Maggie set the bowl down and walked to the dresser. “Yes. James smoked too.” She found the makings of cigarettes and rolled tobacco into the thin paper as tightly as possible.
“How are you feeling?” Sage asked.
Maggie licked and sealed the cigarette. “I’m fine—well enough to travel, if that’s what you’re asking.” She struck a match and carried it to Sage with the cigarette, then held the match to it as Sage lit it.
Close… disturbingly close… all of a sudden too familiar.
Maggie fanned out the match and stepped back.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Maggie answered. Their gazes held for a moment, and Maggie felt a tiny bit of fear—something she couldn’t explain—fear, yet not really frightened, if that made sense. She walked back to the dresser, making a pretense of straightening a few things sitting on it.
“You’re some woman, Maggie Tucker,” Sage commented. “How can I thank you for killing that grizzly? I’m a little embarrassed though. The men won’t let me live that one down, but it sure shows me you can take care of yourself when we head out. Still, there’s one thing I need to know. Have you ever killed a man?”
She stared at the cigarette papers. “Of course not.”
“You can change your mind about coming with me if you want to.”
I can’t let you go riding off without me, she thought. She was already allowing herself to grow used to this wonderful house and the beautiful mountains beyond it… the rich life of living on a cattle ranch… and the thought of being in the company of Sage Lightfoot.
“I’m not changing my mind,” she answered. “Even if I don’t have a hand in killing those men, I want to see them dead.” She faced him again. “But if the matter comes to hand that I need to use my own gun, especially if you’re in a bad fix, I’ll do it. You can depend on that.”
Now came an even broader smile. It only added to all that was raw and masculine about him. Maggie wondered at how she could think such things after what she’d been through. How could a man’s physical presence be so horrible on the one hand, yet seem like it could be wonderful… if it was the right man?
“Sometimes you talk like a man, but I swear, when you raise that old Sharps the whole picture is comical. It looks like too big of a gun for you to even lift, but by God, you can do it.”
“’Course I can.” Maggie pulled out a drawer then began straightening and refolding shirts. “Pa wanted a boy. I learned to adapt.”
For a moment, the room felt too quiet.
“How are you at being a woman?” Sage asked.
What in God’s name did he mean by that? Maggie stiffened, but kept her back turned. “I’ve never had much chance to be a woman.” She wondered if he was testing her. What was he after? Did he think less of her after all… for the vile act those men committed against her? She wasn’t about to let that happen! She faced him. “At least not the fancy kind, like the woman who apparently lived here for a time. I’m not like that. I suppose I can be enough of a woman to cook a good pot of chicken stew and make a good apple pie, yet I’m enough man to kill a grizzly and to help you find those outlaws. And if you try anything with me out there on the trail, you’ll answer to my Sharps.”
He shook his head as he drew on his cigarette. “Don’t you know me better by now?”
“I don’t know you at all! I’m grateful for you helping me out, but traveling together in good health for what could be weeks is another story. I know you like your whiskey. My pa did too, and he wasn’t kind when he drank. I know enough about your background to suspect you have a wild streak that could change everything. You ever beat a woman?”
Sage’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he actually chuckled. He laid his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “Maggie, I’ve been around some pretty wild women, and the one who lived here for a time damn well deserved a beating, I’ll tell you that. I never laid a hand on her or any other woman—ever. I’m not a man to do that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I only asked about you being a woman because I have a feeling you’ve never really had the chance to fix your hair fancy and wear a nice dress and really be a woman.” He rose, looking her over in a way that caused her to avert her gaze.
Maggie walked past him to pick up the bowl.
“I heard some of the things you said when you were keeping the horses calm back at that cave,” he told her, “about your pa and your husband. You can be pretty hard-nailed and matter-of-fact. Seems to me you don’t know a whole lot about your softer side—and you have one—I’ve never known a woman who didn’t. And it’s that softer side I worry about if things get rough out there, and you think you need to look out for me. Shooting that bear is one thing, but bears don’t shoot back. Going up against men like the ones we’re after is a whole different story. I’m only looking out for your well-being.”
