Sage leaned down and jerked up a piece of straw-like grass, then stuck it in his mouth to chew on. “How do you think I started this ranch?” He looked at her and grinned. “I don’t care what anybody thinks. It’s done, and I live by the law now… more or less.”
More or less?
Sage cantered his horse slightly ahead of her again. This was their second day of travel. They made their way south through the same area they’d traveled before Sage’s bear attack, and Maggie realized they must be just a day or so away from where James was buried. As though he read her mind, Sage circled his horse to ride beside her.
“We’ll veer west soon—head toward Tipton, so we won’t go by where I found you… unless you want to visit your man’s grave.”
Your man’s grave… What happened to the woman she was before her attack? Who am I? What am I doing here? What will I do when this is over? “No,” she answered. “If this is the shortest way, let’s keep going. I don’t want to go back to that place.”
“I don’t blame you.” He threw down the straw. “Tell me more about yourself, Maggie. Is that farm in Missouri all you’ve ever known?”
Maggie shrugged. “Pretty much. It was a good distance from any decent-sized town. Every once in a while, my pa would get a newspaper when he did go to town, and I’d read about theaters and fancy stores—things like that.”
“How did you learn to read?”
“I went to a little school a mile away three days a week… until my mother died. I was ten. After that my pa made me quit and stay home—do my mother’s chores and help on the farm. There was a good neighbor lady about two miles from ours who taught reading and writing and math. She came over once in a while, mainly to bring books so I could keep up on my reading. She never stayed long because my pa didn’t like her being there. It kept me from my work.”
Maggie thought about that woman, one of the few kind people she could remember from her childhood.
“She was the closest thing to a refined lady I’ve ever known,” she added. “Her name was Matilda, and she was from St. Louis, almost too fancy for the farm she lived on. I guess she loved her husband a whole lot because she left all that civilization to work in the fields.”
“That’s more than I can say for some women I’ve known.”
Maggie figured he was thinking about Joanna. “Well, I guess Matilda did miss her old life some. I think it made her feel good to teach us kids and show us how educated she was. And her husband let her go back to St. Louis with her family for a week every year. She offered to take me once, but Pa said I was needed on the farm. Sometimes, I wish I’d have run off and gone with her anyway.”
Sage reined Storm to a halt. “We’d better let the horses rest for a few minutes. I wouldn’t mind one of those biscuits you brought along.” He dismounted, and Maggie followed suit. She walked back to Sadie and pulled a couple of biscuits from a gunnysack, handing one to Sage. Because of his height, he cast a shadow over her, a relief from the bright sun.
She turned away and ate the biscuit, hoping that the small bit of food would stave off the nausea that kept visiting her in waves all morning. If she vomited, Sage might think she was weak. She shook off the worry over her condition and studied the high mountains in the distance. “Are we headed for those rocky mountains?”
“We are.”
“They look intimidating.”
Sage chewed on another bit of biscuit. “They can be,” he answered then. “Those mountains remind me of a snorting bull, all brass and threat, daring a man to approach. But a bull can be put down, and so can those mountains, if a man respects them, understands the danger, and is prepared.” He finished the biscuit. “We’ll get through. There’s a place we’ll go around called Flaming Gorge. When you see that, you’ll know you’ve seen heaven itself.”
Maggie smiled and turned to face him. “Thank you for bringing me with you. I need to do this. Even if we don’t kill those men, I need to face them again… show them they didn’t beat me down to a sobbing, helpless woman who’s ashamed of what happened. I’m not ashamed.”
“You shouldn’t be. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they see you’re with me.” Sage studied their surroundings. “Why don’t you take that six-gun you’re wearing, and see if you’re getting better at hitting something?”
Maggie pulled out the gun, a single-action, forty-five caliber Colt revolver that belonged to Sage. “What should I shoot at?”
