Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  She leaned forward and kissed his chest. “There’s so little time, Sage. Make love to me. Let’s let it be like in the cabin, when it was just you and I and no one else existed for us.”

  He crushed her hair into his fingers as she gently moved over him, kissing the beautiful, masculine body, wanting to remember all of him. Something black seemed to hang over her, something threatening. But she could not name it.

  He rolled onto his back, and a moment later she was doing something she never dreamed she would dare do with a man. Never had she been this bold, this free. His hands reached up, caressing her breasts, moving over her belly, her hips, her thighs, as he arched up to rock her gently in rhythmic motions. She closed her eyes, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and back in shining waves, her slender body, so white against her tanned arms and face, making him groan with the pleasure of beholding such beauty.

  He rolled her over then, burying himself deep between her slender legs, enjoying her gasps of pleasure as he felt the pulsation of her climax, pulling him even deeper into her love nest. No other woman in the world could make him feel like this, he was sure. None had before now, and none ever would again.

  This was the only woman he wanted—Marietta St. Claire Cousteau MacKenzie. Mary MacKenzie. It sounded nice. All they needed now was to get to Austin and see her parents, then make it legal. But in their hearts it was already legal. They had a right to share bodies this way, for their love was deep, their devotion genuine, their relationship as intimate and caring as any a man and woman could have.

  He rested on his elbows, moving with her, glad he’d resisted drinking so much brandy that he’d be unable to refrain from spilling himself before giving her as much of himself as he could. He lightly kissed her lips, moved over them with his tongue, bent his head and kissed her throat, her breasts.

  “Sage, Sage, Sage,” she whispered. “Don’t go away from me—not ever. I wouldn’t want to live without you.”

  “I’m going nowhere without my Mary,” he answered.

  He met her mouth and could no longer hold back the ecstasy. He pushed harder and deeper, and she felt the throbbing deep in her belly as his pleasure brought them both the final release.

  He stayed beside her, keeping his arms around her. Neither of them said a thing for several long seconds.

  “Let’s stay right here and sleep in the morning,” he told her then. “As late as we want. I told the man at the livery I didn’t know when we’d be coming for the horses. They’re taken care of, and this room is nice. We’ll stay a couple more days.” He rubbed a big hand over her flat belly.

  “I’d like that.”

  “And if we want to do this again, we’ll do it—as often as we want. I could never get my fill of you, Mary MacKenzie, but I’m sure gonna try over the next couple of days, just in case something happens when we get there that keeps us from sleeping together for a while.”

  She turned to meet his eyes in the soft light of the lantern they had kept lit. “I hope that doesn’t happen,” she whispered.

  “So do I. But just in case.”

  Their eyes held. Just in case. What it meant was a mystery to them both. It consisted of a simple feeling, a dark shadow that lurked in the corners of their minds and hearts. Surely they were doing the right thing, going back to Austin. Her poor parents had a right to know, and she loved and missed them. She couldn’t let them think her dead when she wasn’t. But for some reason going back filled her with dread.

  They sat on a hill some distance from the city, watching the activity below.

  “Where do we go from here?” Sage asked.

  She sat staring at the buildings below. “It’s grown. Isn’t it strange, how life just goes on like nothing ever happened?”

  There was a terribly sad look on her face. Things were too familiar now. “You all right, Mary?”

  She breathed deeply. “I don’t know.” She pointed. “That two-story wooden building down there—the neat one painted white with green grass around it—that’s my father’s bank. That’s where Rafe worked.” She turned and met his eyes. “I don’t want to go near town first. Someone might see me, recognize me. I think my parents should be first.” She looked down. “Besides, I don’t think I’m ready for the way people will look at me and whisper.”

  “Hey. You’re not turning into that meek, scared little girl I first found, are you? You’ve lived in the mountains, Mary—confronted two grizzlies, lived among Indians, helped cut wood, survived a winter in the Rockies. And you by-God even survived captivity by the Comanche. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mary. It’s something to be proud of. So don’t you let other people make you hang your head.”

