“Spent me my first night in jail,” Reb said. “Sure hope it’s my last.” He frowned then. Reaching out he traced each letter engraved on the tombstone. “It’s mighty peaceful out here, little Ruth,” he said. “I wonder if any of your kin ever thinks on what a peaceful spot you’re restin’ in.”
Reb closed his eyes then, drawing in a deep breath of discouragement and fatigue. He felt grimy—still covered in the dust kicked up by the fight he had with Retch Williams the day before. His hands were sore too. He looked at them, stretching his fingers and grimacing at the pain in his bruised and bloodied knuckles. No doubt he had a couple of nice bruises on his ribs as well. He’d forgotten what a good fighter Retch Williams was.
“She ever said much about me to you, Ruth?” Reb asked, sighing. He plucked a foxtail from the grass, placing the stem between his teeth. “You don’t tell her about our little talks now, do ya? I wouldn’t want her knowin’ we’d struck up a friendship of our own. Might get her dander up.” Reb frowned again, shaking his head. “Still, it don’t seem she gets her dander up too awful much anyhow.” He nodded and rubbed at his whiskers again. “Me, on the other hand, seems my dander’s been up for a month of Sundays of late. I beat the waddin’ out of ol’ Retch yesterday. And he deserved it too, so don’t go scoldin’,” he said, wagging an index finger at the tombstone. “Still, it was bad what I said to Sage, comparin’ her to the likes of Ivy Dalton. Guess I nailed my own coffin shut with that, didn’t I?” He glanced at the tombstone, quickly adding, “I didn’t mean no disrespect with that, Ruth. I’m sure you know what I meant to say. What was I thinkin’ kissin’ her that way then yellin’ at her more harsh than I’d yell at Bullet for chewin’ on my good boots?”
Reb reached down, brushing the soft grass and sage with one palm. He pinched a sage leaf from one plant, bending it, rubbing it with his fingers, and drawing it to his nostrils. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, intoxicated for a moment by the fragrance of the plant. In his mind he could see Sage smiling up at him—drawing a sage leaf or two up to her own nose the way he’d seen her do so many times. The flesh on his arms prickled with goose bumps as he remembered the flavor of her kiss, the soft feel of her body in his embrace.
“What I wouldn’t give to taste her now, Ruth,” Reb mumbled. He raised his face to the sky, squinting into the sun. “What I wouldn’t give to have her touch me…have them sweet, sage-scented fingers soft on my face.” He shook his head. “So what’s she thinkin’ about me now, Ruth?” he asked. “She’s thinkin’ I’m the devil for sure.” He sighed, tucking the sage leaves into his shirt pocket. “But she was sweet when I did hold her, Ruth. The sweetest pleasure I ever had.”
Reb stood, stretching his aching fingers again, studying the purple of his knuckles. “I’ll see you another day, sweet girl. You say ‘hey’ to Uncle Buck for me, okay?”
It was a long walk back to the ranch. He’d better get started. Taking the sage leaves from his shirt pocket, he inhaled their fragrance once more before tossing them in the direction of the two jackrabbits still curious about his presence.
With a heavy sigh, Reb Mitchell started out for the ranch with the scent of Sage still fresh in his nostrils—the taste of her still sweet in his mouth. It was the touch of Sage he most longed for at that moment—so soft, so wildly wonderful to his flesh. He longed for the touch of Sage.
Chapter Thirteen
“There goes the stage!” Rose exclaimed as she entered the kitchen later that evening. “And Ivy Dalton was on it! You girls shoulda seen the sour pickle-pinched pout on her ugly ol’ face.”
Sage tried not to think hateful thoughts—tried not to be absolutely elated Ivy had gone. Still, she couldn’t help it. The woman was her worst enemy—pure and simple. Who wouldn’t be glad to see their worst enemy go? Perhaps it would ease Reb’s pain a bit as well. Perhaps with Ivy gone, he could go on living his life as well.
“Now that there ain’t very nice to say, Rose,” Mary mumbled. “That ain’t nice at all.” Eugenia, Livie, and Rose looked to Mary, puzzled frowns puckering their brows. Sage was rather astonished at her uncharacteristic defense of anyone, let alone Ivy Dalton. “And that’s good it ain’t nice,” Mary continued, “ ’cause that little poison Ivy plant don’t deserve nothin’ nice!” Sage smiled, glad to see Mary was still as cantankerous as ever.
