Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Sage!” She moved around to face him, resting on her knees. “How do you feel? How long have you been awake?”

  “I don’t feel like dancing, but I don’t feel too bad, either.” He gave her a wink. “And I’ve been lying here long enough to enjoy watching you sleep.” His voice was weak, but his eyes sparkled with love. “And long enough to remember you were talking normally when you brought me here. Just hearing you say words is the best medicine in the world, Mary. And you did a damned good job, getting me here, tending to my wounds.”

  “Oh, Sage, I did all I could, but I’m not the one who really saved you. It’s because of—” She looked around the cabin. “Red Dog and Walks Slowly! Where are they?”

  “They went looking for that bear. They’ll skin it down if it’s still good—probably be back in two or three hours. They’ll be mighty hungry, too.”

  She could tell by the window light that it was mid-morning. “Oh, I slept so late! What must they think of me. I suppose Indian women are always up at first light.”

  Sage laughed lightly, wincing with pain. “Don’t worry about that. You needed the sleep.” He reached out and took hold of her hand, searching the violet eyes. “I’m not well enough to move around much, but at least the fever is gone and I’m hungry. But that’s not near as important as the fact that you’re talking.” He shook his head. “I still can’t get over it, Mary.” His grip on her hand was surprisingly strong. She saw the questions in his eyes.

  “I don’t know how it happened, Sage. I just—I was running from that bear and I saw you. And then the bear attacked you and I knew you needed help. Something just…just happened. I don’t know what. I know I had to help you.”

  “What…what about your memory?” he asked hesitantly.

  Their eyes held. “It’s like before. I can’t remember anything beyond that day you found me. Little things come to me. I remember some woman putting warm rocks around my feet once when I was sick. That’s how I got the idea of doing the same for you. And I remember something about a big house, and a grand table. But I still can’t see faces or remember names. And”—she glanced toward the door and then back at him—“when Red Dog and Walks Slowly came, I was so afraid at first. There is something there—something about dark men with painted faces.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “Something terrible, I think. But I remembered Red Dog was your friend. I had to work up my courage to let him in and trust him. I’m so glad I did. He’s the one who saved you, Sage, not me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. You got me back here. You took over like a real woman of the mountains. I’m proud of you. And I’m so damned happy you’re talking. Things are gonna be real good now, real good. It will be damned nice being able to talk to you, knowing you’re really aware of things.”

  They both felt the gentle, warm flow of desire as he reached up and grasped her behind the neck. He pulled her down close, and she met his lips willingly, returning his hungry kiss. “I need to make love to you, Mary,” he said softly, “soon as I’m well enough.” How could he tell her all the reasons? How could he tell her it was because he was still full of rage over her rape? Did she even remember? Surely she didn’t, for she responded too readily. She wouldn’t have been this way if she had remembered the brutal attack by Lowe and White.

  She sat up slightly, holding his wrist and pressing his hand against her cheek. “You tell me when,” she answered, taking the hand then and kissing the palm. “I love you, Sage. I’m so afraid of remembering something that will pull us apart. I hope it never happens. I almost don’t care now if I never remember.”

  He ran a thumb over her lips. “Yes, you do. Everybody has to know who they are. It’s only natural. We can’t be afraid of it, Mary. All we can do is take one day at a time. I love you. No matter what happens, that will never change.”

  She breathed deeply, bending down to kiss him once more. “Thank God you’re better. You’ll get well now, won’t you, Sage?”

  He gave her a smile. She was still so childlike at times. “I’ll get well. But I’ll do it faster if I can eat.”

  Her eyes widened and she got to her feet. “Oh, I’d better get busy. Red Dog and Walks Slowly deserve a good meal when they return. I hope the bear will still be good. We could use the skin. Your buffalo robe is nearly ruined.”

  “I’ll try to beg one off Red Dog. He’s gonna have to go to the fort and tell Sax what happened up here. Sax will bring us some new supplies when the weather’s good enough.”

