Oh, yeah. Good stuff. Sage might actually have glasses on the table, since she seemed like such an organized hostess. Sure enough, when I poked my head into the living-dining room, the table was already set. I retrieved the two wine glasses and took them to the kitchen, pouring them each three-quarters full. I didn’t hear her approach.
“Hi.” She stood in the doorway that led into the living room and oh, my God, she was radiant. I never really understood how that word worked when you applied it to women until that moment. She had tied her hair back, which unfortunately for me exposed her most excellent cheekbones and the unbelievable planes of her face. She wore a loose faded red tee and a black wraparound skirt stamped with African-style fish and gazelles in cream and light blue. A leather anklet with small cowrie shells graced one of her legs.
She was barefooted. God, even her feet were gorgeous. I needed to think about something else.
Right now.
“Hi. Sorry. I kind of made myself at home.” I handed her a glass of wine.
“I wanted you to make yourself at home.” She smiled and took the glass, clinking it gently against mine. “Thanks for coming.”
“The amazing smells lured me out of my cave.
You look really nice,” I added.
She flashed a grin and took a sip of wine. “Thanks.
You’re not so bad yourself.” She gestured with her glass. “Hey, this is really good.”
I pointed at the open bottle. “I like to drink local.”
She peeked under the lids of the pots. “Your timing is perfect. Go sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I mock-saluted and headed for the living room, giving her a wide berth. What the hell is wrong with me? I barely know her! I took one of the seats that had a plate in front of it and stared at the candle in the center of the table. The room was awash in gentle, muted light from a lamp on an end table near the front door and several other candles, all lit.
God help me. On the plus side, I had a feeling Sage just liked candles. From the looks of these, she fired them up fairly often. She emerged from the kitchen and picked up the plates.
“Be right back,” she said softly.
She’s going to kill me. Or maybe I’ll just die. I took a swallow of wine. She reappeared with the two plates, loaded with food. She set one down in front of me and the other at the place to my right. I was facing the kitchen doorway. She went back to the kitchen only to appear seconds later with a basket full of nan . I am in such deep shit right now.
“I hope you like Indian,” she said, obviously reading my thoughts.
“I love it. I cannot believe you can cook this stuff.
Amazing.” I mixed my chana with the rice, into which she had stirred cardamom pods. I’m in the deepest shit ever. Chicken tikka masala, nan, and raita. I was in heaven. At least I’d die well-fed. “This is unbelievable. Thank you so much. Wow.” I relaxed, letting go of the day.
She smiled and dropped her gaze to her plate, shy.
How many layers were there to this little mystic? I stood. “More wine?”
“Please.”
“I’ll just bring the bottle. How’s that?”
“Good idea.”
I returned and refilled her glass, asking her about her day. She was teaching a photo workshop that would meet for the last time the following week. She had me laughing at her descriptions of some of the students, two of whom she said had talent. I liked the kindness I heard in her voice.
“And you? How’d it go last night?”
I gave her a brief run-down of my dinner with Melissa. It didn’t bother me that Sage asked. I didn’t mention the gallery visit, however. I needed to keep that close for a while longer, maybe because I wasn’t sure what this thing between us was all about.
“So overall, how do you feel about dinner with your past?” she said, watching me.
I hesitated, trying to find the right word.
“Peaceful.”
“Sometimes you need to debride a wound before it can heal.” She took a bite of nan and looked at me.
“Are you still angry with her?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I thought I was, but I guess I haven’t been for a long time. I guess I just wanted to hear what her reasons were for doing it.” I took a sip of wine. “I’m part of the equation and I’m not entirely sure how that plays out, but it’s done. I can’t change it.”
“You should let things go. Otherwise they build up and when they spill out, it can be ugly.”
“Yeah,” I softly agreed. I then told her that Megan had called and that I had talked to her. Sage looked at me sharply. I told her how the conversation went.
“She’s in Edgewood?”
“She says she is. I don’t think she’d have a reason to lie about that. I think she wants to get away from Cody and the group but she’s afraid.”
“I will so remove his arms from his body,” Sage said firmly. “What’s your next step?”
“Actually, I have a cell phone number for our door-bustin’ buddy and I’ve been calling him. He’s not answering and if he doesn’t tomorrow, I’ll leave a message. I’m going to get a temporary cell phone. I’ll tell him I’m interested in the movement and find out if he’ll meet me somewhere.” I decided not to tell her about the photo I had found in Megan’s desk. Not yet.
Sage’s eyes widened. “And that’s a good idea because?”
“If I can get him away from Megan, I might be able to use him as an informant or something. My friend Chris can help with that, since she’s hooked into law enforcement.”
Sage took another sip of wine. “She was here the other night.” She sounded thoughtful. “She has good energy.”
I looked at her, debating what that might mean.
“I can tell through you. She cares about you and you’ve known her for a while.”
I decided not to go there. Sage was either really perceptive or part of some other-worldly group that used ESP to lure unsuspecting researchers like myself to awesome home-cooked meals. I finished every bit of food on my plate. She did as well. “More?”