Maggie scowled, backing away in an absently defensive move. “Well, you’ve seen enough to know I can handle myself. What happened to me would destroy most women, but not me! It just made me damn mad. What those men did is just… it’s worse than a beating.” She hurried past him to a window, studying the distant mountains. “Stop worrying about me having to face those men. You already know I can shoot straight. Think of me as another cowhand along to help you. Just make sure you don’t see me as anything but a cowhand. Don’t be thinking you can try going after that softer side you think I have.”
She heard Sage sigh, felt him walk closer. “I’m no abuser of women,” he told her firmly. “Stick that in your head, and remember it. For God’s sake, how could you think anything different? If you’re thinking I’d try to force myself on you when I get a need on the trail, forget it. I’ll save those needs for when we hit the towns in outlaw country. Plenty of women in those places to satisfy a man. Quit worrying whether you can trust me.”
Why did the thought of him being with another woman make her angry? Her fury deepened from the humiliation of the comment, designed, she was sure, to deliberately shock her. She refused to let him think it had worked.
“Fine,” she answered. “Just so we’re clear on the matter.” She became suddenly aware of her appearance, wondering how she looked now that she wasn’t buried under a heavy coat with her hair a disheveled mess. She wore it slicked back into a bun today, which she knew revealed every freckle on her exposed face. She probably looked like such a kid that he couldn’t see her as a woman anyway.
My God, why does it matter? She put a hand to her cheek, a reaction she often had when trying to hide her freckles. “I’m glad you aren’t making plans to leave here without me.” She turned and finally met his gaze again. “When worse comes to worst, a person just does what he or she has to do to survive. That’s why you can count on me.”
Sage nodded. “I hope so.” He turned and took a shirt from a hook on the wall to his right. “So, what do you think of this place?” he asked as he pulled on the shirt.
Maggie looked around the room. “I think it’s lovely—a good, solid house—big enough for a family.” She saw the hurt come into his eyes and knew he was thinking about the mysterious woman. Maggie was beginning to hate her. “You have quite a ranch here,” she continued. “It’s beautiful. I expect there’s a lot to tell about how you got to this point in your life, but that’s not my business.”
“You’re right. Meantime, you need to know there’s a side of me you haven’t seen yet, and you might not like it. You’d better be ready for it if you plan to go after those men with me. It’s my temper you’d better fear, and the violence you might witness when I lose it, not against you, but against those men.”
“I already figured as much.” Maggie heard the front door open.
“Sage?” someone called.
Maggie recognized Hank Toller’s voice. Sage’s top hand was a short burly man who constantly chewed tobacco, but his friendly personality made it easy to ignore his stained teeth. Maggie hurried down the hallway into the great room. “Hello, Hank. Sage just fi
nished eating.” She turned to see Sage behind her. He was buttoning his shirt.
“What is it, Hank?”
“Well, it’s good to see you up,” Hank replied. He held out an envelope, and Maggie thought Hank seemed a bit upset. Usually, his jovial personality made up for his unkempt appearance, but at the moment, there was nothing jovial about him. “Joe just got back from the monthly mail run to town,” he told Sage. “This here is for you.”
Sage frowned. “Some kind of bad news?”
“Don’t know. I don’t read your mail. It’s who it’s from that’s got me worried.”
Sage took the envelope and glanced at the return address. “Jesus,” he swore. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. “By the way, Maggie and I are leaving day after tomorrow,” he told Hank as he read the letter. “Tell Julio to have Smoke and Storm ready, and a couple of pack mules.”
“You sure you’re strong enough?”
“I wish people would quit asking me that.”
Receiving the letter had put Sage in a sour mood. His whole face changed as he read, a distant darkness enshrouding him. Maggie and Hank watched quietly as he finished the letter, then wadded it up and shoved it into his pants pocket.