Rising to her feet, Mary began to swish her skirt this way and that the way Rose often did when she won a hand of rummy.
“Poison ivy, poison ivy,” Mary sang, still swishing her skirt. Sage couldn’t help but smile when Rose danced over next to Mary and joined in singing, “Poison ivy, poison ivy! Sour pickle poison ivy!” Eugenia and Livie giggled when Mary and Rose each turned around, flipped their skirts and petticoats up over their hind ends, brandishing their bloomer seats to the world.
Sage laughed too, astonished that Mary Farthen owned a piece of clothing even rattier than her red nightgown.
“You’re in sad need of some new bloomers, Mary,” Rose said, standing up and bending back to inspect Mary’s bloomers.
“Do ya really think so?” Mary asked, craning her neck to take a look herself.
“Sage is in need of a little brightenin’ up too,” Livie said. She smiled lovingly at Sage and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s been such a rough ride…the past few weeks since…since that mountain lion, Ivy Dalton, and all, Sage. Let us fiddle with your hair and such for a while. Let’s put you in a pretty dress and get that smile back on your face.”
“Oh, yes, let’s!” Rose exclaimed, excitedly clapping her hands together. “I’ve still got some other dresses upstairs…the ones I drug out of the trunk awhile back. Oh please let us, Sage.”
Instantly Sage began shaking her head. She had no desire to dress up and pretend to be happy. She had no desire to put on another one of Rose’s old dresses and have the delicious and sweet, yet painful, memories of Reb toting her off in his wagon overcome her again.
“No, no, no,” she said. “Not now. I’ve got…I’ve got so much to do.”
“Oh, please, Sage,” Mary pleaded. “I never did get to dress up all purty and soft the way ya look when ya let the girls fiddle with yer hair and all. It makes me happy to see ya that way…to imagine how it must feel.”
Sage’s head ached. She was still very preoccupied by the conversation she’d had with Eugenia earlier in the day. She was frightened and anxious. Thoughts had been bouncing around in her head ever since—thoughts of Reb—of going to him and facing him again. One moment she felt determined to go to him, throw herself at his feet, and confess her love for him and beg for his love in return. The next, she would begin to tremble—fearful—terrified of ever seeing him again, perhaps again seeing the hurt and loathing she’d seen in his eyes the day before. The struggle caused her to feel greatly fatigued. So much so she’d barely managed to fix up some biscuits and gravy for supper. She certainly was in no frame of mind to entertain the widows at her own expense.
Yet Mary’s plea had caused a sympathetic pinch in her heart. As she looked at Mary’s pleading expression, trying to imagine the kind of life the woman had endured, a life lacking so much in joy and silly fun—how could she refuse?
Rose nodded her encouragement to Sage, smiling the smile of a woman desperate to dote.
Livie smiled as well, mouthing, “Please,” at her. And when Sage looked to Eugenia, it was to see her soft, encouraging smile as well.
“Have some fun with us, Sage,” Eugenia said. “Tomorrow’s another day. A fresh day filled with hope and maybe a little courage to boot.”
“Oh, please, Sage,” Rose begged. “Please let us dress you up all pretty.”
Sage sighed, certain she would regret agreeing to their antics. Yet how could she refuse? She always did feel a little better, a little fresher, a bit happier when she let the widows dote on her and mercilessly primp her. Maybe it was just what she needed to find a bit of courage within herself as well.
“Oh, all right,” Sage relented.
Reaching up she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Right?”
She was a little suspicious, however, as all four women simultaneously agreed, “Right!”
“Not that one, Mary!” Rose whined. She pointed an index finger, bouncing it in the direction of the pink and black satin dress strewn across Sage’s bed. “The pink and black one, Mary. Not the orange.”
“Well, for cryin’ in the bucket,” Mary grumbled. “One saloon girl’s dress is the same as the next to me.” Mary gathered the garment from the bed, studying the purple ribbons and black lace adorning it.
“I was not a saloon girl, Mary,” Rose corrected, snatching the dress from Mary. “I was a dancer.”
“Now,” Livie began, twisting a long strand of Sage’s hair around the hot curling iron in her hand. “I think ringlets all down the back here. Your hair is so pretty when you wear it pulled up soft like this, Sage. I wish you’d give up that old widow’s knot.”