“I’m great right now. Just right.”
“Good. It’s not healthy to stuff yourself.” She picked up the plates and returned to the kitchen and reappeared just as quickly. She wasn’t going to clean up just yet. I poured more wine and we continued to chat, sitting at the table companionably.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“I’ve always had a knack for it. I started working with Asian cuisines when I moved to Albuquerque.
Much easier to get ingredients.”
I wondered at this other side to her. A much softer, introspective side. “Tell me about Sheridan.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Let’s see—I was born there, actually. I’ll be thirty-one in a few months.” She pinned me with her gaze though a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. I kept my expression neutral.
“My brother was born two years later.”
I didn’t tell her that I’d Googled her. I wasn’t ready to admit that I could very easily find myself in a compromising situation with her. I wasn’t sure what was happening here, but I was both excited and scared.
She regaled me with a variety of tales, including descriptions of running out to the outhouse in the dead of the Wyoming winters. “Hell, sometimes we had to roll burning logs from the stove through the snow to melt a path.” Her eyes sparkled when she teased. She talked about how hard her mom had worked to make her father’s paychecks last as long as possible. She spoke of the wind that howled across the grasslands. She told stories about antelope and elk, hawks and eagles. She and her brother learned how to hunt and fish. “I’m still a damn good shot.
That’s why I know I could kick Cody’s ass,” she said matter-of-factly.
She talked about her realization that she was different. Not like the other girls. At ten, she’d made up stories about rescuing a classmate from dragons, about rescuing her. In high school she kissed her first gir
l. At the University of Wyoming she started dating women seriously. Her longest relationship was three years with an older student. It ended two years ago. It bothered me a bit that I might be part of a pattern. On the other hand, maybe she was just a lot more mature than many of her peers. I changed the subject.
“What happened to your dad?”
She was quiet for a while, sipping her wine.
“I’m sorry. You don’t need to talk about that if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that,” she assured me. “I really don’t know what happened to him. When Mom moved River and me into town, he didn’t come around anymore. I saw him maybe once after that. He was sober, for once, and he told me I look like his mom.
Whatever the hell that means. I never saw him again.”
I shifted in my chair. “Where’s your mom?”
“She lives in Cheyenne. She’s an LPN now and she works in a hospital. She wants to be an RN so she’s taking classes.”
“That’s great. And River?”
She grinned. “He’s a hunting guide in Montana.
He freakin’ loves it. He calls once a week to check on me. He’s supposed to be my baby brother but he worries about me all the time.”
I returned her grin and reached for the bottle of wine. “Uh-oh. Empty,” I announced.
She raised an eyebrow. The gesture made me weak. “So open the other one. That’ll be your hourglass. When it’s done, time for you to leave. We don’t want you turning into a pumpkin, after all.”
I laughed and went to the kitchen where I opened the second bottle and returned to the living room. She had moved to the couch with both wine glasses. Uh-oh again.
I sat down and finished what was left at the bottom of my glass then poured from the new bottle. I handed my glass to her. “First dibs. Try it.”
She took it, her fingers brushing mine. Shit. I ignored it the best I could. She sipped and nodded, handing my glass back. “This is really good, too.
Another local?”
“Of course. I’m kinda weird like that.” I placed the open bottle on the coffee table.
“I like weirdness. So why are you still a bachelor?” She had an unnerving way of getting right to something, usually without an obvious segue.
“Excuse me?”
She sat facing me, both knees drawn up to her chest, her right arm lying along the back of the couch.
“You say that to buy yourself time for your answers. I think I must make you nervous.” She flashed another grin.
And then some. “You’re right. I do. And yes, you do.”“How come?”
“Like you said earlier—sometimes you say things before you think about them.” I hoped I didn’t sound as stupid as I felt.
She laughed. “And it does get me into trouble.
You’re really polite about it, at least. And you tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. So did that last question make you uncomfortable? Or are you reading meanings into it?” She cocked an eyebrow and looked at me above the rim of her own wineglass, her lips resting against it. I really wanted to be that glass. And the realization almost knocked me off the couch.
“Yes and probably. The short answer is, I don’t know why I’m still a bachelor. I guess I like it.”
“Or you work too much.”
“Yes. But I like the work that I do. And after Melissa, I was pretty messed up for a little bit.”
“That wasn’t really about you.” Her tone was surprisingly gentle.
I waited for her to continue.
“That was about Melissa not telling you she needed you. And rather than deal with it, she got sucked into something else.”
“I worked a lot during those months that Megan was in rehab, Sage. I wasn’t available emotionally.
I’m not excusing what Melissa did. But I was part of that relationship, too. For whatever reasons, neither of us really handled it the best way.”
She handed me her empty glass. I filled it and handed it back.
