Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  Randy watched him curiously for a moment. “I get it. None of my business, you mean.”

  “I reckon that’s one way of putting it.”

  “Just curious. Didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It was a natural question.” He nodded toward a stream up ahead. “I don’t know about you, but that water looks good. I’m wanting to wash off this dust and soothe my aching hands.”

  “Sounds good to me, too,” Randy answered.

  They rode to the water and dismounted, letting their horses graze and drink while they stripped off their shirts and waded into the water, splashing some over their upper bodies. Sage dunked his whole head in, feeling invigorated by the cold water, and Randy did the same.

  Once the dirt was off, Sage could see the young man had sandy-colored hair and skin tanned dark from being outdoors. His eyes were a vivid blue and his teeth white and even when he grinned. The boy reminded Sage of his own younger years, when he had been a wanderer, cocky and sure, enjoying being alone. Sage felt like warning him that someday he would hate it. Eighteen. That was how old Mary was. That, and the way the boy reminded Sage of himself, made Sage take an immediate liking to the young man.

  “Why in hell do you want to go to Mexico, kid?” he asked then, shaking the water from his hair. “I’ve never been in that kind of fighting myself, but I’ve fought Indians, and I’ve talked to a couple men who were involved in the war with the British back in eighteen and twelve. War and fighting are things to stay away from, if you can. You’ll likely get yourself killed.”

  “I just like to try things I’ve never done before,” the young man answered. “And like I said, maybe some men stay away from fightin’, but I like it. I grew up gettin’ lambasted by my pa. I reckon it’s just somethin’ I know a lot about.”

  Sage studied him a moment, reading right through the cocky words and into the abused little boy this young man had once been. He had a lot of hate and anger to get rid of, and fighting was the only way he knew how to do it. Sage realized that at the moment he felt the same way himself. It was either use his fists on someone, or go insane with wanting Mary.

  “Why don’t you come with me, MacKenzie?” the boy was asking. “Hell, you’re a wanderin’ man, too, right? Let’s go see what Mexico is like—kill us some Mexican soldiers and be part of the brave American army. We’ve got time to catch up to them. Word is a Major General Scott is clobberin’ them Mexicans, aimin’ to fight his way right into Mexico City itself. Hell, this is the first real, honest-to-God, United States Army-fought war ever against a whole ’nother country—I mean, us invading them, you know? It would be a hell of a thing to brag about to the grandchildren, you know?”

  Sage smiled sadly. “Grandchildren? You planning on having some?”

  The young man shrugged. “Sure, someday. ’Course it will be a while before I settle with just one woman. Right now they all look good to me, and I’ve had my share, let me tell you.”

  Sage turned and walked back to the grassy bank of the stream. “Oh, I expect you have. Good-looking young men like yourself usually do just fine with women.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve had your share, too, huh, MacKenzie? Hell, come to Mexico with me and we’ll enjoy some of them Mexican beauties on the way down. They say some of them Mexican girls got fire under their skirts, and some of them get all excited over gringos. And on top of the excitement and the women, anybody that joins the army down there gets paid real good. If you need money, it’s a fast way to make some.”

  Sage sat down on the bank, and a light breeze cooled his wet body. “I’ll think on it. I don’t have much purpose at the moment.” He glanced at a setting sun. “I reckon this is as good a place as any to make camp for the night. I intended to get a room in that town, but since that’s out of the question, I guess this will be it for tonight. It’s too late to look for another town.”

  “Well, then, I’ll camp here, too,” the young man declared. “I can’t just ride off after what you did for me. Let me make the fire, MacKenzie, and I’ll curry down your horses, too. I want to do something to pay you back for savin’ my hide.”

  Sage laughed lightly. “Go ahead if you want. Why should I argue over getting out of a little work?”

