“Many things aren’t in life,” Eugenia said. “Are they now?” Reb looked away from his aunt, his teeth grinding with anger and resolve.
“So anyway,” Eugenia continued, “I think Sage has resigned herself to us…me, Rosie, Livie, and Mary. And I think I would too, if Forest Simmons was my only other choice.”
Reb frowned. “Did that ol’ goat really ask her to marry him?” The thought of Sage married to Forest Simmons made Reb’s stomach churn.
Eugenia nodded. “Yes, he did,” she told him. “Offered her a great life too…told her he’d save her from bein’ a spinster if she married him and had a couple of boys for him.”
“Well, that just makes me plum sick,” Reb growled.
“Which part, sweetie?” Eugenia asked. “Him callin’ her a spinster straight to her face?”
Reb shook his head and growled with disgust. “No. The thought of her havin’ to take to his bed.”
Eugenia smiled. Reb was undone, and she was delighted by it. Something had happened in town that day. Something other than what Reb had told her about Forest Simmons barking at Sage about his lady dog’s impending litter. She hadn’t quite been able to get out of him exactly what it was, but something had happened. She was convinced of it. Furthermore, whatever it was had completely rattled Reb, and that is precisely what she wanted to see. Rebel Lee Mitchell needed some rattling.
She smiled and continued, “She refused his proposal, of course, and he got more and more hateful toward her every time she did.”
“Well, ain’t there plenty of young bucks around here?” Reb asked. He was irritated, nervous, and angry. Eugenia smiled.
“Sure. Plenty of young does too, boy. Or hadn’t you noticed?” Eugenia asked.
Reb rolled his eyes and scratched his goatee. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I noticed. They’re like a pack of wolves a-droolin’ over a wounded baby.” He shook his head. “Still, she ain’t that much older than Milly Michaels and the rest of those honeycombs here ’bout. And she’s a far sight better lookin’. A far sight!” he said.
Eugenia nodded. “Yes, she is,” she agreed. “But she’s resigned.”
“From what?” Reb asked.
Eugenia chuckled at the silly man. “She’s resigned herself to bein’ alone. I think it’s become easier for her to just sit around and laugh at us than to hope for somethin’ more fullfilin’ out of life.”
Reb nodded, and Eugenia knew he understood all too well how Sage felt.
“So,” Eugenia began, “what else happened in town today? I mean…it’s rainin’ like mad outside, I know. But, I get the feelin’ you aren’t just sittin’ here waitin’ for Rosie, Mary, and Livie to get up from their nappin’.”
Reb shook his head, shifted his weight uncomfortably in the parlor chair, and nervously scratched his whiskery chin again.
“Oh, I…I done somethin’…somethin’ wrong. I think anyway,” he mumbled. Eugenia raised a curious eyebrow.
“Like what?” she asked. Reb rubbed his hand across his face. It was obvious he was agitated.
“Well, when we was standin’ out there in town, after ol’ Forest had wandered off…Sage…she just reached up to rub somethin’ off my cheek, and I…I…” he stammered.
“You what?” Eugenia urged.
“I pulled away all kinda irritated like,” he finally admitted.
“For cryin’ in the bucket, boy…ya did not!” Mary exclaimed as she, Rose, and Livie stepped into the parlor. Reb rolled his eyes and shook his head. Still, a grin spread across his face quickly enough.
“You three are awful!” Eugenia scolded. “Don’t you have a lick of sense in ya? I’m in here havin’ a private conversation with my nephew…my nephew, mind you…and you three are eavesdroppin’ like the devil’s own!”
“Well, it’s rainin’,” Mary grumbled, somewhat humbly. “And ya know what goes on ’round here when it’s rainin’.”
“What goes on when it’s rainin’, Miss Mary?” Reb asked.
Eugenia could see his annoyance with the eavesdroppers had quickly disappeared. No doubt he was relieved at the interruption. After all, there wasn’t any way he would feel pressured to reveal any more secrets to her now. Not with three old nosey-bodies around.
“Sage-tears,” Rose said quietly.
“What?” Reb asked.
“That’s what we call the rain…Sage-tears,” Livie explained.
“It’s the only time Sage ever cries…when the rains come,” Mary mumbled.
