“Sage,” he breathed. She looked up to him as his hand suddenly encircled her throat. “Don’t touch me unless ya intend to let me…”
“I love you,” she breathed, sliding her hand upward from the scars on his chest, over his shoulder and along his neck, finally resting her palm against his cheek. “I love you.”
Reb’s brow puckered. He winced as if some sort of deepening ache had just gripped his heart.
More tears spilled from Sage’s eyes as his hand moved from her throat to cup her face.
As his thumb caressively traveled over her lips, he breathed, “I love you, Sage,” a moment before his mouth crushed against her own in a driven, passion-drenched kiss.
There was no measured, careful kiss between them then. Only the heated storm of amorous fervor! The searing intensity of fiery affection—barely restrained desire ignited and burned!
Reb drew Sage into his arms, against the strong, powerful protection of his body. Sage melted into his dominant embrace—careless of anything else in the world around her. She did not care that his loving aggression on her mouth took her breath away. She did not care that his powerful embrace crushed her ribs or that his hands tangled her tender tresses.
Pressed against him, she desired only to be closer to him. Held by him, she wanted only to be held tighter. Kissing him, she wanted him to kiss her more aggressively—never separating their lips.
Suddenly, however, he broke the seal of their affection, holding her against him and breathlessly whispering, “I love you. I love you.”
“I love you,” she told him, resplendent in the feel of the back of his neck beneath her palms, the breadth of his shoulders in her arms.
Suddenly he reached behind her, opening the door. Sweeping her into his arms he said, “I gotta get ya home.”
“But…” Sage began to argue, reaching out to hold his face between her hands.
“Don’t argue with me. Please,” he said, striding out of the bedroom and through the kitchen. “It ain’t safe…you bein’ here with me like this.”
“You mean it isn’t proper,” Sage said, smiling at him.
“I mean it ain’t safe,” he corrected.
“Really?” Sage asked, still smiling.
“Really,” he chuckled. “I don’t know what them old hens were thinkin’ droppin’ ya off lookin’ like ya do…with nobody left to protect you from me.”
“They knew you would protect me,” Sage told him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her. “They knew I didn’t need anybody else.”
Dropping her feet to the kitchen floor, Reb opened the front door to the ranch house.
“Well, they shoulda known I’d have a hard time protectin’ you from myself!” he said. “Wait here while I get the horses saddled. We’ll ride home quick. Before I change my mind.” He kissed her once, so deliciously it caused her to sigh as he broke from her and headed toward the barn.
Sage watched him go—wishing she could stay—wishing she never had to leave him again. Love had chased the fear from her heart—Reb’s love. He loved her! His eyes, his kiss, his words told her so, and she knew it was true.
What the devil was his Aunt Eugenia thinking? Reb shook his head, amazed by the mischief those old women could get into. Bless their little impish souls for working the mischief that tore down the walls between Sage and him. Dang, she was delicious! So soft and beautiful and tempting. Reb knew he had to get her home quick before he lost his head and proved Reverend Tippetts a fool for trusting in Reb Mitchell’s self-restraint.
As he entered the barn, Charlie looked up, smiling.
“I see ya found the present them ladies at the boardin’ house left for ya,” Charlie said.
“You knew it all along, didn’t ya?” Reb said, taking the horse blanket Charlie held in his hands and throwing it over Ned’s back. “I daresay you were in on it.”
Charlie chuckled and nodded. “Well, somebody had to get the two a you to talkin’,” he said.
Reb nodded, offering a hand to his friend. Charlie took hold of Reb’s hand, squeezing it tight.
“I thank ya for all ya done for me, Charlie,” Reb said. “Yer a true friend.”
“Yer welcome, Reb,” Charlie said with a smile. “Now get that little filly on home ’fore ya do somethin’ the Reverend Tippetts regrets.” Charlie nodded his approval once more and left the barn.
Reb chuckled. Charlie was a good friend. The kind a man only had one of his whole life.
