Dropping her hand quickly, she added, “And she’ll have it right on the mouth.”
It seemed her touch had rattled Reb somehow as well. The amused smile owning his face only a moment before dissolved instantly—a slight frown puckering his brow. Immediately Sage began to inwardly scold herself for such a brazen act. She was reminded of the last time she had touched him in such a casual, yet somewhat affectionate, manner. The day his herd had arrived, when she’d touched him in the barn, simply wiped at the thick layer of dust on his chest, he’d been instantly angry. And yet, he’d been instantly something else as well, for he’d kissed her in that next moment—kissed her as Sage could never have imagined being kissed.
“Well then,” Reb rather growled. Sage held onto the wagon seat as Reb abruptly pulled the team to a stop. “I ain’t gonna let ya get away without it neither. The way I figure it, if losin’ a bet is gonna cost me…then it’s gonna cost you too.”
Sage’s heart began to hammer as she watched Reb climb down from the wagon. He held his hand up to her, gesturing she should take it. “Come on down then,” he said.
“Why?” Sage asked, tentatively placing her hand in his and climbing down from the wagon.
“I said I’d have my way with ya, didn’t I, Sage Willows?” he asked, placing his hands at Sage’s waist and pushing her back against the wagon.
“But you were only teasin’,” she reminded him. “Only teasin’ me. Remember?”
He smiled and chuckled, but only for a moment before his expression went serious once more as he said, “I wasn’t teasin’.”
Instantly his mouth took hers in a deep and driven kiss that threatened to draw her breath so completely from her lungs as to find her fainting. The fiery flames of instantaneous passion seared within her bosom! His hands at her waist, his mouth melded with hers, the feel of his mustache and goatee against the tender flesh of her face—all of it blended instantly, bearing Sage away in dreams of owning him—of belonging to him completely. She fancied his body was trembling—sensed he yet restrained himself. For several moments his kiss was so determined it was nearly painful. Bound fast in the power of his arms, Sage wondered at her ribs being crushed to dust. Sage imagined her fingers and hands were numb—and her feet. Her knees threatened to weaken and give way beneath her.
She gasped as his mouth left hers for a moment, his breathing heavy and labored as he pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat—as Sage allowed her hands to travel to the back of his neck, losing her fingers in his hair. This simple gesture seemed to encourage Reb even further, and Sage gasped as he took her face between his powerful hands. The smoldering flame in his eyes—his labored breathing—told her he was struggling to restrain an even greater passion.
“Here and now,” he said, his voice low, alluring, thick, and warm like maple syrup. “Let’s you and me decide what kind of a kiss I’m gonna give Miss Rosie tomorrow night. Do ya think I should kiss her sweet…like this?” Reb asked as he kissed Sage’s cheek. His thumb caressively traveled over her lips. “Or sweeter even…like this?” Sage could not withhold the soft sigh of pleasure that escaped her as Reb placed a soft, lingering kiss on her tender lips. “Maybe I should tease her a bit,” he whispered. He kissed her neck, lightly—slow—three times in succession. “Ya know what I mean? See if she truly wants me to kiss her,” he added.
“She does,” Sage whispered as he again took her face in his powerful hands and gazed down at her.
“Does she?” he asked, a grin of intrigued mischief spreading across his handsome face.
“Yes,” Sage breathed. Oh, how desperately she thirsted for his kiss! Her mouth watered at the anticipation of it, and she knew she must have his mouth to hers again.
Again Reb caressed her lips with one thumb as he asked, “But which kiss do ya think she wants? Which kiss do you want, Sage?” He kissed her cheek lightly. “This one?” He kissed her lips softly, “This one?” He pressed his lips to the sensitive flesh of her neck, asking, “This one?” He looked at her then, his eyes narrowing, his thumb traveling over her lips.
Sage could endure his taunting no longer. Reaching up, she took his face in her hands, pulling his head toward hers as she said, “This one,” an instant before taking his mouth with hers. She kissed him deeply, letting the flavor of his mouth wash over her like a warm summer rain. He returned her kiss ardently—acceptingly. She heard a low moan rumble in his throat a moment before he took the reins himself, binding her in his arms, pulling her body flush with his own as he endeavored to consume her with passion.