Sage grinned. “Sorry, but you do look funny handling that thing.” He picked up the reins and ropes to the horses and mules and handed them to her. “Hang on to the stock while I go set up a target.” He walked several yards and set some small rocks on a much larger rock. He returned to take hold of the ropes and led the horses farther away, tying them to a bush. “Try hitting those smaller stones.”
Maggie supported her right wrist with her left hand because the revolver was so heavy. Wind blew a strand of hair over her eyes, and she paused to brush it away. “Were you telling the truth when you said the wind never stops blowing in Wyoming?” she asked.
“I was, but I should have said almost never. Once in a while, you get a calm day.”
Maggie took careful aim then fired. She heard a ping, but none of the smaller rocks moved. “I think all I hit was the big one.”
Sage leaned down behind her. He reached around her, supporting her hand with his own. “You jerked it when you fired. Hold it steady, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t just suddenly pull it. That makes a handgun move too easy. Shooting this thing is a lot different from that old Sharps of yours.”
Maggie tried to ignore the feel of his arms around her, the strength of his hand. She aimed carefully and did as she was told. One of the smaller rocks burst into several pieces and disappeared. “I hit one!” she exclaimed. She turned her head when she spoke.
So close. She felt a sudden urge to hug him, but checked her emotions.
Sage straightened. “Okay, try it on your own.”
Maggie cocked the gun and took aim, again supporting her wrist. She squeezed the trigger as Sage instructed. Another rock went flying. She held the gun in the air. “I hit another one!” She danced in a circle.
Sage grinned and returned to the horses. “Reload before you holster it,” he yelled back. “You never know when you might need all six bullets. We’ll practice every time we stop. Right now, we’d better get moving again. We have a lot of miles ahead of us.”
Maggie did as she was told, wondering what he was thinking when their faces were so close. Soiled goods, I’ll bet… an unrefined farm girl who’s had a husband and a kid and been taken by three other men… a freckle-faced, barely schooled spit of a woman no man could really want out of plain, old love.
Sage walked up to her with the horses. “By the way, when we get to more civilized places, and people see that you’re a woman, we’ll have to say we’re married. You’ll be safer that way.”
Maggie turned and mounted up. “If you say so. Just don’t get any ideas about proving it.”
Sage climbed onto Storm with the ease of a man accustomed to long hours in the saddle. “Now that you’re learning how to use that side arm, I wouldn’t think of it. You’re dangerous enough with a rifle.” He chuckled as he took off at a leisurely lope.
Lord knows, if you ever touched me gentle-like, Sage Lightfoot, I’d sure never shoot you for it, Maggie thought. Her stomach lurched then, and she quickly vomited, while Sage rode ahead. Thank God he didn’t notice. She washed her mouth out with some water from her canteen and hurried to catch up.
Fourteen
The days were long, the nights cold. For Sage the cold nights were made worse by his constant battle with a growing attraction to Maggie Tucker. They’d been on the trail for sixteen days now, and she’d not complained about the heat, the cold, or the hard ground she had to sleep on every night. She knew how to tend the horses, pack the gear, handle a rifle, build a good fire, and cook decent food under rugged conditions. She cou
ld lift things no woman her size should be able to lift, and she never asked for help. There was a kind of spark and bravery about her he’d not seen in the pioneer women out here. She was as far a cry from Joanna as anyone he’d come across.
They rode over rocky ground and through high grass, over shale, through canyons, across streams and rivers, and up steep mountain slopes. Sage enjoyed the awe in Maggie’s eyes when she viewed the immense red-rock canyon that was Flaming Gorge. He liked that she seemed impressed with this country that he loved—appreciated its beauty and respected its dangers. She learned fast and wasn’t afraid of the unknown. At night they listened to wolves howling, and Sage noticed she never seemed afraid when that howling came a bit too close to camp. Even during that night they spent in Wolf Canyon, she seemed amazingly calm as she soothed the horses, while he kept watch for the predators.
“Are there wolves in Missouri?” he asked.
“None that I ever came across, but I suppose there can be wolves anywhere. All I know is you don’t hear any howling at night where I come from.”