He saddled Ned and his new gelding. Leading them out of the barn and toward the house, his resolve to get Sage home was almost vanquished. She stood on the front porch, gazing up at the moon—her hair loose—a strand of it blowing in the breeze. For a moment he stood, just looking at her. He couldn’t believe it was true. He couldn’t believe Sage Willows was in love with him. He felt excess moisture in his eyes as his heart swelled near to bursting with his love for her.
It’s too soon, he thought. Even for the revelation waiting for her back at the boarding house, it was too soon to hope Sage would consider what he had in mind. Wasn’t it?
Chapter Fifteen
The wind in her hair as they rode gave Sage an indescribable sense of freedom and joy! Something about her hair being free—even the lack of stockings and shoes on her legs and feet—it liberated her soul.
She looked at Reb riding next to her, having completely forgotten to grab up a shirt to wear on their way back. He was so handsome—so perfect!
“What a pair we make,” she said as they slowed their horses’ gaits to a walk for a moment.
“Must look like a couple of mad bandits ourselves,” he chuckled. The fire in his eyes was evident even for the low light of the moon and stars. “Hold up,” he said, reaching over and taking hold of Ned’s bit. “Whoa there, Ned,” he said, reining in the gelding he rode.
Chuckling with mischief, Reb led his mount around in front of Ned, until he was right up beside Sage, facing the way they’d just come.
“Just give me one more kiss ’fore we get there, darlin’,” he said, leaning over and putting an arm around Sage’s waist.
Sage giggled and leaned toward him, placing one palm against his rugged jaw. “What if I can’t keep it to just one?” she teased.
Leaning forward, she met his mouth with her own, warmth flooding her being like the warm summer sun.
“Mmmm,” he sighed as he pulled away from her. “That’s why I’m takin’ ya home.” Slapping Ned smartly on the flank, he hollered, “Get her home, boy! ’Fore the Reverend Tippetts tans my hide!”
Reb lifted Sage down from the saddle, pulling her against him and kissing her. Still kissing her, he reached behind her to open the back door of the boarding house. Sage wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his playful kisses as he tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her over the threshold.
Sage sighed, letting her fingers comb his soft, tousled hair.
“Well, for cryin’ in the bucket!” Mary exclaimed. “Reb Mitchell! You know we got company.”
Sage giggled as Reb kissed her once more before releasing her.
“I know it, Miss Mary,” Reb said, smiling at the older woman.
“Well, then why’re ya carryin’ on like some hungry animal?” Mary scolded. “We been waitin’ half the night for you two.”
Only then did Sage remember. Someone had arrived at the boarding house while the widows were about their shenanigans. Livie had gone to greet whomever it was, returned, and written the note Eugenia pinned to her dress bodice for Reb to find.
“Mary,” Sage began, “I can’t possibly meet anybody lookin’ like this.”
“Yes, ya can,” Mary said. “We been tellin’ her the whole story.”
“What story?” Sage asked.
“The story ’bout you and Reb,” Mary answered.
“Well, who exactly have you been tellin’, Miss Mary?” Sage asked. “Who arrived just before you all drug me off?”
“Ya best be
askin’ Reb that question, Sage,” Mary said.
Sage looked to Reb. His face had softened—his eyes burning with deep emotion.
“I thought…I thought if I could do somethin’,” he began, “Somethin’ meanin’ful…somethin’ that would show ya how deep I been thinkin’ of ya and for how long. I thought maybe then ya might…I thought ya might see somethin’ in me worth carin’ for.”
“All you have to do is exist, Reb Mitchell,” Sage said, caressing his cheek lovingly.
“Oh, the sweet’s thicker in here than syrup,” Mary said. Sage looked to Mary to find her smiling, however. With a nod, Mary added, “And if ya weren’t in love with the boy already, which the girls and I knew ya were…well then, this would sure have done it.”
“Will you two get in here?” Rose exclaimed, appearing behind them suddenly. “She’s been waitin’ half the night.”
Sage felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. It was a good feeling, however—with nothing ominous or frightening in the sense of it.
“My goodness, Reb!” Rose exclaimed. “You might at least have taken the time to put your shirt back on.”
“I wasn’t thinkin’ about what I was or wasn’t wearin’ when I came into my house to find my lover kidnapped and all tied up,” Reb teased. “Way I hear it, three wild-eyed, white-haired banditas are to blame.”