  The young man grinned, and Sage had to admit to himself that having someone around might help a little—keep him talking, keep his mind occupied, and help him stop thinking about Mary, at least for a little while. But she would always be there, haunting him, tempting his dreams. Mary…Had Rafe already taken her away? Even if he went back for her, she would probably already be gone. And he wouldn’t even know where. He would never see her again and he had to face that fact, painful as it was. He looked down at his knuckles, flexing his fingers. Yes, it felt good to light into someone, and right now going back to the mountains would be unbearable. Maybe he should give some thought to Randy Lucas’s suggestion that he accompany the boy to Mexico.

  Mary felt naked under the stares of people with whom she had once felt very comfortable. Along with Rafe and her parents, three other couples sat around the huge dining table. Two of the men were merchants and the other the town doctor. The three men and their wives were close family friends who visited the St. Claire home often, and this dinner was being held in honor of Mary’s safe return.

  All those who had known of the horrible abduction and the death of Mary and Rafe’s baby were in near shock at Mary’s return. There had been hugs and tears and all kinds of carrying on at first, but then as the news settled in, Mary could feel the stares, the questions, the curiosity. She knew they were wondering not if she had been raped, but how many times, by how many men? Surely in seeing her well and whole, they wondered with morbid curiosity if she had somehow grown to enjoy her ordeal. After all, she had no marks on her, at least not visible physical marks. She wished the Comanche had cut off her nose or burned some kind of scar into her face. Perhaps then they would understand the atrocities that had been committed against her, would realize the horror she had survived.

  “What a miracle that those savages didn’t disfigure you,” one of the women declared then, as though to voice Mary’s very thoughts. “Surely it’s by the grace of God that you are here at all, Mary. Lucky for you that whiskey dealer came along.”

  Lucky? Mary wanted to laugh.

  “And where is the kind gentleman who brought you back?” one of the men asked. “He should be here with us. I wish I could have met him. I would have liked to have done something for him.”

  Mary stared at her food. “Mr. MacKenzie was not the kind of man who would have expected pay for helping someone,” she answered quietly. “And he’s a wandering man. He was anxious to be on his way.”

  Sage! Anxious? He hadn’t wanted to go at all! How would she ever forget the look on his face that day—the look of a lost little boy. Where was he now? Who would watch over him? Love him? How long could she go on putting on this show of indifference, pretending he was just a stranger who had come along and had agreed to take her home?

  “I offered to pay Mr. MacKenzie something, but he wouldn’t take it,” Rafe was saying casually. “One of those drifters, you know. An honorable man, I might add—just the kind that can’t seem to settle in one place. It was a good thing for Mary he was that kind, because he knew the art of survival and was a good protector on the journey here. Mary says he can even converse with Indians.”

  “All but the damned Comanche, I’ll wager,” one of the others commented. “Murderers and rapists! They should all be hung by their—” Another man had spoken, but he stopped short.

  Mary’s cheeks turned crimson and she put her napkin on the table. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, pushing back her chair.

  “I’m sorry,” came a voice. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She wasn’t even sure who was speaking. Nothing seemed real. Everything was out of place, and these people were like strangers to her now. “It’s all right.” She looked at Rafe, seeing again the struggle in his eyes. She had been home
four days now. He still had not slept with her, not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because she had wanted to be alone. But she knew that even Rafe was wondering, and it tore at her heart.

  She left the room.

  “She’s been through so much,” she heard her mother saying. “Mr. MacKenzie told us how she was completely out of her mind when he found her. He got a room for her at Fort Bridger for the winter, until she recovered enough to tell them who she was.”

  Yes, Mary thought. Be sure to lie about it. Be sure you don’t tell anyone that Sage and I spent the winter alone, in a little cabin—that we were lovers, friends, husband and wife in our hearts. Don’t tell them I lost a baby up there.

  The loneliness of losing Sage could have been bearable, if only these people and Rafe had truly understood. But the agony of realizing they had no conception of what she had really been through was lonelier even than losing Sage. Only Sage knew the truth. Only Sage seemed to have had a keen awareness of how truly horrible it had been, a full understanding of her torture, a deep respect for the person Mary St. Claire Cousteau really was. Rafe was trying his best to understand, but always there was that feeling that he seemed to think he was doing her a favor by accepting her, wanting her back, still loving her. She didn’t want any favors from him. She only wanted his genuine love and understanding.