“What does she want?” Hank asked.
“Something she can’t have,” Sage answered. “Go on, and tend to your chores. I’m coming to see how things are going.”
Hank shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He glanced at Maggie and nodded. “Ma’am, that chicken stew is awful good. The boys were wonderin’ if you’d make more. Would you have time before you leave with Sage?”
Maggie smiled. “I’ll make a big pot before we go.”
Hank grinned. “Thanks.” His smile faded when he glanced at Sage, who was grimacing with pain as he pulled on some socks he’d left with his boots at the door. “I take it you don’t want me to give a letter to Joe to take back?”
“Hell no!” Sage shot back.
Hank turned and left. Maggie felt sorry for him. “You didn’t need to be so sharp with him, Sage.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He pulled on his boots, appearing to get angrier as he grunted in pain.
“Do you want some help?”
“No!”
Maggie decided that as dark as his mood was now, she’d better not say another word. She hung a kettle of water over the fire, needing to heat the water in order to wash dishes. She heard Sage’s footsteps thump across the wood floor, heard him pull on his jacket, and then jumped when he slammed the door as he went out.
Maggie watched him through the window over the sink. He’d said nothing about the letter. Curiosity got the better of her, and she walked to the table to see who’d sent it.
Joanna Lightfoot, she read in the “from” corner. So, now the mystery woman had a name, and apparently, she was Sage’s wife.
Twelve
June 2
Flour, sugar, beans, potatoes, ammunition, rifles, six-guns, a small shovel… for burying the men we’re after, Maggie thought. Clean underwear, gloves, rope, tin plates and cups, a couple of forks and sharp knives, hardtack, jerky, a lantern, bedrolls, whiskey… for medicinal purposes, she mused. Four canteens of water, a porcelain coffeepot, one fry pan, a coffee grinder, sack of coffee beans, bacon, a hammer and nails for repairing a loose horseshoe if necessary, lye soap, a couple of washrags, and towels.
All items were packed neatly on two mules named Sadie and Rosa. Julio had named Rosa because she was stubborn—like my wife, he’d joked.
They were leaving today, and Maggie’s heartbeat quickened at the secret she was carrying. She was overdue for her time of month. She told herself that maybe the trauma of what happened had messed up her insides and caused her to be late. She couldn’t bear to consider the other possibility. Since her last time of month, James had not touched her. They were both too tired from their journey. The baby couldn’t possibly belong to James, which left only one possibility. It made her shiver to think about it. Could she love a baby spawned through violence? Did she even want it?
Whatever her situation, if Sage had any idea she might be carrying, he’d put her in jail before he’d let her come with him. She was not about to spring the news on him now, especially since she wasn’t sure yet. Still, she felt ill. Was it morning sickness, or just her nerves?
She continued tying supplies onto her own horse. She had decisions to make, and none of them would be easy. She adjusted the belt on the britches she wore. Sage insisted she wear pants, a pair of denims she’d borrowed from one of Rosa and Julio’s younger sons who was small built. She brought along two extra pairs, as well as a couple of boy’s shirts, everything far too big for her, but Sage wanted it that way. Riding for days on end wasn’t something to do wearing a dress and slips, but that wasn’t his true reasoning. He figured that from a distance she’d look like a boy, and the loose clothes hid her “feminine qualities,” as Sage put it.
Maggie finished tying her share of supplies to the black gelding Sage picked out for her. He was a medium-sized, hardy mustang called Smoke. She climbed into the saddle, more pleased with the pants than she thought she’d be. She decided then and there that all women should be allowed to wear pants when the situation called for it. They were perfect for riding.
She touched the six-gun she wore on her hip, pulling it out and slipping it back into its holster to make sure she could get to it quickly. Sage’s blacksmith had done a fine job cutting the gun belt down to a size that would fit her small hips. Feeling eager and confident, she decided not to worry about whether she was carrying. She couldn’t think about that right now. A bigger worry was Sage’s somewhat precarious physical condition and his ornery mood since he received that letter from his wife… or maybe ex-wife. Maggie was not about to ask at a time like this.