“Yes, Sage,” Eugenia agreed. “Men like to get their hands in a woman’s hair, curl a length of it ’round their finger.”
“Do they now, Miss Eugenia?” Sage asked. “So you think ol’ Forest Simmons will find me more attractive with my hair up like this?”
“Maybe,” Eugenia said, shaking her head at Sage. “Though I think one woman’s no different than the other in Forest Simmons’s squinty old eyes.”
“Here now, Sage,” Rose began holding up the dress. “Slip into this pretty little thing.”
“This is positively scandalous!” Sage exclaimed. “How do I let you ladies talk me into such nonsense?” Still, she felt happier, a bit cheerier than she had before. As Rose and Livie helped her into the dress, Sage remembered the last time she’d donned one of Rose’s costumes. “It’s a wonder I trust you at all…after the no-good trick you played on me last time.”
“Oh, we was just havin’ some fun that time,” Rose said. “This time, we’re serious.” Rose tugged at the corset laces, tightening the outer corset of the dress.
“Oh, ya look so purty, Sage!” Mary exclaimed, smiling at Sage as she studied her appearance.
“Do I?” Sage asked, gazing at her own reflection in the oval standing mirror in one corner of the room. Sage couldn’t help but smile as she studied her reflection. Her hair gently coifed, with long, soft ringlets cascading over her back and shoulders. Ruffled lace capped sleeves cupped her shoulders, and the dress’s outer corset pulled in her waist nicely. The hemline of the dress dipped low in the back, tapering up to just covering her knees in the front.
She turned then to study the bow bustle at the back of the dress. Instantly, however, her eyes were drawn to the scars left by the mountain lion’s bite.
“Even for these?” she asked, running her fingers over the small scars. The claw scars weren’t visible, too far down her back to be evident above the corset and purple shirtwaist beneath it. But the puncture wounds from the cat’s bite were there. They looked dark and ugly to Sage.
“They ain’t even noticeable, Sage,” Mary assured her. “And besides, ain’t nobody gonna see them but Reb.”
“What?” Sage exclaimed, spinning around to face the four women.
“Mary!” Eugenia scolded. “You got a mouth as big as a trout!”
“What are you all up to?” Sage asked then, panic rinsing over her.
“Nothin’, Sage,” Rose said. “Mary was just funnin’.” But Sage was uncertain as to who was telling the truth. Rose looked sincere enough, but there was a familiar twinkle in her eye. Sage knew that twinkle as well as she knew the mischievous grin now blazoned on Livie’s face, the look of determination on Mary’s, and the expression of delighted misbehavior on Eugenia’s.
“Get me out of this dress!” Sage exclaimed, reaching back, her fingers fumbling with the corset stays. She was trembling—suddenly shaking with anxiety. She glanced up to the door, certain the widows had tricked her again—certain Reb would enter at any moment to find her looking as ridiculous and gullible as before.
“Grab her, Mary! Eugenia!” Rose shouted then. “Reverend! Winnery! You better get in here!”
Before Sage could move to elude them, Mary had taken hold of one of her arms, Eugenia the other. She gasped, mortified with embarrassment as Reverend Tippetts himself entered the room, Winnery close behind.
“Reverend Tippetts!” Sage exclaimed, horrified to be found by the reverend in such a scandalous state of dress.
“Evenin’, Sage,” Reverend Tippetts said, offering a calm, friendly smile.
Scarlett entered the room as well. She gasped, smiled, and shook her head in seeming awe as she looked at Sage.
“Oh, Sage!” Scarlett exclaimed. “You look so lovely! How I loved that dress when I wore it. I knew it would fit you perfectly. Doesn’t it fit her perfectly, Rosie?”
“Oh my, yes!” Rose agreed. “You bein’ taller and all then me…it’s more fittin’ for her than mine was.”
“What?” Sage asked, confused, frightened, and horrified at what was happening. “What…what are you all doin’ here? What’s goin’ on?”
“Go on ahead and tie her up then, Winnery,” Reverend Tippetts instructed.
“Mind her hair!” Rose said as Winnery approached carrying a length of rope in his hands.
“What are you doing?” Sage cried out. It was like waking up from a nightmare only to find the nightmare was real.
“Now, you hold still there, Miss Sage,” Winnery said. “Give me her hands,” he instructed Mary and Eugenia.