Sage was grateful for the fire in the parlor hearth—grateful Rose knew her well enough to prepare one—knew Sage wouldn’t be in until night had fallen or the rain had stopped. The rain had brought not only moisture but cooler temperatures, and after being out in such weather for so many hours, Sage was chilled to the bone. It was always Rose who left a fire for Sage, for she had known about Sage’s rainy-day tears for many more years than the others.
Sage had crept quietly into the house by way of the back door and now stood dripping wet and shivering in front of the fire. Although her tears and sobbing served to aid Sage, the powerful release of emotion had left her tired and weak and cold. The warmth from the fire caused her trembling to increase as her body tried to regain its heat and strength.
Sage had taken the pins out of her hair long before returning to the house, and now she combed it with her fingers, drawing it over one shoulder so the fire’s warmth could aid it into beginning to dry. Still, she shivered too violently for comfort. Having left her shoes and stockings just inside the back door, she began unfastening the buttons at the waist of her skirt. Letting the drenched fabric of her skirt and petticoats fall to the floor around her feet, she stepped away and began to work at the buttons on the back of her shirtwaist. Once her shirtwaist was removed, she stood before the fire in her camisole, corset, and pantalets.
Already she was warmer, and when the soft blanket touched her shoulders, she smiled—grateful for Rose’s waiting up for her. Rose often waited up long hours into the night—waiting for Sage to return from one of her rainy excursions. Sometimes Sage would find the tub sitting before the fireplace—hot water boiling on the stove. Rose would help her pour the hot water into the tub and then leave her to her peace and a warming bath.
Smiling, Sage turned to thank Rose for waiting up for her again this night. She gasped, however, horrified when she saw it was Reb who had placed the blanket around her shoulders and now stood before her—his eyes warm and dark in the firelight. Sage covered her trembling lips with one hand and, though she thought she had cried her eyes dry, she felt the excess moisture of threatening tears.
“I’ve been waitin’ on ya,” he said. His voice was quiet and deep—sweet like honey and butter. For a moment Sage was distracted by the fact his shirt—untucked from his pants—hung open revealing the flawlessly sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach. His hair was mussed—as if he had just awakened—and he ran his fingers through it slowly when he realized she was studying him. “You’ve been gone for hours,” he added.
“I-I…I…” she stammered. The impropriety of the situation coupled with the pure titillation of it caused her mind to run empty.
“Ya lost track of time?” he asked. She could only nod, pulling the blanket tighter around her body. “I do that a lot,” he mumbled, his eyes seeming to linger on the length of her hair. Sage was uncomfortable—painfully so—and she certainly wasn’t used to appearing in front of any man with her hair down, regardless of her manner of dress.
“Why are you here?” she asked, rather more severely than she intended. Seeing him only brought her pain. She had spent the entire afternoon and evening purging her body of tears—driving heartache away, and now here it stood before her—handsome—alluring.
“I-I wanted to apologize to ya,” he said.
Sage turned from him, trying to concentrate on the fire in the hearth. “For what?” she asked. “I should be apologizin’ to you for saddlin’ ya with a litter of pups. Not to mention their daddy.”
“I’m a hard man, Sage,” he said. “And I don’t trust women, especially ones any younger than Miss Mary Farthen.” A soft warmth began to envelop Sage, and she couldn’t discern if it began with the blanket Reb had draped over her shoulders or with his attempt at lightening her mood. She stiffened, however, when she felt his hands on her shoulders, coaxing her to turn and face him again. When she finally did—it was to find his eyes smoldering dark and enticing—his hair still delightfully mussed.
“But I know yer just tryin’ to be my friend,” he said. Sage glanced away, afraid he would see the tears in her eyes. Her heart was pounding so violently she feared it might beat itself to quitting altogether. His hand on her face as he cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him, nearly melted her into a puddle at his feet.
“I’m just not used to bein’ touched by pretty girls,” he said, smiling down at her. Sage smiled, moved by his efforts to ease her mind. He dropped his hand from her chin.
“So,” she ventured, “you’re a hard man, who doesn’t trust women…and you’re a liar too?”
“What?” he asked, obviously puzzled.
