“It’s been a long week,” Reb said.
“Good night then, Reb,” Sage heard Charlie say.
“Good night, Charlie,” Reb said.
Sage held her breath as she heard Reb’s boots on the front porch. Held it even longer when she heard him open the door and walk through the kitchen—heard the click click and soft padding of Bullet’s paws as he accompanied his master. She heard the sounds of the pump handle working in the kitchen—heard water splashing in the sink.
“There ya go, boy,” Reb said. “Yer a good dog, Bullet. A good dog. You eat hearty, okeydokey? I’m turnin’ in.”
Sage began to breathe again then—the rapid breath of fearful anticipation. What could she do? What could she possibly say? She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to disappear. But when she opened them again, nothing had changed. She still sat dressed in Scarlett Tippetts’s old saloon dress, tied to Reb Mitchell’s bed, and unable to do anything to change it.
Anxiously, she watched the bedroom door, waiting for him to appear and burst into angry questions. In the next moment he did appear, pausing in the doorway as he yawned pulling his shirt off over his head. Tossing the shirt to join the pile of others in the corner, he closed his eyes tightly shut, stretching long and hard. He seemed overly tired, completely worn out—and Sage felt all the more fearful and anxious for intruding on his private existence.
He still did not see her as he looked down, fiddling with the button at the waist of his blue jeans. Sage gasped, realizing he might continue his routine of undressing if she did not make herself known. But fear silenced her voice. What could she say? How could she possibly speak?
He glanced up for a moment but looked back to his hands working the button at his waist, as if his mind hadn’t quite noticed Sage tied to the bed.
Slowly then, he looked back to her—a puzzled frown puckering his handsome brow.
“Sage?” he asked. Sage felt tears of humiliation and panic filling her eyes, and she looked away from him for a moment. Reb turned and looked back over his shoulder as if he half expected to see someone standing behind him. He looked at her, still frowning, and asked, “Sage…what’re ya doin’ dressed up like a saloon gal and tied to my bed?”
Chapter Fourteen
“It wasn’t me, Reb!” Sage began to explain. “I swear…it wasn’t me. “I-I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.”
What Reb must be thinking as he stood there staring at her, she could only imagine. Yet the sight of him, his mere presence in the room, caused a breathless sort of thrill to rise in her bosom.
Still frowning, Reb walked toward her. Sage felt more tears fill her eyes as her gaze fell to the painful-looking scars blazoned on his chest. The scars on his body were far more severe than the ones on her back. She was suddenly awash with guilt—self-blaming for their existence.
“I didn’t figure ya did it yerself, Sage,” he said as he approached. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “That’s a mighty good job of ropin’ and tyin’ though,” he said.
Sage’s heart pounded violently. He was so near—standing there so close! If she hadn’t been tied up she could’ve easily reached out and touched him. Oh, how she wished she could touch him—throw herself into his arms.
“It was Mr. Winnery!” Sage exclaimed. “The widows…the widows put him up to it! Reverend Tippetts even! He helped! All of them! They tied me up back at the boardin’ house, and Winnery carried me out to the wagon. Reverend Tippetts drove it here!”
“Winnery tied ya up?” Reb asked. His expression hadn’t changed. He still frowned at her, eyes narrowed as he listened.
Sage was desperate to absolve herself from any wrongdoing, however, and babbled on.
“It was the widows! I don’t mean for you to take me for a liar, Reb,” she continued, “but I think your Aunt Eugenia was at the heart of it! They…they had masks too! The widows, they wore red bandanas around their faces like they thought they were rustlers or somethin’! They all threw me in the wagon, drove me out here and…and…”
“And tied ya up to my bed,” Reb finished for her.
“I swear, Reb…I didn’t do it,” she repeated.
He was silent for a moment, still studying her—his frown softening as he asked, “How’d they get ya in that dress?” Sage blushed from the top of her head to the very tips of her bare toes. She felt so ridiculous, foolish for being so gullible. “Did Winnery do that too?” Reb asked.
“No! Of course not,” Sage said, her teeth clenching with indignation. “I was ignorant enough to fall for that myself,” she admitted. She continued to fight tears of humiliation, continued to wish she could reach out and touch him.