  “But they don’t…understand. They don’t understand. How can they, when they haven’t been through it—”

  “Get hold of yourself. You’re falling right back to where you were, Mary MacKenzie. Don’t you do it! I’ll be damned angry and disappointed if you do.”

  She met his eyes again. “Stay by me, Sage.”

  “Right where I am. Now why don’t you point me to your place?”

  She stared out at the town. “If we were higher we’d be able to see it, probably. It’s that way.” She pointed toward the other side of town. “There is a rolling hill over there that hides the house. We have to work our way around town and around the slope of the hill.” She stared in that direction. “It’s quite lovely, Sage. We even have several big trees in our yard.”

  “Well, let’s go see it then.” He moved ahead. Today he wore another new shirt he had purchased, a light blue color that Mary thought made him look most handsome. He sported new black leather boots and black cotton pants that fit him snugly. He wore a new black hat and a wide leather belt from which hung his big hunting knife in its sheath. Mary wore the pink dress and felt rather awkward on the back of a horse wearing the fancy dress and the veiled hat. White gloves covered her calloused hands as she picked up the reins, this time the leader rather than being led.

  “For once you will be following me, Sage MacKenzie. By the way, that’s an Irish name, isn’t it?”

  “Irish as they come. Both my parents were Irish. My mother had hair as red as fire, but my father was very dark. It’s obvious who I took after.”

  “My family comes from England. My great-grandparents came here first. They lived in Pennsylvania. My grandparents got involved in shipping and ended up in New Orleans, and that’s where my father stayed. He met and married my mother there. Her ancestors were from England, too. Rafe and his parents were French, big merchants in New Orleans.”

  “I knew a lot of Frenchmen among the trappers.”

  “Rafe didn’t talk like a Frenchman, but his grandparents did. They hardly spoke English. There are a lot of French in New Orleans. Irish, too. It’s a beautiful city.”

  He listened quietly as she rattled on, knowing she was nervous and needed to talk. They moved past town and into quieter country. Birds sang and an orchard of peach trees on their left showed the small, green beginnings of their fruit.

  “It’s pretty here,” he told her.

  “Yes. That’s why father chose it—to live a little bit away from the city. We have a sheriff, but it’s still safer for a young woman to stay away from the city.” She rode quietly for a moment. “As it turns out, we would have been better off to have stayed closer to where there were more people.”

  They rounded the hill, and a neat, white, two-story home appeared. A white picket fence surrounded it, and two sprawling trees graced a well-manicured lawn. There were several outbuildings for horses and carriages. A wheel window with stained glass at one end of the house provided an air of richness, as did the gingerbread trim that decorated the entire overhang of the roof.

  Every upstairs window was graced with a peak that came out of the roof horizontally. The windows below were long and framed with pointed arches that made them look almost like church windows, and the double front doors incorporated frosted glass in a lacy design. It was t
he fanciest house Sage had ever seen. He was accustomed to log cabins, tipis, or nothing at all. He began to feel like a foreigner in another land.

  Mary stopped her horse and stared for a moment, trembling visibly. “My God, Sage! Did I really live there once? Was I really married once? It’s all so unreal!”

  “Come on. Don’t stop now.”

  She breathed deeply, urging her horse forward, still dragging the travois with the crude rocker tied to it. As they came closer, the house loomed bigger, almost threatening now. It seemed a symbol of something that stood between herself and Sage MacKenzie.

  They reached the gate and Sage dismounted, tying the horses. He reached up for her and helped her down, but her legs felt like rubber and she clung to the fence for support.

  “You go first, Sage. Please? Go to the door and…and tell them…gently. I…I don’t think I should just…surprise them when they open the door. It might be too much of a shock.”

  He gave her arm a squeeze, bending down and kissing her cheek. “It’s gonna be all right, Mary.” He gave her a smile and went through the gate, going up wooden steps onto a neatly painted porch and lifting the door knocker, giving it a few taps. A moment later he heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

  A graying, well-poised woman with violet eyes greeted him. She wore a high-necked, primly styled dress with an expensive-looking cameo pin at the throat. “Yes?”