  She hurriedly began making coffee, wondering how crumpled and disheveled she must look. She would get something started and then comb her hair.

  “I’ll try to think of what we need,” she was saying. “We should have more blankets. Some of the ones we have now have bloodstains on them from your wounds. It will be almost impossible to get them out, especially in this weather. I can’t go to a stream to wash clothes. I have to make do here in a bucket, and the blankets are too big. It certainly would be nice to have a hand pump, and a clothesline and washboard. Maybe Sax could bring us a washboard. It would be even nicer to have a Negro woman to do the work—”

  She stopped in mid-sentence. She stood at the table, the lid to the coffeepot in her hand. She looked down at Sage, who was sharing her thoughts. How did she know about hand pumps and washboards and Negro servants? She had remembered a big house and a fancy table. Sage felt the odd heaviness again.

  “Appears you come from some kind of wealth,” he told her, forcing a reassuring smile. “Everything you remember points to it.”

  She stared at the coffeepot, feeling like a prisoner of her own mind. “It scares me, Sage—to remember things like that, in such a sudden instant. I mean, it just comes to me out of nowhere.”

  She walked over and put the coffee on. “The bread is still fresh enough. I’m going outside to the outhouse.” She pulled on the wolf-skin coat. “I’ll cut down some of the pork fat and make some potatoes in it,” she added before going out.

  Sage felt sorry for her, realizing how confused she was, pitying her for living in a nowhere land between now and a past she could not remember. But it scared him, too. Always when she remembered something, it indicated she had been a woman of wealth. Her very appearance and manners bespoke good breeding. Sage MacKenzie was not a man who could take care of a woman used to the luxuries of life. Was that what Mary was? How would she feel about him when she remembered? How would this rude cabin compare with the comfortable home from which she had probably come?

  There would be no comparison. And he could never give her a fancy life. But maybe by then it wouldn’t matter. Maybe their love would win over all the obstacles.

  He rubbed at his eyes. “Who are you kidding, MacKenzie,” he muttered. He strained to sit up, grimacing at the pain and sinking back against the stacked blankets he’d been lying against for hours. He told himself he had to get better quickly. After all, this was dangerous country, and until he was well, Mary was not safe.

  After several minutes she returned, carrying a bucket of fresh water and stomping snow from her moccasins. “Oh, it’s so cold, Sage. But guess what?” She set the bucket aside. “The Appaloosa is back, and another horse I never saw before. It’s a big black one. I can’t say I never saw it before,” she jabbered. “I mean, it was one of the horses we used when I brought you back the day the bear attacked you. It’s just that I never saw it before that day.”

  She set the bucket down and began slicing some bread. “I’ve been thinking,” she went on. “Something is missing. I mean, I remember your leaving one day to go cut more wood. And the next thing I remember is that bear coming for me, and there I was, out in the woods with you. But that other day, I didn’t go with you. I was in the cabin. What happened, Sage? It’s like there are some days missing.”

  He watched her cut some bread.

  “I don’t know,” he lied. “For some reason you slipped away on me again. I was worried about your running off or something, so I started taking you with me to cut wood
so I could keep an eye on you. That horse out there just wandered by one day, which suited me just fine. Actually there were two of them. Since the Appaloosa wandered off then, I was grateful to have—”

  “Sage,” she interrupted, meeting his eyes. “There are two saddles outside, and neither one is yours. Did the two horses wander in all saddled up?” She gave him a chiding look and he frowned.

  “I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking. Something tells me you’re gonna turn out to be too damned smart for your britches.”

  “I don’t wear britches. Where did the horses come from, Sage?” Her face sobered then as her eyes pleaded with him. “Please tell me what happened. I don’t like knowing there are days missing. It’s bad enough forgetting my past and not knowing who I am.”

  He sighed deeply. “All right. Those two men from the fort came here—the ones that were there that day we went and got supplies from Sax, after I found you at the Indian camp. Luckily, I hadn’t gone far when they showed up and I saw them,” he continued to lie. He deliberately looked away from her. “They meant you harm—me, too. Only I snuck up on them and stopped them from hurting you.”