  “Mary.” She turned to see that Rafe had followed her. “Are you all right, Mary?”

  They stood in a hallway upstairs. “They don’t understand. They’re wondering…hideous things.” She began to tremble. “My own mother looks at me like…some kind of freak,” she choked out.

  Rafe walked closer, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t want this dinner party. It was your mother’s idea.”

  “Oh, Rafe, let’s go away. Let’s leave, like you said we’d do.”

  “We will, just as soon as I get things squared away at the bank. Your father is better now that you’re back. I think in time he can take over again and we can leave. We’ll go back to New Orleans first, see my family. Father can help set me up in another city, perhaps St. Louis. He owns a furniture store and two warehouses there now. How does St. Louis sound?”

  “It sounds fine. Anything sounds better than this place.” She looked up at him. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. I know this is all hard on you. I know how hard you’re trying to understand, to make it all work.”

  How oddly foreign his arms felt now. If she had been looking into Sage’s eyes, she would have seen nothing but sweet love. He would have sensed her pain, totally understood how she was feeling at this moment. In Rafe’s eyes she saw love, but she also saw the questions, felt the anger, the struggle.

  “Tell me you’ll get over him,” he said then. “I can handle this if I know your heart is fully mine, Mary—that you’ve gotten this Sage MacKenzie out of your heart, that you don’t think about him every night, wish he were with you—”

  She reached up and touched his lips. “Rafe, it has only been four days. You know I love you, but don’t ask me to forget him completely. It wouldn’t be fair. But it doesn’t mean my love for you isn’t what it always was.”

  “Is it?”

  She knew how important her words could be. She had chosen Rafe, and she had to live with this man the rest of her life. She would never see Sage again. She had to make this work or go insane.

  “Yes,” she whispered, hoping it showed sincerely in her eyes.

  His own eyes teared, and her heart went out to him. “Prove it to me, Mary,” he groaned. “I want you so much. I want you back completely. Let me sleep with you tonight. Be my wife again.”

  She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want this yet. But did she dare tell him no? She swallowed, reddening as he pressed her close and she felt the familiar manly hardness that said he wanted her. How strange that being with a man could mean such different things. With the Comanche it had been something hideously painful and humiliating, so degrading that she had lost her mind. With Rafe, at first, it had been beautiful and exciting. But it had never been what it had been with Sage—the most fulfilling, passionate, delightful experience she had ever known.

  Rafe had been a good lover, but now she knew something had always been missing, a certain beauty that took lovemaking beyond just satisfying sexual needs. With Sage it had gone deeper than that, as though their bodies had been one, melting into each other. Making love had been a joyous extension of their sweet friendship and deep understanding.

  With Rafe lovemaking had been an exciting adventure, a learning experience. Rafe was handsome and successful, all the things she once thought she wanted in a man, but Rafe didn’t understand her the way Sage did. She and Rafe had been like storybook characters, the prince and princess. But they had never been the good friends she and Sage had been. There had never been that natural acceptance of each other, no questions asked. Being with Sage had been like breathing or smiling. She had been a part of him, like his own body. But she had never really been a part of Rafe. She had been a decoration on his arm, and she realized with shame that that was what he had been for her, too.

  “All right,” she said aloud. How could she tell him no? This was an important moment. Keeping Rafe happy meant getting back to life and going on. Somehow she would get over Sage MacKenzie, and everything would be as it should be. Time. They all just needed some time.

  Rafe kissed her then, a long, hungry kiss. She allowed herself to remember, to feel again the passions he could so expertly draw from her. She had to do this. She had to respond. It made her feel like a whore, like the painted women Sage had once teased her about. That was how it would be. Rafe would use her for his sexual satisfaction, and she would respond out of sheer sexual stimulation and nothing more. She wanted so much for it all to be what it once had been, but always Rafe would be wondering about all the other men, never understanding. And always she would be thinking of Sage MacKenzie and the little cabin.