“Oh, go on with you, Reb,” Rose giggled. “Now get in there. The poor woman’s gotta be beat to death with fatigue.”
Reb smiled at Sage, taking her hand in his. “This is for you,” he said. “And our little friend.”
Sage frowned, puzzled. Reb led her into the parlor where she saw Livie and Eugenia sitting on the sofa. Another woman, a lovely elderly woman with snow-white hair, sat in the chair next to them. Sage did not recognize the woman, she was certain.
“My stars and garters, Reb!” Eugenia exclaimed. “Dahlia will think you’re nothin’ next to a heathen!”
“Nothing in all the world could make me think badly of this young man,” the woman said, rising from her chair. Slowly she walked toward Reb—her lovely blue eyes radiant with emotion as she approached him. “I’m Dahlia,” she said, offering her hand to Reb.
“Reb Mitchell, Miss Dahlia,” Reb said, taking her hand in his and covering it with his other. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Your letters meant everything to me, Mr. Mitchell,” the woman said. “You’ll never know the healing power of those sweet letters.”
“I’m glad to hear that, ma’am,” Reb said. “I’m real glad to hear that.”
Sage frowned—completely confused—entirely bewildered. Before she had a chance to ask a question, inquire about who the woman was or why Reb had been writing letters to her, however, the woman looked to Sage and smiled.
“And is this your Sage?” Dahlia asked. “Is this the girl who has captured your heart?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reb said. Taking Sage’s hands in her own, Dahlia’s eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed adoringly, gratefully somehow at Sage. “Sage Willows,” Reb began as tears spilled from Dahlia’s eyes and over her cheeks, “Meet Dahlia.”
“Hello, Dahlia. I’m very pleased to meet you,” Sage said. So distracted by what had previously transpired that evening—what had transpired between her and Reb only moments before—Sage could not understand who the woman might be. She could not understand why Reb would have gone to all the trouble of finding her. Was she a long-lost relative? A great-aunt she had not been aware existed?
“Oh, you lovely girl!” Dahlia exclaimed in a whisper, tears still trickling down her wrinkled cheeks. “God bless you for your kind heart and heavenly goodness.”
Sage smiled, still perplexed. She looked to Reb, but he only grinned—his eyes holding excess moisture as he looked at her.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Sage said.
“Wait!” Dahlia said, holding up a hand. “I’ve brought something for you, my darling.”
“Reb?” Sage whispered as Dahlia hurried back over to the chair she’d been sitting in.
Reb only smiled at her, mouthing a silent, “I love you.”
Dahlia reached behind the chair, producing a rather large, oval object wrapped in brown paper secured with twine. Returning to Sage, Dahlia held the package out to Sage.
“It’s for you, Sage,” Dahlia said. “She would want you to have it. I want you to have it.”
Sage frowned. She looked to Eugenia, whose eyes were filled with tears—to Livie, who seemed to be holding her breath—to Rose, smiling with pure resplendence. Even Mary’s face was pale with emotion, her weathered eyes bright with moist sentiment.
Sage was entirely bewildered. The soft fire in Reb’s eyes told her what was wrapped in the brown paper pleased him.
“Go on, dear,” Dahlia said. “Open it up.”
“But, Miss Dahlia,” Sage began, “I can’t possibly—”
“It was meant for you, dear,” Dahlia interrupted. “I know that now.”
“Go on, darlin’,” Reb urged. “I believe it’s meant for you too.”
Sage sighed, still puzzled. She glanced at Reb again, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms. Yet every other person in the room was watching her expectantly—even Reb.
She tentatively tugged on one loose end of the twine. The twine’s bow gave way, and Sage began carefully removing the brown paper. Almost at once, she realized the object beneath was a frame encircling a painting. She smiled at Reb as an inquisitive frown puckered her brow—a broad grin spreading across his face.
Pulling the paper away from the painting, Sage gasped. Her breathing stopped, her mouth dropping open in astonishment. The painting was a portrait, the image of a young girl of perhaps five or six. The child wore a simple blue dress to match the sky blue of her piercing eyes. Her hair was dark, parted in the middle and styled in pin-curled ringlets hanging to her shoulders. Her lips were the softest pink as were her cheeks, and donning the sweetest soft smile, she bore the overall appearance of happiness.