“Megan told me about you right after we met,”
she said. “She told me about Melissa and about what happened with you. She said she was really messed up before you left and didn’t know what precipitated you leaving until later.” Sage took a sip of wine. “And she described you. She said you’re laid-back and really, really nice. You’re not judgmental and you’re funny. Those are fairly simplistic, superficial characteristics.” She watched me. “But sometimes the simplest things tell the most complex stories.”
I quickly took a sip of wine as she continued talking.
“I went over one day and I noticed Megan had some photos out on her coffee table in the living room.” She smiled. “I notice things like photos.
Anyway, there was one of you with Melissa at Taos Pueblo. Megan had never told me what you look like but I knew it had to be you in that picture. I could see that it was you in your eyes before Megan told me it was you. She said it was her favorite photo of you and Melissa but she didn’t like to have it out. She put that one away somewhere and I didn’t ask about it.”
I poured more wine into my glass. I knew I should get out of there right away. If I didn’t want this to go any further, I needed to leave. But I couldn’t move.
My feet felt like they were glued to the floor.
She sat regarding me and I swear I saw fireflies dancing in her eyes. “And when I met you, you were everything Megan had said but so much more.”
“Sage—”
“I’m not trying to weird you out. I’m just telling you my thoughts and feelings on the matter. So relax.
I don’t go where I’m not invited.” She took another sip of her wine. “And stop fighting yourself.”
I stared at her. “What do you mean?” I was painfully aware of the music, a slow and extremely sexy groove.
She sighed patiently but smiled. “Have you ever gone swimming in a river?”
Another one of her side trips. I followed. “Yeah.
Quite a bit.”
“Well, the Poudre River flows through this canyon in northern Colorado, outside Fort Collins. Along the way are some really great swimming holes after the spring run-off. There’s this one place where you can jump into a pool from a cliff above. It’s, like, twenty feet down and in June and July, that pool must be thirty feet deep.”
I waited. I was getting used to Sage’s digressions, since she always had a point to make.
“But in August, the drop is more like forty feet and you might really fuck yourself up if you jump.”
She held me in her gaze. I had nowhere to hide. “In other words, yes, sometimes it’s not a good idea to jump off a cliff. But there are other times when it’s the best possible thing you could do.”
I lost the ability to breathe, think, and speak. All at once.
She leaned over and set her glass on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, K.C., but I think it’s a good idea for you to go, even though we still have wine left. I know I said I’d like you to come over for dinner and we’d just talk and hang out.” She stood. “But I can’t. I can’t be this close to you and not want more.”
I couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. I felt completely out of control but in a strangely good way. I tried to run through the list of why I shouldn’t pursue anything with Sage, tried to remember all the bullet points I had made in that internal PowerPoint. And for the life of me, I didn’t come up with any.
She offered an apologetic smile. “Thank you for coming to dinner.”
I stood as well, on autopilot. “Thank you for cooking. That was a really, really nice thing to do.”
Oh, God. My internal hostess again. I wanted to kick myself for sounding so stupid. She bent to retrieve the wineglasses.
“Sage.” She looked up at me and I was useless in her gaze. Helen of Troy had nothing on Sage of Sheridan. “Will you dance with me?” I blurted. What am I doing? Where did that come from?
“I’d love to.” She set the wineglasses back down.
&nb
sp; I reached out with my left hand and she took it with her right. I refused to think about how that felt because when I pulled her gently into my arms it was as if all the secrets of the universe were soon to be revealed. I carefully positioned my right hand against the small of her back and pulled her against my body.
I held her right hand against my chest. She rested her left arm on my shoulder, her fingers centimeters from my neck. She was looking into my eyes as we moved and I felt like I had eaten live coals. A force of nature.
Hurricane Sage.
We fit very well together. Too well. Like we were supposed to be doing this. I hugged her closer and she lowered her head to my shoulder so that her forehead brushed my neck. I released her hand then and slid my arm around her. I had no idea how I had the gumption to do that. She let her free hand drop to my waist and I felt the fingers of her other hand teasing my hair where it hit the back of my neck. Her fingertips brushed the skin at the nape of my neck and every nerve ending in my body screamed. I was surprised she didn’t hear it. Or maybe she did because she tightened her hold around me with her right hand and shifted her head slightly. The heat of her breath brushed my neck and it sent crazy shivers down my spine. She’s got to have some kind of magical powers, I thought. Because I have never felt anything like this. Ever. But this can’t be a good idea. Can it?
“What are you afraid of?” Her voice, low against my neck.
“I don’t know.”
Her right hand glided up my back, pressed gently on my shoulder blade. I swear heat emanated from her palm. Worse, her breasts were pressed against mine and the sensation was unbelievable. I was afraid I might hyperventilate and I hoped Sage couldn’t tell.
“Is it me?” The warmth of her breath caressed my neck and ear. I don’t know how I remained standing.
“Yes.”
She was quiet for a bit, absorbing that, I supposed.
“Explain,” she finally said. She raised her head and I was forced to look again into her eyes, reflecting mysteries on the verge of unveiling.
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