  “Oh, Mary, Mary,” Rafe was whispering, kissing her neck. He smiled, drawing back then. “You go to your room and get some rest. Wait for me. I’ll tell them you’ve retired for the night. After all you’ve been through, they’ll understand.”

  She studied the handsome face. “You do love me, don’t you, Rafe?”

  “Don’t be silly. You know how much I love you.” He kissed her once more, and she couldn’t help wondering if he was pretending, too, thinking he was required to behave a certain way, that people would think him a terrible cad if he said he didn’t want her anymore. After all, none of it had been her fault. She wondered if this strain, this game of feelings, would ever end. Surely in time it would. Surely if they went away together, started over…

  He left her and she went to her room, putting a hand on her belly. She should have had her time by now. A haunting dread was beginning to taunt her. She had been tempted to say something to Sage, but she had been sure it couldn’t be happening. After all, she had only been a few days late when he left. Surely all the excitement of returning home had been the reason. Surely she couldn’t be pregnant. If she was, the baby was Sage MacKenzie’s. How in God’s name would she explain it to Rafe?

  Yes, even though she was not ready for this, she had no choice but to let Rafe make love to her. If there was a pregnancy to explain, she would have to do her best to make it look like Rafe’s child, and there was only one way to do that. There was no hope at all for their marriage if Rafe thought for one moment the baby belonged to Sage. If she really was pregnant, then when the baby was born she would just explain that it had come early. It would be Rafe’s baby. She would make sure everyone believed it—even Rafe.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “I think I’ll try to sell the roan,” Sage declared. “An extra horse slows a man down. I don’t need it now.”

  He quietly smoked a cigar and eased back against his saddle, staring up at a black sky packed with millions of stars.

  “Yeah, you never know when you’re gonna have to haul ass at a dead run from Indians or Mexicans in
these parts,” Randy answered. The young man chewed on a piece of cold buffalo meat. “How come you had an extra horse along anyway?”

  Sage said nothing for several long seconds. They had been traveling together for nearly two weeks now, still headed south. Sage had no idea why he had continued this journey. Maybe it was just to do something as different as it could be from the life he had known in the mountains. Maybe if he went to Mexico and got involved in that ridiculous war, he could somehow forget Mary. The best thing that could happen would be his getting killed. Death would be better than this living hell.

  “Oh, I forgot. You ain’t wantin’ to tell me anything personal,” Randy continued. “Must be that horse has somethin’ to do with it.”

  “It does.” Sage puffed on the cigar again, sighing deeply.

  “I might just seem like a dumb kid to you, Sage, but I’m not that dumb. You’re runnin’ from somethin’, tryin’ to forget, maybe. So it’s gotta be a woman. If it was a wife and you lost her, I’m real sorry about it. I’ve never cared about any woman special, but I’ve thought about it—thought about how if I did care that much, hell, I’d feel crazy if I lost her to death.”

  Sage poked the cigar against the hard ground, putting it out. “Some losses are worse than death,” he said quietly. He looked over at Randy, whose face was lit up by the camp fire.

  Randy Lucas was a young man who was reckless most of the time and carefree, who talked big and professed not to care about anything in particular. But at the moment he looked genuinely concerned. Sage wondered what it was about sitting by a fire under the stars that brought out a man’s vulnerabilities.

  “I found a woman up in the mountains,” he said then, “almost a year ago now. She had suffered something terrible—lost her mind.” He shrugged. “It all worked out that I ended up keeping her all winter because she didn’t know who she was or where she was from, and I didn’t know what the hell to do with her. Besides, she was the prettiest thing that ever wore a skirt, and young—about your age. And she had the damnedest eyes you ever saw—big, violet eyes, with long, dark lashes surrounding them. I reckon I got kind of hypnotized by those eyes. There I was, a man always alone, never needing anybody—and before I knew it I was sick in love with that woman. And I was all she knew or remembered. So she looked to me for everything, fell in love with me in return.”