“He’ll cool off, Reverend,” Mary said, placing a comforting arm around Sage’s shoulders.
“H-he never kissed me like that,” Ivy repeated. The woman seemed entirely awestruck. But Sage didn’t care. She didn’t care about any of it—only the fact Reb somehow thought of her in the same loathing regard as he did Ivy.
“I ’spect that oughta tell you somethin’ then, miss,” Winnery mumbled.
“Come on, Sage,” Mary said. “Let’s get home.”
Sage shook her head. “I-I need a walk, Mary,” she said. “I-I just need a little walk.”
“All right, honey,” Mary said. “All right.”
As Sage turned to leave, Ivy caught hold of her arm. Sage looked at the vile beauty—repulsed by her touch.
“I hate you,” Ivy growled. “I hate you for the way he kissed you just now.”
Sage drew in a deep breath. “Then we’re even, Ivy Dalton,” she said. “Because I hate you. I hate you for ever hurting him.”
Sage turned then—turned and walked away. She wasn’t certain at first that her legs could support her. She wasn’t certain she wouldn’t collapse in a sobbing heap right there in the middle of town. Yet somehow she managed—she managed to keep walking. Somehow she managed to make it to Ruthie. And when she did, she wondered what it would be like to lay quiet and peaceful beneath the sweet green grass of the pastures. She imagined it would be cold and lonely—as cold and lonely as her heart felt now. Only her heart couldn’t ascend to the glories of heaven. Though her lips still burned with the fire of Reb’s kiss, her soul felt abandoned and cold. Though her heart still ached with the pain of being in love with a man who was so far out of reach, her arms and legs were numb.
As Sage lay down in the grass next to Ruthie’s grave, tears spilled from her eyes at last. As she cried out the aching of her wounded heart and soul, the clouds drifted silently overhead. As she sobbed for want of being in Reb’s arms—of simply being in his company—meadowlarks nesting in the piñon trees nearby called out their happy summer songs. And as she drifted into a sad slumber—exhausted from her tears and heartache—the breeze played among the wildflowers, and cattle grazed nearby—careless of the world.
Chapter Twelve
“Never thought I’d see the day that nephew of mine would spend a night in jail,” Eugenia said.
Sage sighed. She reached down and drew a wet petticoat out of the basket at her feet. Shaking it out, she took two clothespins from the pocket of her apron and attached the garment to the clothesline.
“Did you…did you get to talk to him then?” Sage asked. Though she’d cried herself to sleep near Ruthie’s grave the day before, Sage had been unable to sleep soundly through the night. She could think of nothing but Reb—his anger at the cowboy who betrayed him, the beating he’d given the man, and his ordering Ivy to leave. Most of all, however, her thoughts lingered on the way he’d looked at her—accusing her of being just like Ivy. The kiss he’d given her had been administered with a brutal passion—an infuriated desire. Yet his eyes held more hurt and anger than she could ever imagine.
All through the night, Sage had tossed and turned—replayed every event—every moment she’d ever spent in Reb Mitchell’s presence. The angel on her right shoulder whispered he cared for her—was hurt—that she’d broken his heart by not going to him after the mountain lion attack. The devil perched on her left shoulder, however, murmured he saw every woman as owning as black and as selfish a heart as Ivy’s—and that it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d gone to him.
“Yep,” Eugenia said. “Went down to the jail yesterday right after it all happened thinkin’ I could talk some sense into Sheriff Lambson and get Reb out. But after I saw the way that boy was still carryin’ on…” Eugenia shook her head. “Well,” she continued, “I got to thinkin’ a night in jail might be just what he needed.” Eugenia sighed. “It seemed to do him some good ’cause when I saw him just now, he was settled down and on his way home like a whipped dog with its tail between its legs.”
“He’s all right then?” Sage asked, pinning a white shirtwaist to the clothesline.
“Well, he’s out of jail, at least,” Eugenia said. “As far as him bein’ all right…well, that remains to be seen.”
Eugenia did not miss the moisture in Sage’s eyes. The girl had been crying for more than a week. Each time she’d come home from her walks or her rides out on Drifter, her eyes would be red—her cheeks swollen and puffy. Eugenia knew Sage’s heart was breaking, knew Reb’s was too. Confound it! She wanted to take them both, plop them over her knee, and paddle their behinds good and hard! But a body couldn’t force people to let go of what frightened them. A body could only love and encourage.