Sage halted his horse to study the horizon—like a far-off rim of the world. “How is it then that you weren’t afraid that night at Wolf Canyon?”
Maggie grinned, her freckles looking browner from days in the sun. “Oh, I was plenty scared. I just didn’t dare let the horses know it. And you didn’t need me whimpering and shivering when you were so busy watching for those yellow eyes in the firelight.”
Sage nodded. “You’re a straight-thinking woman, Maggie.”
“Well, I guess out here, you need to think straight,” Maggie answered. “Even back home I had to think about survival. Farm work isn’t easy. And my pa would only beat me harder if I cried or complained.”
Sage hated the thought of the hard life she’d led. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever known true gentleness, ever wore a really pretty dress and went dancing. Long ago, he’d known a good life… when he was much younger and had a place to call home… until the reality of his heritage had slammed him in the face and taught him about surviving on his own. The only time he thought he had a chance at living a normal life again was when Joanna came along, but she’d destroyed that dream quick enough.
Now, here was Maggie Tucker, as different from Joanna as she could be, the kind it took to put up with life out here. The fact that she’d apparently been abused as a child and then lived in a loveless marriage worked on his thoughts every night. He didn’t quite know what to do with these feelings because he’d vowed to never, ever let himself care about another woman again. Whores were the only kind he dared deal with. You could use a whore and then leave without worrying about feelings. Feelings could get in the way of a lot of things, and right now, he needed to avoid them if he was going up against men like those they were after. Feelings could get in the way of thinking fast and staying alive.
They neared a small ranch near Brown’s Park, where Sage knew stolen stock was kept. Beyond this place lay some of the most lawless country that existed in the Rockies, other than up north at Hole-In-The-Wall. From here on, he needed to think like the men he was after, and that meant not caring about anything but staying alive and protecting his own back… and Maggie’s. The thought of the bastards who’d abused her getting their hands on her again stirred a rage deeper than what he already felt for what they’d done to Standing Wolf and his wife.
He pointed to the scattering of buildings and corrals in the valley below. “The last I knew, that place was run by a man named Buck Kelley. In the sixties and seventies, he hunted buffalo. Of course, I didn’t know him then—didn’t meet him till after the money in buffalo hunting dried up, and most of the buffalo were gone. He turned to cattle rustling because back then it was good money, and for the most part, you could get away with it. Ranches had sprung up all over the place, so the pickings were easy. Buck and I rustled a lot of stock.”
He saw the questions in Maggie’s eyes. She was still trying to figure him out… was he good? Or bad? Sometimes Sage didn’t know the answer himself. “I bought out my share of Buck’s operation about five years ago,” he continued, “including two good breeding bulls and eight cows. That was enough to get me going on my own. I’ve never had too much trouble with other rustlers, at least not those who knew who I was. They knew enough to leave me alone or suffer the consequences.”
He pulled a cheroot from an inside pocket of his jacket as Maggie scanned the lush, fertile valley below. “It’s pretty down there.”
“Pretty, but full of men who’ll give you a good look-over when we get down there, so don’t forget you’re my wife. You’re wearing a wedding band, so that will help.” He regarded her with amusement. “And Lord knows, you aren’t terribly fetching in that getup,” he teased.
She raised her chin. “I don’t care to be fetching,” she answered. “Not to any man for a long time.”
Sage lit the smoke and drew on it to get it burning. “Well, Maggie, the men who live down there don’t need much to get them excited. A new face is always something of interest. Don’t take too much for granted because you aren’t all gussied up. Some men want only one thing.”
Sage regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.
“I am aware of that,” Maggie answered coldly, staring straight ahead.
“I didn’t mean to wake up the pain of it.” Sage straightened in his saddle. “Buck up. We’ve got visitors…”
Maggie noticed that a few men were heading up the steep grade toward her and Sage. “By the way, I don’t know the names of the men we’re hunting,” she told Sage. “That night… everything was too horrible for me to remember if they even called each other by name.” She pulled up on Smoke’s reins when he slipped a little on some loose rock. “Take it easy, boy.”