Once, he broke from her for an instant—long enough to whisper, “This is my favorite kiss too. Good choice, Miss Willows.”
Reb kissed her again then—deeply, firmly, passionately—until Sage thought she might never again draw sufficient breath. She felt her inhibitions melting away—felt courage, confidence, and a sort of liberation filling her body and mind. Perhaps Rebel Mitchell was obtainable! Perhaps she could win him—own him—marry him and bear his children! All thoughts of the boarding house and of the widows’ dependency on her fled. Only thoughts of at last being cared for herself—protected and loved—filled her mind. In her dreams borne in those moments, she could well imagine a life with Reb—a life filled with passion, joy, cattle ranching, and babies all her own. Visions of sleeping in his arms, warm and secure, wafted through her mind—visions of smiling, laughing, and caring for Reb and their children—visions Sage had so long been afraid to let run freely in her soul burst forth filling her with hope and happiness.
“This ain’t exactly safe for ya, I don’t think,” Reb mumbled, suddenly breaking the seal of their lips and shaking his head. Sage was flushed, overly warm, and breathless.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she said, uncertain as to his meaning. How could being held in the strength of his arms, lost in the blissful sensation of his kiss, prove harmful to her? She watched as he stepped back from her, running his fingers through his hair.
“Maybe yer fine right now…but any more of this…and I might be too tempted to make good on collectin’ my winnin’s by downright and truly havin’ my way with ya,” he told her.
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Sage said, smiling at him as he motioned for her to climb back up onto the wagon seat. “You would never—”
“Never say never, sugar,” he chuckled. “Never say never.” He helped her back up onto the wagon, running his fingers through his hair once more. He climbed up to sit next to her, exhaled a deep breath, and slapped the lines. “The baked beef waitin’ for us at the ranch is gonna seem mighty dull after what I just tasted,” he said, smiling at her with a wink. “After all, yer the first dancehall girl I ever kissed,” he said, chuckling as she blushed.
Sage smiled, wanting nothing more than to take Reb’s arm, rest her head on his shoulder, and revel in the lingering sensation of their affectionate exchanges. Yet all at once her doubts—her reserve and the reality of who she truly was—renewed afresh. In the quiet space of only a few moments, Sage the momentary dancehall girl was old Sage Willows once again—old Sage Willows, the proper, spinsterly proprietress of Willows’s Boarding House.
Sage frowned. Why couldn’t the joy—the zenith of what had just transpired between her and Reb—linger awhile? Why did she immediately lose courage and confidence once he had released her? Sage glanced to Reb, and even though he smiled and winked at her, she struggled—struggled to believe his affections were administered with sincerity.
Their conversation was lighthearted as they rode toward the ranch. The splendor of the early evening spoke of ease and lightheartedness. Yet even for the brilliant fire of the Indian paintbrush growing in bunches along the trail, the scent of the wild sage, and the happy sight of furry critters scurrying here and there through the beautiful high-plains grasses—even for the warmth of the burning sun, Sage could not recapture the ecstasy of the moments spent kissing Reb.
Reb seemed at ease—smiling—discussing the silly widows and their intricately hatched pl
ots. He discussed the ranch with Sage—his concerns for the herd and about the mountain lion he knew was in the area. He told her of the new hands he had hired—of Milly Michaels’s shameless flirting with Charlie Dugger, and chuckling at his friend’s discomfort.
Sage likewise spoke of the widows—told him of her sisters and their families—inquired as to the well-being of Bullet, Mr. Simmons’s lady dog, and the puppies. Yet there seemed no real depth to their conversation. Sage wondered if perhaps she expected too much. Perhaps lighthearted stories and concerns were the best kind. Perhaps it was good she and Reb were casually cheerful.
Soon the ranch was in view, and Reb helped Sage down from the wagon before leading the team toward the big barn.
“I’ll have ’em unhitched in a jiffy, and then we’ll sit down to supper,” he told her with a wink. “Ya can run on in the house if you’d like…or the pups are in the old barn by the corral.”
