel the moisture heavy in her eyes, but the rain still had not come when she reached the creek bed. Quickly she tied Drifter’s reins to a piñon tree and hurried over the hill to Ruthie’s grave. As she knelt before the tiny gravestone, Sage felt the first blessed drops of rain on her cheeks, and with them Sage’s tears began to flow freely. The pain in her heart caused by Reb’s obvious disgust at her touch stung unbearably sharp and harsh. She felt as if someone had actually plunged something into her bosom. She sobbed bitterly, cried out with the agony of loneliness and despair.

  She loved him! She could no longer deceive herself—deny her heart, and the inward admission was excruciating. She kept seeing his face—the frown, which had instantly puckered his brow when she had touched him—kept envisioning the way his eyes narrowed with revulsion.

  “Am I so revolting, Ruthie?” she sobbed quietly. “It was just a smudge…a little bit of dirt. I-I only wanted to…” But her words were lost as tears and sobbing overwhelmed her again. The few soft drops of rain gave way to a heavier, colder downpour.

  Reb had approached Ruth’s grave from behind—for he had assumed he would find Sage there. When he had gone to the boarding house to offer some sort of awkward apology to her and found her basket sitting on the front porch, he had suspected she would go to Ruth. He
did not expect, however, to see her kneeling on the ground before the tiny gravestone drenched in tears as well as rain. Self-loathing overtook him at the sight. He turned Ned around and headed back to the boarding house. He would give Sage her privacy. He had stayed his distance, and the noise of the rain would drown out any sound his retreat might make. As he rode back to the boarding house, his resolve was firm—he owed his aunt’s friend an apology. No. He owed his friend an apology. Uncertain at that moment how to offer one to her, still he knew he must. He would wait for her to return—visit with his aunt and the other ladies—let Ned and Bullet keep company out in the barn while he waited out the rain. Sage—a sweet, beautiful young woman—did not deserve to be ill-treated by the likes of Rebel Mitchell. He would simply have to be on his guard better when she was around. After all, it wasn’t her fault Ivy Dalton had been born.

  

  “It was a hard row to hoe,” Reb’s aunt told him. “Four little girls left orphaned…and I say four little girls because Sage was only sixteen…a child herself, really.” Reb nodded, agreeing with his aunt’s opinion that Sage was very young to have had the responsibility of raising her sisters heaped on her shoulders. He thought of the girl now—kneeling before the tiny gravestone in the lonely pasture—crying in the rain. He clinched his jaw, angry with himself for adding to her misery.

  “Rosie was livin’ at Willows’s when Matthew and Susan died, and I know she was a real help and strength to Sage,” Eugenia continued. “Still, runnin’ a boarding house and bein’ a parent to those girls…well, Sage’s life just got skipped over. Even when Clark Miller wanted to court Sage…well, Sage was too busy with Karoline and April’s antics, and Clark turned his attention to Betty…the girl just two years under Sage. They got married…oh…about four years back and moved out to Texas. Then April married a year or so later and then Karoline just this past year.”

  “Ain’t real fair,” Reb mumbled.