“Who is this?” Sage asked in a whisper, though her heart had already answered the question of her soul.
She felt the tears in her eyes as Reb asked, “Who do ya think it is, sugar?”
Sage looked to Reb, and he smiled at her, a thick sense of joy mingled with melancholy about him.
“Here…on the back, darling,” Dahlia instructed helping Sage to turn the painting over. “Right there…on the lower edge. Can you make it out?”
Sage studied the back of the painting. Indeed there was worn ink—handwriting on the back of the painting. Tears instantly springing to her eyes, Sage covered her mouth with her hand—overcome with emotion.
“R…Ruth Anne States,” she read in an awed whisper. “Ruth Anne States—aged 5 years—1839,” she repeated, tears spilling from her eyes. Turning the painting over once more, Sage gazed into the angelic face of little Ruth States. “Ruthie?” she whispered, reaching out to trace the lines of the painting with her fingers. She could not believe it. To know what Ruthie looked like in life, to see her eyes, her smile—it was something she’d only dreamed of—so longed to know. “Ruthie,” she whispered again.
She looked up to Reb, his countenance so strong—so loving—so loving of her. She looked to the widows, all weeping and dabbing at their eyes with various handkerchiefs and apron hems.
“Where did you get this?” Sage whispered, entirely awed by what she held in her hands. Looking to the woman Reb had written to—looking to Dahlia she asked, “Where…where did you get this? How did you come by it and…and why would you give it to me?”
Dahlia smiled at Sage, tears still streaming down her face. Her slight size and height gave her an air of being imaginary—like a fairy or other mythical creature. “It was mine,” Dahlia said, tracing Ruth’s sweet face with trembling fingers. “And so was Ruth.”
“What?” Sage breathed.
“I’m Dahlia States,” Dahlia said. “I’m Ruth’s mother. I know she would want yo
u to have her portrait, Sage. I know with all my heart she knows who you are and how you’ve watched over her.”
For a moment, Sage couldn’t breathe. She looked to Reb, overwhelmed with the knowledge he had found Ruthie for her.
“Reb,” Sage whispered, feeling suddenly light-headed and weak—overcome with emotion.
“It’s all right,” he said, putting a supportive arm around her waist. “Yer just tired from the goin’s-on tonight.”
“Your Rebel wrote to me,” Dahlia explained. “He wrote to me of the girl he loved, the girl he wanted to love him in return. He told me about you and how you’ve kept my Ruth safe and happy, well cared for, and…and how you’ve never let her be lonely.”
Sage put a hand to her temple. Her head ached with trying to take in everything she was being told—with trying to comprehend the lengths to which Reb had gone for her sake.
Dahlia smiled and reached up, taking Sage’s face in her hands. “That’s quite the beau you have there, darling. And it’s quite the girl he has here. Thank you, Sage. Thank you for caring for my little girl.”
“But I only…I only kept her grave,” Sage explained. “I only…I only talked to her…to the wind.”
“She knows you’re there, Sage,” Dahlia said. “My very soul knows she does.”
Sage looked to Reb then. She could not believe it! She could not believe Reb loved her! She held in her hands the very image of the little girl who had once played in the sweet pasture grass.
“But how did you…Reb?” Sage asked. “How did you find…all this…how did you find it?”
“I love you, Sage,” he said. “From that…well, maybe Ruthie led me. Ruthie and old Forest Simmons.”
“Forest Simmons?” Sage asked.
“Seems ol’ Forest Simmons has been keepin’ secrets all these years,” he said. Reb’s smile was warm—filled with loving emotion. “When I picked up his lady dog and her pups awhile back…we got to talkin’, and he told me he knew Dahlia and her children when they lived here. He knew where Dahlia had gone after Ruthie passed. All these years he’d known where she settled. Did ya know yer daddy bought that acreage…the land with Ruth’s grave on it…did ya know yer daddy bought that acreage from old Forest back before ya were born?”
The Touch of Sage Page 24