Sage nodded and smiled. She loved puppies! To her the tummies of little puppies were one of the sweetest scents on earth. She smiled, quickly glancing about to ensure none of Reb’s hands were likely to see her in such a state of attire. As she neared the dilapidated old barn, the sudden angry barking of an adult dog caused her to startle. Sage hastened her step when she heard a dog yelp and the frightened squeaking of puppies. Had a fox gotten in the old barn? The noises coming from the direction of it were those of fear.
“Bullet?” she called. “Bullet?”
Sage gasped as a large mountain lion suddenly stepped out of the barn—a dead puppy trapped in its powerful jaw. The animal was rather gaunt and otherwise weathered in appearance.
“Reb?” Sage squeaked as the mountain lion instantly dropped the dead puppy. The indescribable, scratchy cry of the mountain lion’s warning sent waves of terror through Sage’s body. It was obvious the cat was old, but it was also perfectly clear that it was still capable of killing a human being. “Reb? Reb! Rebel!” Sage screamed as the cat took two stalking steps toward her. There was no other choice but to turn and run!
Sage heard the mountain lion’s hoarsely purred threat again but did not pause to look back. It was not until she felt fiery claws tearing the flesh on her back—felt the enormous cat’s teeth plunge deep into her shoulder—felt her body hit the ground hard—it was then she knew she would die.
Chapter Nine
“Sage!” Rebel shouted, running toward her. He had known instantly—when he heard her cry out for him—he had known at once it was the mountain lion. The cat released its hold on Sage as Reb ran toward it. He didn’t fear the cat—Sage was in danger. He tried to focus on the threat and on distracting the beast from Sage. He tried not to panic at the knowledge Sage lay bloodied on the ground. The beast lunged at Reb. He managed to pull the knife from his boot but not before the massive claws of the animal shredded the front of his shirt, tearing into his flesh.
Sage tried to scream as she watched Reb wrestle with the enormous mountain lion. She tried to sit up, but the pain at her back and shoulder, coupled with the shock of being attacked, weakened her. She could only watch in horror! The cat’s jaws snapped at Reb’s throat. Somehow he managed to avoid it.
The animal’s claws tore through his pants at one thigh, and Sage screamed, “Rebel!” as blood spilled down his leg. She knew he could not fight the cat for long, and she screamed again, certain she was about to see him killed. Somehow, Reb managed to hook two fingers into the animal’s nostrils. He scrambled to turn the beast and wrenched its head back as he swiftly and fatally drew his knife across its throat. Blood spewed from the big cat’s neck as Reb released it, letting the vanquished creature drop to the dirt.
Sage let her head fall to the ground again, the excruciating pain at her shoulder and back draining any remaining strength from her. The tears spilling from her eyes blurred her vision—tears borne not of her own pain but of the sight of the blood staining the front of Reb’s shirt and pants.
“Rebel,” she breathed as he collapsed to his knees beside her. “Reb, we…we…have to get you to town…to…to Doc Roberts.”
“I’m fine, sugar,” he told her, afraid to touch her for fear of causing her greater pain. “I’m…I’m fine…but we need to get ya into the house…get…get this cleaned up here.”
“No, no,” Sage panted, trying to raise herself from the ground. “You’ll get infection if we don’t get to Doc Roberts’s place and—”
“It’s no good,” Reb told her, tentatively touching her undamaged shoulder. He panted with the residual exertion of fighting the cat. “He ain’t there. I saw his boy this mornin’, and he told me Doc Roberts is up at his daughter’s place ’til the end of the month. We’ll…I’ll have to take care of this myself. Then we’ll figure on gettin’ ya back to the boardin’ house. I’d take ya now, but we’d better…we’d better get these wounds cleaned before we do anythin’ else. You might bleed to death before we got to town anyway.”
Reb’s body shook uncontrollably, but not from his own pain. He trembled with fear—fear borne of concern for Sage’s well-being—for her life! The torn flesh at her back—the deep wounds of the mountain lion’s claws—soaked the fabric of her dress with blood. The puncture wounds at her shoulder bled. He closed his eyes for a moment, thanking Heaven the beast had not had time or the strength to tear her flesh any further. Still, she was in danger—in danger from loss of blood and from infection.