Julio handed her the lead rope to Rosa. Sage took up Sadie’s rope and settled into his saddle.
“Thanks, Julio.”
The Mexican grinned, showing several missing teeth. “Si, señor. You will ride easy the first few days until you are stronger, yes?”
Sage nodded. “I will.”
Bill rode up to them then, greeting Sage. “I wish you’d take one of us with you, boss, and leave the woman here.”
Sage glanced at Maggie. “She won’t let me.” He turned to Bill. “We’ll be all right. I need every worker here. There’s still a lot of branding to be done, and you need to cull those that should be taken to Rock Springs and on over to Cheyenne for market, plus there are fences to be mended. I’m depending on you to handle things.” He put out his hand, and Bill shook it. “If I don’t make it back,” Sage continued, “you and Joe and Hank can divide this place up however you want.”
Bill shook his head. “Won’t be the same.”
“You can do it. Just don’t be giving any of it to Joanna, no matter how much she pressures you.”
A look of disgust came into Bill’s eyes. “Don’t worry about that. She’ll never get any of it.”
Maggie sighed with the frustration of not knowing the whole truth about the woman called Joanna. “Come on, Sadie.” She cooed the mule, kicking Smoke’s sides and riding him out of the corral. She stopped to wait for Sage, gazing around the ranch grounds—the sturdy house, the barns and corrals, several hundred cattle grazing on the distant hills. It was all so beautiful. She’d been here long enough to hate leaving this place.
Sage cantered up beside her on a big Appaloosa named Storm. “You ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go.”
As they rode past the outbuildings, Hank approached them from where he’d been culling a couple of steer. His big black horse lumbered close. “You sure you don’t want one of us to ride along?” Hank asked Sage.
Sage pushed back his hat and glanced at Maggie before answering with a slight grin. “You men need to stop worrying. I’ve got a bear-shooter with me. That should suffice.”
Hank chuckled, a laugh that—as always—led to a loose cough. He
spit out some tobacco juice and turned his gaze to Maggie. “You keep shooting straight, ma’am, and watch your back. I wish you luck finding them men that killed your husband.”
“Thank you, Hank.” Maggie noticed Hank and Sage share a look that made her a little nervous. She knew Hank and the other men couldn’t help but be a bit curious about her and Sage traveling alone together for what could be weeks.
“Take good care of that nice little lady,” Hank told Sage with a wink.
Maggie thought how she didn’t look like much of a lady now, wearing boy’s pants and a sheepskin jacket covering whatever curves that showed under her shirt. She wore her hair in a bun under a wide-brimmed hat, another effort at looking like a boy from a distance.
“We’ll be all right,” Sage assured Hank. He kicked the sides of his horse and headed through the grassy valley, leading Sadie and scattering cattle as he rode past. Maggie followed, breathing deeply against the butterflies in her stomach. She couldn’t help a little secret apprehension, but she wasn’t about to back out now. And she was, after all, with Sage Lightfoot. She couldn’t imagine any other man with whom she’d be safer when it came to facing the wrong kind of men. She just hoped it wasn’t Sage himself she needed to watch out for.
Thirteen
After several minutes at a gentle lope, Sage slowed Storm to a walk. Maggie rode up beside him. “How can you be so sure where those men are headed?” she asked.
“Just a reasonable guess. They’ll figure their best bet is to go someplace where the law won’t go, and that’s up by Lander or south toward Rock Springs, even into Utah and Green River. We’ll go south first. I’m figuring they’ll head for warmer parts. We’ll check things around a place called Brown’s Park. There are canyons and caves—a thousand places to hide. Some outlaws even run their own ranches there—with stolen horses and cattle, of course.”
They rode for several minutes at a slower pace. “Did you ever steal horses or cattle?” Maggie dared to ask.
Rosanne Bittner Page 7