“Milly Michaels can’t wait to get her hands on you, and that alone tells me you’ve been touched by many a pretty girl,” she told him. “And anyway…I don’t quite fit in that ‘pretty girl’ corral anymore, now do I?”
Reb’s eyes narrowed; his smile faded as he studied her for a moment before mumbling, “Yer right. Yer more the ‘beautiful woman,’ type,” he said. Again Sage felt tears fill her eyes, and she turned her face from him quickly. How could he tease her so cruelly? Or was he teasing? The mad pounding of her heart caused her to think perhaps he was sincere—and that consideration caused her even more discomfort.
“Look here,” he said. She obeyed and looked back at him to see him point to a smudge of mud on his cheek. “I smudged it up…just so ya could brush it off again.”
Sage smiled. Sure enough! A dark and much larger mud smudge donned his cheek.
“Bullet wanted to go ahead and lick it off for me, but I told him I was savin’ it as part of my apology to ya,” Reb said smiling. Sage’s heart softened—melted—warmed like butter in a hot skillet. As he took her hand, raising it and pressing it to his cheek, Sage felt her body begin to tremble with fascination.
“Will ya give me another chance at bein’ yer friend, Sage Willows?” he whispered. Sage felt her breath increase to a rapid pace as he drew her fingers to his lips, placing a soft kiss on them as he looked at her. “One more chance?” he whispered again, rubbing the whiskers of his mustache across her tender fingertips. “And you’ve been pinchin’ sage leaves again, haven’t ya?” Sage smiled. It was true! On her way in through the back door, she had paused long enough to pinch a sage leave from the plant in the barrel, savoring its fragrant aroma as she entered the house. Still his touch—the feel of his lips and the soft whiskers of his mustache on her fingertips—was too enthralling, and she pulled her hand from his grasp, brushing the dried mud from his cheek quickly.
“Thank ya, Miss Sage,” he said, smiling at her. “I’ll sleep easier tonight knowin’ yer home and safe…and not angry at me anymore. Right?”
Sage smiled. “Do you still want that stuffin’ I owe ya?” she asked, stepping back from him. His nearness was unendurable—for Sage wanted nothing more than to throw herself against his strong body and beg him to embrace her.
Reb smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said empathically. “I need somethin’ to keep me goin’ while I’m raisin’ all these dogs you saddled me with.”
Sage giggled. “You’re the one who cut him loose,” she reminded him.
He chuckled. “What was I supposed to do? Lay there on the porch all tangled up with ya? Folks woulda been talkin’ for years.” Sage’s skin prickled with goose bumps, delighted by the memory of the first moments she met Reb Mitchell. “I mighta had to make an honest woman of ya,” he added. Instantly, Sage’s smile left her face. She stepped back another step, further unsettled by his nearness and implications of intimacy.
“I’m just teasin’ ya, Sage,” he chuckled. Then moving closer to her and lowering his voice he asked, “Still…if it came down to it…who would ya rather have make an honest woman of ya? Old Forest Simmons…or me?” Sage felt her jaw go slack, her mouth gaping open in astonishment. Reb laughed, his smile brightening the dimly lit room.
“Oh, quit horsin’ around, boy,” came Mary’s irritated voice from just beyond the parlor. “Just kiss her, dang it all!”
Reb turned on his heels, startled by Mary’s sudden outburst. Sage was torn between the conflicting emotions of being mortified at Mary’s eavesdropping and euphoric at the thought of Reb’s actually following the older woman’s order.
“Mary!” Sage scolded. “What are you doin’?”
Mary stepped into the parlor carrying a glass of milk. She wore her usual sour expression and just about the rattiest old red nightgown Sage had ever seen.
“What am I doin’?” she exclaimed. “I ain’t the one standing here half-neked in the parlor with a half neked man,” she grumbled. Reb chuckled, but Sage was embarrassed beyond any ability to speak further.
“Get on home with ya, Reb,” Mary ordered. “If yer too ignorant to take advantage of this situation any further…then yer just a-wastin’ my time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reb said, still chuckling. Turning back to Sage he said, “I need my stuffin’ ’fore the week’s out.” He winked at her and left the parlor, retrieving his hat from the hat rack by the front door.