Sage replied with the thin cigar sitting at the corner of his mouth. “The fat, bald one is Cleve Fletcher. The ugly one with the beard and a scar over his eye is Jasper. I don’t know his last name. The young one called himself Jimmy Hart and thought he was good with a gun. I aim to test him on that when I find him.”
“And the men headed up here? Will you know any of them?”
“Not likely. Those who ride with a leader, like Buck, come and go. He could have all new men riding with him by now, but it’s likely Buck isn’t around now. That’s why we need to be careful. Just take it easy, and follow my lead no matter what. Don’t go doing something stupid on your own, like pull that six-gun, or go for your Sharps. Understand?”
“I understand. The only men I care to pull a gun on are those who attacked me. I’ve got no quarrel with any others.”
“Not yet you don’t.” Sage spoke the words as he watched the four riders come closer.
Fifteen
Wet sod spewed from beneath horses’ hooves as the rough-looking men made their way up the grassy slope, still soft from a recent snowmelt.
“Don’t make a move,” Sage told Maggie.
Maggie swallowed, anxiety tempting her to pull out her old Sharps. The men bearing down on them were no less menacing than the grizzly she’d shot. None bore a resemblance to those who’d attacked her, other than the fact that they weren’t cleaner or less mean-looking. One was a big-bellied man who reminded her of Hank Toller. She wondered how his horse managed to keep up with the others, what with the weight it carried.
The second man looked pure Indian, his black waist-length hair flying in the afternoon breeze, a bandana tied around his forehead. He wore a heavy fur vest, and Maggie could see crisscrossed gun belts under it, packed with enough ammunition to fight a small war. In addition to that, a huge knife hung from one of his belts.
The third man was ordinary in looks—plain, mousy brown hair that dangled in curls from under a stained hat. He wore a wool coat that looked too big for him.
The fourth man was built tall and strong, much like Sage, but he was fair, with steely blue eyes and blond hair that Maggie figured would look even lighter if it didn’t need washing. He wore a long, black coat, un
der which Maggie had no doubt he carried more than one weapon.
Sage casually puffed on the cigar as the men rode within ten feet of him and Maggie. With a sideways glance Maggie noticed Sage nod. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Who the hell are you?” the blond man demanded.
“Name’s Sage Lightfoot. I’m not here for trouble. Just looking for Buck Kelley. He still around?”
The fat man sniffed. “How do you know Buck?”
“Rode with him once, about five years ago.”
“Buck ain’t around no more,” the fat man answered. “Broke his neck when a mustang he tried to bust threw him against a fence post. He’s buried down below.”
Sage straightened. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good friend.”
“And that means you have no friends left here,” the Indian spoke up, turning his dark gaze to Maggie. “What you doing comin’ here with a woman you hide under men’s clothes?”
“You the law?” the fat man asked before Sage could answer the first question.
“I already told you I was good friends with Buck Kelley, and he sure as hell didn’t hang out with lawmen. Besides, what lawman would ride into a place like this with a woman along?”
“Then why is she here?” the Indian asked—then grinned. “You wanting to trade her for something?”
All four men laughed and whistled. The fat one looked Maggie over with unnerving hunger, and the Indian sneered. “I think maybe you will trade the woman whether you want to or not,” he told Sage with a haughty grin. Sage’s forty-five caliber was out of its holster so fast that Maggie never saw the movement. “This woman happens to be my wife,” he growled, aiming the gun at the Indian. “Lay a hand on her, and you’ll join Buck down there beside his grave!” He scanned the lot of them menacingly. “I’m looking for three men who killed a friend of mine and stole money from me.” He glared at the big Indian again. “I lived with your kind long enough to know how to handle the likes of you, so don’t piss me off. Fact is—I am your kind. Remember that!”
Rosanne Bittner Page 8