Rebel and Sage were both stricken with fear. Reb was afraid Sage wouldn’t forgive him for the mountain lion attack—couldn’t love him forever. He feared she was like Ivy, only loving him on the surface. He feared he’d let himself love her only to find she’d toss him away one day, having lost interest in him somehow.
Sage, on the other hand, was afraid to take a chance—afraid to show any emotion. Fear kept her from running to Reb—kept her from confessing she loved him—from seeing he loved her. It was as if Reb stood on one side of a river and Sage on the other—both afraid to cross for fear of drowning. Therefore, they both simply stood gazing at each other—dreaming of what each wished would come true—each one certain they’d drown if they attempted to swim out and capture the dream.
It was the most frustrating, infuriating, and heartbreaking situation. Eugenia wanted to scream with exasperation at Reb’s guilt and mistrust and Sage’s blindness and inability to express herself! Still they were each wounded. She must keep that in mind—use sympathy, patience, and compassion as her tools. Yet her resolve to remain calm and patient was quickly thinning.
“Do you love him, Sage?” Eugenia asked, suddenly.
Sage began to tremble yet tried to appear unaffected. Draping the waistband of another petticoat over the line, Sage secured it with several clothespins. Eugenia knew the answer to her own question. As sure as Sage stood there right next to her, Eugenia knew. So why then did she ask it? Yet Sage knew she would be a fool to deny it.
“It doesn’t matter if I love him or not, Miss Eugenia,” Sage said. “He’s obviously lumped me in with Ivy.” Sage fought the tears begging for release.
“He’s afraid, Sage. Surely you see his fear. Surely you know he doesn’t really think you’re the likes of her,” Eugenia scolded. “And you’re just afraid too! It’s plain and simple.” Eugenia rather huffed—shook her head. She reached out, taking Sage by the shoulders. “Now you look me in the eye and tell me you think Reb really still has any feelin’s for Ivy. Look me in the eye and tell me you really think he doesn’t care for you. I heard tell from not just a few folks in town that boy gave you quite the kiss there in front of God and the entire world a moment before Sheriff Lambson hauled him off to jail yesterday. So you look me in the eye and tell me he doesn’t care for you.”
Sage swallowed hard—willed the tears not to leave her eyes for want of traveling down her cheeks.
“Tell me, Sage. Do you really think Reb feels the same way about you as he does Ivy? I think you know he doesn’t. I think you know he cares for you, and I think you’re just afraid to let him know you care for him,” Eugenia said.
Sage couldn’t confess to Eugenia, however. She couldn’t tell Eugenia she loved Reb more than she did her own existence. She couldn’t tell her she’d never know one happy moment for the rest of her life without him. She couldn’t tell her anything! Not about the peach cobbler kisses in the kitchen, not about the kiss in the barn or in the pastures on the way to the ranch. She couldn’t explain how the sun had warmed her that day—how wearing Rose’s scandalous dress had freed her mind—allowed her to accept and indeed return the passion Reb had rained over her. At that moment the enchanting memory still caused her flesh to prickle with goose bumps.
Sage closed her eyes, clin
ging to the memory of being in Reb’s arms, remembering the feel of his lips to hers. Her stomach sickened, nearly heaving at the thought of Reb ever holding Ivy or any other woman in his arms—ever taking any other woman’s mouth with his the way he had taken hers.
Sage opened her eyes as she felt Eugenia firmly take hold of her chin. An unfamiliar frown puckered Eugenia’s brow. Her teeth seemed tightly clenched. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Sage.
“Now you listen to me,” Eugenia began. “I don’t know what went on between the two of you before that infernal cat started all this mess! I don’t know what went on before that wicked Ivy Dalton stirred the soup pot further. But I do know…whatever Reb’s plans were for you the day he took you out to the ranch…whatever the two of you might have shared over these past couple of months…it’s worth fightin’ for, Sage. Every bit of it!”
“How can you be sure?” Sage whispered. “How can I be sure he wasn’t j-just havin’ a bit of fun?”