As he started to open the door, Mary grumbled, “Out the back, boy! People might see ya if ya go out the front there. Ya ain’t got the sense God give a cricket.”
Still chuckling, Reb tipped his hat and said, “Good night then, Miss Sage…Miss Mary.” Then he disappeared into the darkness of the kitchen, and Sage heard the back door open and close quietly.
Sage sighed, uncomfortable under Mary’s disapproving stare.
The old woman sipped her milk for a moment—studied Sage from head to toe and said, “Yer gonna have to pull yerself up by the bootstraps and go after that boy a little more vigorous, Sage.” Sage’s mouth gaped open in astonishment and Mary’s forthright advice. “Oh, close yer mouth, girl,” Mary said, smiling. “I know Rose and Livie ain’t the only ones a-dreamin’ of Reb Mitchell’s kisses.” With that, she left Sage standing alone in the parlor so warm from Reb’s attentions she no longer needed the blanket he had placed about her shoulders.
Letting the blanket fall to the floor in a heap with her wet skirt and petticoats, Sage returned to combing her long hair with her fingers. She turned toward the fire, smiling. Reb cared enough for her—or at least for her feelings—to have waited until she came home so he could make things right between them. It had been over six hours since she had left her basket on the front porch, saddled Drifter, and ridden off into the isolation of the rain. He had waited six hours for her! Six hours! How Sage wished Milly Michaels could see her now, wished all the girls in town could’ve seen Reb waiting for her—draping the blanket around her shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to her fingers. She held her fingers to her lips—the very fingers Reb had kissed. However lightly he may have kissed them, still he had kissed them, and in kissing them he had kissed her—in a manner.
Sage sighed and, careless of leaving her wet clothes on the parlor floor, climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Any other night, sleep would be impossible to catch up with after such euphoric moments as the ones spent with Reb in the parlor. But the heavy fatigue of expelling her heartache in the rain had weakened Sage, and she did fall asleep—with the feel of Reb Mitchell’s kiss on her fingertips.
Chapter Four
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and the scent of frying bacon filled the kitchen of Willows’s Boarding House. Sage hummed a favorite melody, pausing to listen to the meadowlarks call for a moment before turning the eggs in the skillet. She couldn’t seem to keep from smiling, for the events of the
night before—the moments spent with Reb in the firelight of the parlor—kept floating through her mind. It seemed as though the pain she had cried for the day before was somewhere off in the distant past. All she could think of now was the fact Reb had waited for hours and hours to apologize to her.
She smiled as a robin suddenly alighted on the windowsill of the open window. “Did you smell the bacon too?” she asked it. “I can’t believe Miss Rosie is still asleep. Bacon usually wakes her the moment it hits the skillet.”
“I think Reb’s herd is here!” Eugenia said, rushing into the kitchen and to the open window, causing the robin to take flight. “Listen, Sage.” Sage paused and tried to hear something above the sizzle of bacon cooking.
“I don’t hear anythin’,” she said.
“Oh, come on!” Eugenia said, taking Sage’s hand and pulling toward the front door. Quickly Eugenia opened the door and stepped out onto the porch and into the early morning sunshine. “Listen. Can you hear them?”
Sage closed her eyes and listened. A heavy, rumbling sound reached her ears. It grew less faint, and she opened her eyes again looking to the east and shading her face with one hand. In the distance she could see a large cloud of dust—and then the herd appeared rising over a hill.
“It’s them! It’s Reb’s herd!” Eugenia exclaimed. Sage smiled—for Eugenia’s face was simply resplendent. No doubt the herd put her in mind of her husband and the wonderful life they’d spent together on their ranch.
“What’s all the racket?” Mary grumbled, coming to stand next to Sage on the porch. Sage was glad the old woman had taken the time to bring a shawl with her, for she still wore the rattiest red nightgown Sage had ever seen.
“It’s Reb’s herd!” Eugenia told her. “Just comin’ through town. Look there!”
Sage smiled as the whistles and cattle calls of the cowboys driving the herd became audible then. She watched as the other residents in town stepped out onto their porches to see what the noise was. Soon the street was filled with cattle kicking up dust and bawling their complaints as the cowboys drove them straight through the center of town.
The Touch of Sage Page 7