  Sage removed his hat. “Ma’am, my name is Sage MacKenzie. I’ve come all the way from Wyoming Territory to bring you—” He sighed and swallowed, stepping aside. “Ma’am, I’ve found your daughter, Marietta. She’s with me. I’ve brought her back home.”

  The woman frowned, staring past him at the young woman standing at the fence. Then she paled visibly, bringing her hand to her heart. “My God,” she whispered. “My God! My God!” She pushed past Sage, running down the steps toward Mary, her arms open. “Mary! Mary! Mary!”

  Mary moved through the gate and was instantly swept into her mother’s arms. The woman clung to her, repeating her name over and over through almost hysterical weeping. Now both of them were crying. Sage stood awkwardly at the door, unsure of what he should do next. Mary was stumbling through a tearful and confusing explanation of where she had been, how far she had traveled, carrying on about her baby’s being dead.

  “Thank God! Thank God,” her mother repeated as she wept. “You’ve been saved! We all thought you had died some horrible death! Oh, Mary! Mary!”

  It was several more minutes before they could bring themselves to pull apart. “We found Elizabeth’s poor little body a few days after they took you,” the woman confessed miserably. “We…brought her back here. She’s buried on the hill behind the house. I’ll take you…to see her grave. But first…you must come inside. Your father has been bedridden several months, Mary—ever since he and Rafe gave up searching for you. He’ll get better now that—”

  “Rafe!” Mary paled and felt faint. Sage felt as though all the blood was draining from his body. Mary’s hand squeezed her mother’s so hard the woman actually felt pain. “Rafe…was killed, Mother!”

  The woman smiled through tears, grasping Mary’s arms. “Oh, my darling, he lived. Rafe lived! But he’s not with us anymore. I’m afraid I—I couldn’t help blaming him and your father.” She frowned angrily. “I told them! I told them this was no place for a proper young lady to be brought up! But they wouldn’t listen! And then you were taken, and—” She stopped, studying the stricken look on Mary’s face. “Darling, what is it? Rafe is alive! You should be so happy! Now you can start over! Have more children!”

  Mary met Sage’s eyes, seeing there something just short of horror, and a bitter sorrow. Mary bent over, covering her mouth and making a strange, whimpering sound, as though she were wounded. Sage hurried over to her, taking her from her mother and putting an arm around her while her mother stared in shock.

  “Mary, we’ll work something out. We both said we had to be ready for anything…”

  “But not this! Not this! Oh, my God, my husband is alive! Rafe is alive! Sage, what should we do! What should we do!”

  “First we’ll get you inside and settled down.”

  “What is going on here?” her mother asked in bewilderment.

  “Can we go inside and sit down, ma’am? Maybe you could get her some water.”

  “Yes, I—” She looked from Mary to Sage and back to Mary, who turned now and clung to the man, weeping. Surely they hadn’t…Surely she didn’t have feelings for this rugged-looking man who spoke as though he had had an inferior education. Where had he said he had come from? Wyoming? But that was hundreds of miles, perhaps a thousand! How had Mary ended up that far away? And just who was this Sage MacKenzie?

  “Come inside,” she said, petting Mary’s arm. “I’ll…I’ll try to break the news as gently as possible to James and help him get up.”

  “We have a lot to talk about, ma’am,” Sage told her. “Your daughter has been through a lot—more than most women could ever take. She’s done real well. She’s a strong woman. It’s just been kind of a shock, finding out her husband is still alive. We both thought—” He read the look of indignation in her eyes. “Please. Let’s go inside. We’ll explain all of it.”

  The woman put a hand on her chest again. “Oh, Mary! Mary! All my prayers have been answered. Another few weeks and we might not even have been here. We were thinking of going back to New Orleans and getting away from this horrible place altogether. It’s been so hard staying after what happened. I can’t believe this! I simply can’t believe it!” She looked up at Sage again, an odd warning in her eyes. “We apparently owe you something, Mr.—what was it? MacKenzie?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Sage MacKenzie. I’m a trapper and a scout by trade.”