  She frowned. “Why would they want to hurt me?”

  “You know,” he answered in an almost irritated voice. “They were gonna do bad things to you—maybe even try to steal you from me.”

  She felt a deep chill, and whispers of someone holding her down—painted faces—again haunted the cobwebs of her mind.

  “They scared you to death before I got here, but they didn’t hurt you or touch you. I saw to that.”

  Her eyes widened. “You killed them?”

  “They deserved it.”

  “But, if they hadn’t really hurt me—”

  “I said they deserved it,” he said in a louder voice, wincing with pain at the effort.

  She watched him closely. There was more. She was sure of it. Was he afraid she would lose her mind again if he told her? Suddenly she didn’t want to know herself. She was too afraid of slipping away again. It was becoming her greatest fear. What had really happened? She put a hand on her stomach.

  “I—I don’t want anybody else to touch me, Sage. Just you. They didn’t touch me like you do, did they?” Her eyes teared at the thought of it. She knew in her heart no other man but Sage should do those things to her.

  He met her eyes, keeping his own steady. “No. They didn’t touch you that way. They only hit you. I got here before they could do any more,” he assured her. “And I killed them.”

  Their eyes held. “You’ve killed men before over me. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve killed before anyway. Out here a man deals his own justice.”

  She smiled sadly. “You must love me very much.”

  “’Course I do. Red Dog might have put those herbs on me and chanted over me, but it was having you close by that helped me get better.”

  “Just like having you helped me remember—helped me talk again. You’re my best friend in the whole world, Sage MacKenzie.”

  He gave her a smile. “Then how about finding me something to…uh…take care of something personal.”

  Her lips parted in surprise and she hurried outside, bringing in a wooden bucket, then moving to help him to his knees so he could urinate.

  “How do you feel, Sage?” she asked as he lay back down. “You aren’t sick to your stomach, are you?”

  “I feel like a man who’s wrestled with a grizzly,” he answered good-humoredly. “And the only feeling in my stomach is hunger, woman, so how about starting those potatoes.”

  She smiled, but felt like crying. He had killed for her again—and nearly had gotten killed saving her from the grizzly. She bent down and hugged his face to her bosom. “I love you, Sage MacKenzie.”

  It was an almost childlike gesture. He kissed her breasts. “I love you, too.” She pulled away, smiling down at him. “Now don’t you be worrying anymore about those two men—or about forgetting things,” he told her. “Take one day at a time, Mary, just like I told you. Everything will be okay now. I’ll be well soon and we’ll be buried up here for the winter—and it’s gonna be the best damned winter I’ve ever known.”

  She laughed lightly, jumping up and taking the bucket outside, returning to get a knife to cut some fat for flavoring the potatoes. Sage watched her scurry around then, slicing potatoes and getting them cooking, then combing her hair.

  She was so beautiful and he could see now, very intelligent. If she had grown up pampered and sheltered, it was no wonder she had gone mad from what apparently had been an Indian attack. What had happened to the rest of her family? And what had happened between the Indian attack and the time he had found her? Worse than all of that, what would happen when she remembered all of it?

  “Thank God for Red Dog,” she declared then, putting the fat into a pan. “I don’t know what it was he did to you, but it worked. As soon as you start eating, I know you’ll get better fast, Rafe. Then we can go and cut more wood, weather permitting.”

  He frowned. “What did you say?”

  She looked over at him. “I said we could go cut more wood when you get better.”

  “No. You called me a different name.”

  She paled, setting down the pan. “I did?”

  His eyes moved over her. Who did she really belong to? He felt a miserable jealousy engulfing him. “Rafe. You called me Rafe.”

  Their eyes held and her cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize it.”