“He wasn’t,” Eugenia stated. She sighed, releasing Sage’s chin, and lovingly caressed her cheek. “And you know him well enough to be certain of it in your heart. That cat gettin’ at you scared him, Sage. Scared him nearly to death. Then Ivy shows up and reminded him fresh what heartache can do to a man. Reb knew Ivy wouldn’t ever own his heart…wouldn’t ever break his heart again. But he knows you can.”
“Then he’s a coward,” Sage said, leaning down to retrieve another petticoat from the basket. She shook her head, reminding her tears they could not come. Reb Mitchell was anything but a coward. Sage knew it. Yet Eugenia’s words were harsh and accusing, hurtful.
“You’re right,” Eugenia said. “You’re right. Forget the fact he fought a mountain lion to save your life. Forget he tended to your wounds, sewed you up first before takin’ care of himself. Forget all of it. And you’re still right. He is a coward.”
Sage shook her head again—held her breath. She could not cry. Not until she was alone. She thought of the wounds to Reb’s body—the deep, painful wounds inflicted by the cat. She thought of his attention to her wounds—how careful he must’ve been. She shivered at the knowledge he could’ve been killed for her sake. The mountain lion could’ve killed him. But it didn’t just as it hadn’t killed her because of him.
Sage thought of his beating the cowboy in the street—the way he’d shoved the sheriff, told Ivy to leave. She thought of the way he’d kissed her right there in broad daylight for all the town to see. Reb Mitchell was no more a coward than she was a loose saloon girl.
“He’s a coward all right,” Eugenia continued, “an idiot too, to think you’d blame him for that cat. But he’s more of a coward for not reaching out and takin’ what he wants for fear of losin’ it,” Eugenia said. Sage nodded then. “But then, he’s no more of a coward than you are.”
“What?” Sage exclaimed.
Eugenia raised her eyebrows—shrugged her shoulders—tipped her head to one side as she said, “You’re pointin’ the finger awful straight at a man who’s been badly wounded. By ‘wounded’ I’m takin’ about the wounds that devil-girl left on his heart and soul. The wounds that cat gave him were nothin’ compared to it. And you’re pointin’ the finger awful hard, Sage. You’ve never had those kinds of wounds. You’ve had your own, and I’m not sayin’ you haven’t. But how can you stand there judgin’ that boy when you didn’t have the courage to claim him yourself?”
“What?” Sage exclaimed again. “What do you mean? Claim him? How could I ever have—”
“The day Ivy arrived,” Eugenia interrupted, “you were shaken up, and I understand that. It shook me up somethin’ awful too. But when Reb came to the door, you didn’t make one move to claim him. You didn’t make one sound to let Ivy know he was yours.”
“But he wasn’t!” Sage exclaimed in defense of herself.
“Oh, pig snot!” Eugenia grumbled. “He’s been yours for the takin’ since the day Bullet wound the two of you up on the front porch! You just haven’t given Reb any sign whatsoever that you even want him. You just stood there next to Ivy Dalton…stood there with your mouth glued shut, not a tear in your eye. What was a man in Reb’s situation to think? Hmmm?”
“But he’s so…how could I have hoped…you saw her…you saw how beautiful she is,” Sage stammered. It was a fierce fight to hold onto her tears.
“She’s beautiful all right. Like a shiny snake in the grass,” Eugenia said. “And Reb knows that. Oh sure…he’s been an idiot, but only because he’s been through a world of hurt. And I don’t mean this to sound as heartless as it does, Sage…but he’s been hurt worse than you ever have. At least up until now. So quit bein’ so selfish. Quit bein’ so scared of life and the disappointment that comes with it. And you go on. You keep callin’ Reb a coward…but I’ll say it again. I haven’t ever seen you do one thing to let him know you love him, to let him know you want him. And I still don’t see you doin’ anythin’ to let him know.”
“But I…but I…” Sage stammered. Sage’s mind was whirling with confusion. Was Eugenia blaming her for Reb’s unhappiness? What was she supposed to have done the day Ivy had shown up at the boarding house? When Reb had arrived? Should she have thrown her arms around him, smothered him with kisses? Yesterday in the street, after he’d beaten the cowboy, should she have wrestled him to the ground and confessed her undying love? What good would that have done? Would he have then confessed an endless love for her suddenly? Would he have swooped her up in his arms and demanded the Reverend Tippetts marry them then and there?