“No! No!” Sage exclaimed, trying to pull free.
“Settle down, Sage,” Reverend Tippetts said, smiling at her. “It’s for yer own good.”
“What?” Sage breathed. She couldn’t believe what was happening. As Winnery secured her arms at her sides and bound her wrists, she was sure she’d wake up at any moment. Surely she’d only fallen asleep in Ruthie’s pasture. Surely this wasn’t really happening.
She blushed to the tips of her toes as Winnery bound her ankles next, then her knees. She hadn’t finished dressing, wore no stockings whatsoever! It was disgraceful! Winnery lifted her then, tossing her over one shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Put me down! What are you doin’?” Sage fairly screamed.
“Hush now, Sage,” Mary ordered. “Else we’ll have to bind yer mouth up too.”
“The wagon’s waitin’ out back,” Reverend Tippetts said. “Let’s get goin’.”
“All right, Reverend,” Eugenia said.
Sage’s eyes widened, disbelief striking her dumb as one by one the widows each pulled a length of red fabric from the front of their shirtwaists. Simultaneously, they tied the bandanas around their necks, pulling the cloths up over their mouths and noses. Sage could not believe it! They looked like a band of gray-haired bandits! Female bandits! They looked like a bunch of mad banditas!
As Winnery carried Sage down the stairs, Scarlett followed, calling out instructions to Sage. “Now, just keep your head and stay calm,” Scarlett said. “Calm and confident. We all know how he feels about—”
A loud knock on the boarding house front door caused every imp in the room to stop cold.
“Help!” Sage yelped a moment before Reverend Tippett’s hand covered her mouth.
“Be quiet, Sage,” he ordered. “Get the door, Livie.”
“All right,” Livie said, skulking toward the door like a prowling outlaw.
“Livie!” everyone whispered in unison.
“What?” Livie asked, turning to face the others.
“Yer scarf, Livie,” Mary whispered. “For cryin’ in the bucket! She don’t have one wit in that empty skull of hers. I swear I can hear her brain a-rattlin’ around in there like a dried-out pea in a wooden bucket!”
“Shhh!” Rose demanded. “Everyone, hush! Especially you, Sage.”
“Good evenin’,” Sage heard Livie greet. There was silence for a moment, and then Livie said, “Well, certai
nly! I’m delighted to meet you. Do come in. Please.”
In another moment, Livie returned. She went to the inkwell and pen set sitting on a nearby desk, quickly removed a piece of paper from the desk, and scribbled something on it.
“Here, Eugenia,” she said folding the paper and handing it to Eugenia. “Be sure he gets this. I suppose I’ll need to stay here.”
“I’ll stay with you, Livie,” Scarlett said, pushing past Winnery and his captive to stand near Livie. “You all go on ahead. We’ll entertain the guest.”
Sage tried to scream—tried to cry out for help—tried to scold them all for torturing her so. But the Reverend Tippetts had a firm hand over her mouth, adeptly muffling any noise she made.
“Get her in the wagon before anybody else shows up,” Eugenia whispered.
“Yes, ma’am,” Winnery said, nodding.
Reverend Tippetts kept his hand firmly over Sage’s mouth as he opened the back kitchen door for Winnery.
The warm light of dusk softened the appearance of everything as Winnery carried Sage out of the boarding house and toward a waiting wagon. Yet the softness of the onset of evening did nothing but heighten Sage’s anxiety. Oh, she’d certainly figured where they were taking her—to Reb! She was horrified! The full extent of the tomfoolery the widows had concocted this time she did not know. She did know, however, that it meant humiliation and further heartache for her. She was dressed in a confounded saloon girl’s dress, for pity’s sake! No stockings or even shoes! It was indecent!
Winnery rather roughly dropped Sage into the wagon’s bed, hopping in after her before she had the chance to struggle.
“Now, no screamin’ or carryin’ on, Sage,” Reverend Tippetts instructed. He climbed up on the wagon seat, taking hold of the lines to the team. Sage watched as Eugenia, Mary, and Rose, still looking like wild cattle-rustling banditas, scrambled into the wagon with her as well. If it hadn’t been for the absolute absurdity of the situation, Sage could’ve giggled at the sight of the three old women awkwardly bumbling into the wagon bed. But she did not for the heartache and panic owning her then.
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