All at once, his face broke into a smile. Sitting down on the bed next to her, he began to laugh. Shaking his head, he looked at her and continued to laugh.
“I can just see it,” he said, tipping his head back, shaking it in disbelief. “Them four old ladies dressed up like bandits.” He looked at her then, eyebrows raised as he chuckled. “They talked the Reverend Tippetts into this?” he asked.
“He drove the wagon,” Sage reminded him. “This dang dress even belongs to Scarlett.”
“Does it now?” he asked, his gaze falling to her bare legs. He placed his hand on her ankle, caressively sliding it up her leg to her knee. Sage’s entire body broke into goose bumps at the pleasing sensation of his touch. “And no stockin’s or shoes?” he asked.
“They didn’t give me time,” Sage said.
Reb shook his head, chuckling again. “Looks like I really missed out on the fun this time.”
“Please, Reb,” Sage begged then. “Please…please just untie me. I’m sorry…I’m sorry they…”
“Untie ya?” he said, frowning again. “Well, how do I even know yer tellin’ me the truth, Sage?” he asked.
“What? Of course I’m tellin’ you the truth!” she exclaimed. Certainly she knew how ridiculous the entire story sounded—how far-fetched. But Reb knew the widows as well as she did. He knew they were little mischief-makers. Furthermore, he knew she couldn’t have possibly tied herself up the way she was.
“But what if yer lyin’?” he asked. “What if…what if Santy Claus just come early on this year? What if yer my Christmas present and Santy Claus just had to drop ya down the chimney a might premature? Ya know, ’fore ya spoiled, or went bad or somethin’?”
“Please, Reb,” Sage whispered. He was teasing her now. Not maliciously, but she still felt all the more foolish.
He seemed to ignore her plea, however, saying, “Looky here.” He reached out, unpinning the note from her dress. “Seems Santy Claus left me a note. Maybe this’ll explain why he’s come by so soon…so unexpected.” He tossed Mary’s bent-up old safety pin on to the lamp table next to the bed. “I mean, Christmas don’t often come in August.”
“Reb,” Sage begged.
“Hush now, Sage,” he mumbled. “Ain’t often a man gets a note from Santy Claus hisself.”
Sage sighed. She felt so very defeated—so very tired—so very uncomfortable. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought Reb was in cahoots with the widows, Winnery, and Reverend Tippetts. He did not seem the least bit angry. He only seemed amused. She wondered then—wondered if perhaps what Eugenia said was right. Perhaps Reb did care more for her than he let on. She studied him as he read the note from Livie, happy to see his face again—delirious to be in his presence. All at once, she didn’t care so much she was dressed up in some ridiculous getup, helplessly tied up to his bed. All at once, all she cared about was being with him.
It was all worth it, she thought. Just to be with him again…all this was worth it.
She watched as he finished reading the note. Folding it once more, he tucked it into the pocket of his trousers.
“Yep,” he said, grinning at her. “Ol’ Santy says he just had to deliver early this year.” He chuckled, taking hold of her ankles and running an index finger over the bottom of one of her feet. Sage flinched, trying to pu
ll her ankle from his grasp before he could tickle her again. “I’ll say this ’bout ol’ Santy, though,” he began, “I sure like what he’s leavin’ off for me these days a darn sight better than them toy soldiers he brung a few years back.”
“Y-you don’t seem very angry,” Sage stammered. Oh, he was beautiful! For a moment Sage was so lost in the alluring fire of his eyes she almost forgot she was still tied up. He’d cleaned up his whiskers since she’d seen him the day before. His mustache and goatee were once again perfectly manicured. His hair, however, was mussed and tousled the way she preferred it. Oh, how she wished she could reach out and run her fingers through the softness of his hair.
“Why would I be angry?” he asked. “What kind of fool would be mad about findin’ you all gussied up and helpless?” He frowned then and added, “Even so…I do wonder what they were thinkin’ I’d do with ya when I found ya this way. Reverend Tippetts must trust my self-restraint a bit more than I do myself.”