  “And you brought our Mary all the way back here. We’ll pay you well, Mr. MacKenzie. I’m sure Rafe will offer you quite a reward.”

  Mary wept harder, and Sage caught the emphasis on Rafe’s name, as though the woman thought she had to remind Sage that Mary still had a husband.

  “I didn’t bring her back for money,” he answered, irritation in his voice.

  She sighed deeply, looking slightly haughty. “Come inside,” she told them. “All that matters at the moment is that my daughter is home.” She began crying again, touching Mary as though she were some kind of ghost that might vanish at any moment. “Oh, Mary! Mary! I’ll send for Rafe right away!”

  “Please don’t, Mrs. St. Claire,” Sage advised. “Don’t send for him just yet.”

  The woman stiffened. “But why not! The man has a right—”

  “Not yet,” Sage repeated firmly, keeping a supportive arm around Mary. “When the time is right, I’ll go tell him myself, before he sees Mary.”

  The woman frowned. “I don’t understand—”

  “Then please let’s go inside so I can explain.”

  “And what gives you the right to be the one to tell Rafe, Mr. MacKenzie?”

  “Mother, please,” Mary cried. “My God, this man has brought me on a thousand-mile journey! If not for Sage, I’d be dead, or still practically insane! Don’t you dare be rude to him.”

  “Hush, Mary,” Sage told her gently.

  Charlet St. Claire felt her cheeks burning with indignation. What a strange reunion this was becoming. She was just beginning to realize what her daughter must have been through. Comanche! Had they raped her? How many had there been? How would they face their friends? And who was this Sage MacKenzie?

  “Come inside,” she told them in a voice filled with resignation. She turned and led the way, and Sage walked slowly, supporting Mary. His own heart raged with a helpless, pointless jealousy. Rafe Cousteau was alive! Mary’s husband lived. It was all slipping away now, all of it. He would lose her. Mary. His precious, beautiful Mary. How could he live without her? Why had God done this to him?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  James St. Claire sat weeping in an overstuffed chair in the parlor. What horro
rs his daughter had been through! Sage sat silent, watching Mary’s mother, who stood near the fireplace, questions and doubt in her eyes.

  Mary sat beside Sage, clinging to his hand for support as she told her parents of her ordeal and how she had finally managed to make it back home. Every time she mentioned how she could not have survived without Sage MacKenzie, Mary’s mother gave Sage a look that conveyed nothing short of disgust. His new clothes did not fool Charlet St. Claire. She was a woman who knew class and wealth.

  Sage had already begun to dislike her. He couldn’t help but wonder how Mary had turned out so sweet.

  Now an odd silence hung in the room, while the tall pendulum clock in the outer hall chimed two o’clock and James St. Claire continued to sniffle in his chair. Mary rose and went to him, kneeling in front of the man and taking his hand. “Please, Father, don’t get so upset. I’ll be all right now.”

  “I never should have brought you here,” he declared as he wept. “Charlet was right.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Father.”

  “He could have lived here and left us in New Orleans,” Charlet snipped, her own eyes tearing with horror. “Our daughter! Our only daughter—manhandled by those filthy savages! Sold like a common slave! Used like a—”

  Mary looked up at her, her eyes wide with shock and hurt pride. She slowly rose. “Like a what, Mother?”

  The woman dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You know what I mean,” she said with a sniff.

  “Like what, Mother? A whore? Is that what you meant? Is that how you look at me now?”

  Sage immediately rose and went to her side, putting an arm around Mary’s waist. “Settle down, Mary. Give them time to let it all sink in.”

  Mary still stared at her mother. “Do you think less of me now, Mother? I’m still Mary! I’m still your daughter, the same person who lived here a year and a half ago—only some terrible things have happened to me and I need your love and support!”