“That boy put a mountain lion down for you, Sage! Put his very life in jeopardy without one thought the other way!” Eugenia shook her head, her expression pleading. “Can’t you find enough courage to fight for him now? It seems to me…if Reb can best a mountain lion for you, you oughta be able to best that Ivy…drive out the poison she spit in his heart and fill it up with sweet sugar again.”
Somehow Sage still managed to choke back her tears. Closing her eyes she saw Reb’s handsome smile—his easy manner and fiery eyes. Rebel Mitchell was more than she could ever have even dreamed a man to be.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “sometimes I wonder if he’s even real, Eugenia. Sometimes I think…I think I just dreamed him up. Sometimes I think I dreamed all of it up. Him…his smile…and the way he laughs when Miss Rosie is being silly. Sometimes I think I dreamed up that entire day…the trip out to the ranch, dreamed up the mountain lion and all that happened before it.” Sage forced a smile and shook her head as she looked at Eugenia. “I’m…I’m just Sage Willows, Miss Eugenia,” she said. “I’m just the woman who runs the boardin’ house in town.”
Eugenia smiled and put a hand to Sage’s cheek. “But that’s not true, Sage. You’re not just the woman who runs the boardin’ house in town. And Reb’s not just the cowboy who runs the old Smarthin’ ranch.” She took Sage’s hands in her own, squeezing them with reassurance. “You’re the girl who loves Reb Mitchell. And he’s the man who loves you.”
“That’s not true,” Sage said, shaking her head. “Please don’t say it.”
“It is true!” Eugenia exclaimed. “You know it’s true, Sage. You’re just afraid…afraid of feelin’ the way Reb did when Ivy did him wrong. You’re afraid of heartache…but doesn’t your heart ache already?” Eugenia paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. “Your life has had a bit of disappointment, Sage. No one would fault you for feelin’ fearful. But don’t let fear win. Don’t let fear keep you from happiness. Fear is the devil’s saddle pal, Sage, and he depends on it. Fear wants you to stay disappointed. It wants to break you. It’s breakin’ the man you love right now. Right now while you’re standin’ here hangin’ out your underwear, fear’s whippin’ Reb. Fear of not havin’ you is whippin’ him down. And when a man feels whipped, that’s when he’s at his weakest. That’s when he gives up, gives in, and settles for what feels easy and safe. And I think you know that.”
Sage closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She thought of
running—running to her escape in Ruthie’s pasture. She inhaled deeply, holding her breath—envisioning Reb again—his frown—his angry behavior in the street the day before. Again, she envisioned him sitting in the ranch house—blood streaming from the wounds the mountain lion had inflicted on his powerful body. She thought of his eyes—the expression of anger and hurt in them the day he’d come to the boarding house and found Ivy there. She thought of the way he’d looked at her the day before, accusing her of being the likes of Ivy Dalton.
Releasing her breath she thought of other things then—of his smile and playful manner. She thought of the mischievous grin he wore—the bright twinkle in his eyes as he teased her or the widows. She thought of his kissing her in the barn when she’d only just touched him, the slightest of gestures. She thought of his preying on her in the kitchen—taking a bite of the juicy peach she offered and then brushing her hand aside as he kissed her. She thought of the delighted look on his face when he’d entered the boarding house to see her dancing on the table—the way he’d carried her off to the wagon. She thought of his lifting her down from the wagon on the way to the ranch, remembered the emotion in his eyes a moment before he’d kissed her. She thought then of the fear, the undeniable fear in his expression as he’d looked at her in the kitchen after the mountain lion attack. Only then did she remember and finally recognize the fear—the agony of guilt apparent in his eyes in those moments before she fell unconscious again.
“What if he…what if he hates me now?” Sage whispered, looking to Eugenia. “What if it’s too late?”
Eugenia smiled, lovingly cupping Sage’s cheek in one hand.
“He doesn’t,” Eugenia said. “And it’s not too late. I promise.”
Reb hunkered down before the small tombstone.
“Well, good mornin’, Ruth States,” he said aloud. “Sage been out to see you lately?”
Rubbing at his week’s worth of whiskers, Reb sighed and looked around him. Ten or fifteen head of cattle were grazing close by, and two jackrabbits sat a ways away, seeming anxious about his presence. The pasture grass was green and fragrant—the wildflowers brilliant with color. It was truly a place of serene beauty.
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