Sage blushed, delighted at his teasing inference. She wished she could sit and stare at him forever—stay tied up if it meant she could do so. She sighed, realizing the widows had been right. She was glad they’d tortured her, for Reb was speaking to her again.
Reb’s smile faded, however, and he reached down drawing a knife from his boot.
“More’n likely they’re all just callin’ me out as coward,” he mumbled, cutting the rope binding Sage’s ankles.
“What?” Sage asked, remembering the conversation she’d had with Eugenia. She felt hot, disgusted with herself. In her anger and hurt, she’d called him a coward too. She knew, as she knew when she’d said it—Reb Mitchell was no coward. It was heartache that had caused her to say it. Heartache and the fear the devil had put in her.
“Ain’t I?” he asked, cutting the rope at her knees. “Wasn’t bad enough I was ignorant and let that cat get to ya,” he began. “I had to go and let it nearly tear ya to bits.” He cut the ropes that bound her hands and then the ones binding her arms.
Sage rubbed at her sore wrists with her hands as she said, “That wasn’t your fault. None of it. You couldn’t have known that cat was—”
“I couldn’t even face ya after,” he said. He reached up caressing the bareness of her shoulder with one hand—his fingers lingering on the scars left by the mountain lion’s teeth. Every inch of her flesh tingled at his touch. She wanted so desperately to throw herself into his arms. Yet fear, coupled with the need to remain strong and restrain her tears, kept her from it.
“I was sick to death about it. I knew ya musta thought I was the weakest man ya ever did come across.”
“How could I have thought that?” she asked. “You saved my life.”
“Maybe,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Maybe?” Sage asked in a whisper. How could he even think for one moment that he hadn’t saved her life? The gruesome scars on his chest were proof enough!
“And then that mess with Ivy,” he mumbled, rising from the bed. He returned the knife to its place in his boot. “I shouldn’ta said the things I did to ya yesterday in town.”
Sage was trembling, tears brimming in her eyes, begging for release, but she held them back. She couldn’t let Reb see her cry. He’d think she was weak. Wouldn’t he? Yet he still believed she thought he was weak because of the mountain lion attack, and she didn’t. Maybe—maybe he wouldn’t think her tears were weak either. Still, she held them back.
It was all wrong somehow. He wasn’t angry for finding her tied up in his house. He didn’t seem angry about anything. He only seemed defeated—calm, tired, and defeated. He didn’t even seem fearful. Eugenia said he was afraid, but Sage did not sense it in him. Eugenia had been wrong.
As Sage sat trembling—so desperately holding back her tears—confusion washed over her. She had expected Reb to be angry at finding her there. Irritated his privacy had been breached. But he only seemed amused by the widows’ antics. Sage had expected, even hoped for an angry outburst from him—something to perhaps provoke her into her own confessions. She was unprepared for his composure.
Reb smiled at her, his eyes warm and fascinating. He held his hand out to her. “Come on, you brazen hussy,” he said, winking at her. “Let’s haul ya on home.”
As Sage placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her stand up from the bed, she fancied the life was draining from her. She was dazed, unable to believe the entire experience. All the widows’ planning and mischief—it was all for naught. The ebb of dying hope throbbed through her body as the familiar pain of heartache plunged into her heart. As he led her toward the door, she relented then—relented and freed her tears.
Ruthie was nowhere near—there was no rain—but she could no longer stop her pain from manifesting itself through her tears. She made no noise—no sniffle or sound to indicate her tears had begun. Glancing up quickly, she was grateful Reb was looking forward as he led her toward the bedroom door—thankful he had not yet seen her weakness.
When he reached the bedroom door, however, he paused. He still did not look back at her, only paused, casting his gaze to the floor for a moment. Unexpectedly then, he reached out and closed the bedroom door, shutting them in the room.
Sage’s tears increased as she stood behind him. She was the coward! She was! Why couldn’t she just open her mouth and tell him she was sorry for being so guarded? Why couldn’t she just tell him she loved him—that she knew she would die if he did not love her in return?