  “The name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head. Rafe. How had that name come out of her mouth? “No. I mean, I can’t connect it to a face or to any other kind of memory.” She suddenly wanted to weep. She picked up the pan and turned away. “I’d better get the potatoes started.”

  Sage breathed deeply, reminding himself he must be prepared to lose her. But that thought was becoming more and more unbearable. He would get well, just as fast as he could. He wanted to make love to her again, needed her desperately, needed to know she belonged only to Sage MacKenzie. He prayed it could always be that way.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Red Dog returned with bear meat and the skin, which he stretched across the end of the cabin to dry. He promised to go to the fort to tell Sax Daniels what had happened and ask him to bring supplies when he could.

  “We no return,” Red Dog told Sage after one more night at the cabin. “Move camp south. Return in spring.”

  He sat on the floor near Sage, who by the second morning was feeling much stronger already. Sage put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Thanks for what you did, Red Dog. I’ll see you in the spring then.”

  Red Dog’s dark eyes moved from his friend to Mary, then back to Sage. “Maybe. Maybe Red Dog not see you again. Maybe woman remember, you take far away, live in her world. Maybe you not come back to these mountains.”

  Sage shook his head. “I belong here. I’ll always come back to these mountains.”

  Red Dog shook his head. “Red Dog sees it in his dreams, feels it in his heart.” He put a hand on his chest. “Sage go away. Sage white—in here.” He pointed to Sage’s own heart. “Sage leave mountains.”

  Their eyes held for a long time. Never had Sage felt this torn, nor more helpless against fate. He knew already that if he had to make a choice, he would choose Mary.

  “I love these mountains,” he told Red Dog.

  The Indian nodded. “But you love something else more.”

  Mary watched, feeling almost guilty. Sage was nodding. He loved her. He would give up his mountains for her if he had to. What if her past destroyed this man? She had disrupted his life so much already.

  “Whatever happens, my good friend Red Dog will always be here inside of me,” Sage was telling the man. “Our spirits can always be together. When we are apart, our hearts and minds still speak.”

  Red Dog nodded. “Sage MacKenzie has good heart—Indian heart.”

  It was obvious they want
ed to embrace but were too embarrassed, sure it would be a sign of weakness. Red Dog gripped Sage’s hand and squeezed tightly. “Be careful, my good friend. Do not chase up any more bears.” Mary was sure there were tears in the man’s eyes. “You will be gone from here in the spring when Red Dog returns. But when the wolf howls, or the bear growls, when the coyote sings, Red Dog will know your spirit walks here.”

  Sage squeezed his hand in return and looked away. “Good-bye, Red Dog.”

  Red Dog rose, looking at Mary again. He nodded to her. “White woman strong medicine. Strong like Indian woman.” He walked to the door, then turned to look at Sage again. “No sleep so hard at camp fire again,” he said then. “Maybe next time be enemy Indian who wake you instead of Red Dog. Maybe next time Sage lose hair.”

  Sage looked at him and both men grinned.

  “Get the hell out of here, Red Dog.”

  The man grinned slightly. “Leave buffalo robe. Have another. You keep.”

  “Thank you, friend,” Sage replied.

  The Indian left, and Mary walked to the window to watch him mount up and ride off with Walks Slowly. She suddenly felt in the way, wished for Sage’s sake he had never found her. This was his life, the mountains, the Indians, the animals. Surely just living in a cabin with a woman was a great change for him. She turned to look at him.

  “You can always take me back to the fort, Sage. I have my wits about me now. I wouldn’t run away. I would do whatever you asked.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes teared. “All of this. You should be riding off with Red Dog. You should be out there doing whatever it is you do. You shouldn’t be talking about never seeing him again, or about leaving these mountains. I’m taking you away from all the things you love, and you have no obligation to change your life for me. You have every right to leave me someplace without one bit of guilt. I would never blame you.”

  Their eyes held. “You saying you don’t want to stay here with me?”

  She shook her head. “I want that more than anything in the world. I’m saying you aren’t obligated to keep me. I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m so afraid I will.”