With Doc Roberts away, Reb was certain it was best to tend to Sage’s wounds immediately rather than try for town. Further, he wasn’t certain, because of his own injuries, that he could get Sage safely back to the boarding house. Already he felt weak and light-headed. What good would it do to try for town if he passed out, leaving them both prey to the buzzards and coyotes? Frantically he gathered her in his arms, grimacing with his own pain as he carried her to the house. She felt heavy, and he was further reminded of his weakened condition.
“Rebel,” Sage gasped, her hand going to the torn flesh of his torso. “Oh, Reb!” she breathed a moment before she lost consciousness.
Once inside, he laid her on her stomach on the kitchen floor and, with still trembling hands, set a pot of water to boil.
“Oh, God,” he breathed the prayer, “settle me down here enough to do this, please.” Retrieving the knife from his boot, he wiped the bloody thing on his pant leg and began to cut away the back of Sage’s dress. His eyes filled with moisture, and he drew in a deep breath as he gazed at the torn flesh. The sight of her soft skin, so smooth, so pristinely fair, only accentuated the bloody wounds that now marred it. Reb closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply several times. It would do Sage no good if he were not able to remain strong and settled.
His hands trembled violently, and he felt the sting of excess moisture in his eyes, wincing as he opened them and again looked at the soft, tender, and torn flesh of Sage’s back. Four long lacerations traveled several inches from her right shoulder blade downward. Though Rebel knew a younger, stronger cat would have done much greater damage, it sickened and terrified him to see Sage’s tender body so wounded.
Quickly he went to the washbasin stand and retrieved a brick of soap. He filled the basin with fresh, cool water, retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the basin cabinet, and set them on the floor next to Sage. As he scrambled to find a needle and thread in his aunt’s old sewing table, he startled as he heard Sage moan.
“Don’t wake up yet, girl,” he mumbled as he retrieved the pot of hot water from the stove and dropped to his knees next to her. “Not yet.”
Tearing what remained of his tattered shirt from his body, he dipped it in the hot water, carefully cleaning the area around Sage’s wounds. He lathered the soap and ran it over the wounds at her back and shoulder. Dipping his fingertips into the hot water, he soaped them up. Drawing in a deep breath, he inserted his smallest finger into one of the bite wounds at Sage’s shoulder. He repeated this action several times on each wound, finally rinsing all the wounds with whiskey. He poured the whiskey over the
claw lacerations on his own back and across the wounds at his chest and on his leg only as an afterthought.
Reb found it difficult to thread the needle, for his hands shook fiercely from the strain of handling Sage’s tender, torn flesh so roughly. His eyes again blurred with restrained tears. Finally, he was able to thread it.
With tremulous hands, he began to carefully stitch the wounds on Sage’s back as best as his rough sewing skills would allow. Each time he inserted the needle into her tender, torn flesh, he whispered, “Keep breathin’, sugar…but don’t wake up yet.” He tried to be careful to make his stitches small and as close together as his shaky hands would allow. With his forearm, he wiped at the nervous perspiration on his forehead—wiped at the tears in his eyes with the back of his hand.
It seemed he had spent an eternity stitching her delicate flesh. When he at last finished, he winced and let a tear escape one eye as he studied the young woman’s mutilated flesh. The attack most likely would leave her scarred quite brutally. Her tender, soft, beautiful back would forever bear the mark of Reb’s lack of a physician’s skill. Still, it was her life that mattered, and Reb patched the bite marks as best he could with a couple of rough stitches as well. Again he thanked the Heavens he had arrived before the old cat had mustered the strength to completely tear the flesh from Sage’s shoulder.
Pouring more whiskey over his torso then, he threaded the needle once more and went to work on himself. The pain of stitching his own wounds paled in comparison to the pain he had known in stitching Sage’s. Again he thought of how near she’d come to death, hoping she would not still come near to it because of his lack of skill and knowledge.
The Touch of Sage Page 15