Reb did not speak at first, only continued to face the door. He lowered his head as he mumbled, “I can’t take ya back.” He shook his head and added, “Not without tastin’ ya one more time first. I swear, Sage Willows, whenever yer around I feel like I ain’t had nothin’ to drink in a month.”
Sage gasped as he suddenly turned, taking hold of her shoulders, spinning her around and rather roughly shoving her back against the bedroom door.
His head still bent before her, he began, “Sage, I…” but when he looked up at her, his words were silenced.
Reb had meant to steal one last kiss from her—determined to savor her mouth once more before freeing her. But as he looked upon her, he was awestruck at the vision before him. He wasn’t certain he was awake at first. He knew he must be dreaming—for Sage Willows never cried—never! Not without the benefit of the rain to mask her tears. Yet she stood before him, tears spilling from her eyes and over her cheeks in astounding profusion.
Had he hurt her when he’d turned her to face him? Had she been hurt during the widows’ kidnapping scheme? He looked her up and down quickly. He didn’t see any injuries.
Sage turned her face away from him then—turned her head to one side as if she were ashamed he’d seen her tears. Reb’s heart began to race—he felt his breathing increase. Could it be? Could it possibly be she meant to forgive him for his weakness with the cat? For his asinine behavior where Ivy was concerned? Reb felt hope building in him—felt strength returning to his limbs. Perhaps his Aunt Eugenia had been right that day she’d scolded him for not going to Sage after the mountain lion attack. Perhaps—just perhaps—he’d misread Sage’s reaction the day he’d gone to the boarding house to apologize to her and found Ivy Dalton there. Was Sage as afraid as he was of disappointment and heartache?
His mouth watered for her, but there were things to be said between them first. He swallowed his desire and let hope lead him.
“Are you thinkin’ on forgivin’ me, Sage?” Reb asked. Sage was embarrassed by her tears, but his words stunned her so completely she could not help looking at him again.
“What?” she asked in a broken whisper.
“Are…are you thinkin’ you can forgive me?” he asked again.
“Forgive you?” she cried. “Forgive you for what? For walkin’ up to my front door one day and makin’ everythin’ so wonderful? For savin’ my life when that cat came after me? For thinkin’ I was…for thinkin’ I was as coldhearted as Ivy Dalton when I…when I was too afraid to tell you…when I wa
s too afraid to tell you…” Her breath caught in her throat for a moment—the result of so much restraint built against emotion. “I’m…I’m the coward,” she whispered. “I’m the coward the widows called out tonight. I’m the one who…who…” She raised her hand to wipe her tears, but Reb caught her hand in his.
“Are ya cryin’ for me, Sage?” he asked. His voice was low—something in the intonation of it hypnotically alluring.
“The day Ivy came,” Sage began, “I-I thought you…I thought you sent her the telegram. I thought…I thought you didn’t want me and only wanted—”
“Are these my tears, Sage?” he interrupted. “Are they for me?” Sage gasped and held her breath as he kissed her cheek. She raised her hand again to wipe her tears, but he only caught it in his again, whispering, “These are my tears, Sage, and I’ll take care of them my way.”
Sage felt her body erupt into a nervous trembling—a delightful wave of goose bumps breaking over her as Reb kissed her cheek several more times in succession. Moistening his lips, he moved to her other cheek, and she felt the soft, moist touch of his tongue on her skin as he kissed her, tasting her tears.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear, breathless from his kisses.
He raised his head, looking at her—frowning. “What could you ever have to be sorry for?”
Sage closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to keep from melting into a sobbing puddle at his feet—struggling for the courage to speak the words to him.
“I’m…I’m sorry I couldn’t find the courage to tell you…” As she spoke—as she stammered—her emotions and residual fear causing her speech to be broken—she reached out to touch him. Somehow she hoped if she could touch him—simply feel he was really standing before her, somehow she hoped she could tell him what her heart so desperately needed to tell him. Tentatively—for fear she was dreaming and touching him would somehow awaken her and cause him to disappear—she let her fingertips travel over one of the fresh scars on his chest. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising with the breath as she pressed her palm against his skin, feeling the scars on his body—the scars inflicted there because he’d saved her life.
The Touch of Sage Page 23
