Rosanne Bittner

by Paradise Valley

  They finally cleared the trees and came into wide, open country covered with yellow grass, like Sage had told her it would be. Again the weather amazed her… a bitter snowstorm the day before yesterday… today, sunshine that actually warmed her through her wool jacket. For the first time since entering Wyoming, the morning brought no wind. She remembered Sage telling her that the wind never stopped blowing out here, and she wondered if the calm would last the whole day or just a little while.

  She looked at an extravaganza of clouds that occasionally hid the sun as they moved on the higher elevation winds. Behind them the sky was a brilliant blue, and as always the Rockies loomed to the west, their towering peaks still heavy with snow.

  She couldn’t help appreciating the grandeur of the landscape, but for her it was a lonely grandeur. She felt small and alone and vulnerable, but she refused to show it. She’d grown up having to be strong, doing a man’s work, and forced to hide the softer, womanly side that her father would not acknowledge. James never understood. The only thing that had brought it out in her was her baby girl… but her precious child was dead.

  She was starkly alone in an unforgiving land, among rough-hewn men who couldn’t possibly understand what she’d been through. She had no one on whom she could rely… no one but herself.

  Ten

  A fragrant breeze caressed Maggie’s face as she and the others rode through a sea of grass heavy from melted snow. Already, she understood why Sage called this place Paradise Valley. Everywhere she looked she saw nature’s beauty—colors and smells that soothed the soul.

  She guessed that the crop of buildings below the vast slope they descended now was a good mile away. In this open land nothing was as close as it seemed. She and James had learned that lesson the hard way. About a hundred cattle grazed in scattered groups in every direction, and beyond them lay large, fenced corrals, some empty, others holding numerous horses. She could make out a couple of small cabins, a long building that was likely a bunkhouse, two large barns, a chicken coop, and several smaller sheds.

  At the center was what she supposed was Sage’s ranch house. As they came closer, she could see it was made of logs with a stone front, shaded by a wooden porch that ran along the entire front of the house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was obviously sturdy, and much larger than any home Maggie had ever lived in. Everything about it, including a shake-shingle roof, fit the landscape. Out here a home of slat wood or even brick wouldn’t look natural. She thought how the house fit the man—rough and sturdy and big… as well as good-looking.

  She noticed several rosebushes along the front of the porch. Some looked dead, the rest barely struggling. Rosebushes were not something she’d expect a man like Sage to care about. Planting decorative shrubs was something a woman would do, and she remembered Sage’s remark about “almost” having a wife and family. She couldn’t help wondering what he meant.

  “Nice place, ain’t it?” Bill said as he dismounted.

  “After living in a covered wagon the last month and spending a lot of nights sleeping on the ground, any kind of house would look nice,” Maggie answered, wincing with aches and pains as she got down from her horse. “But yes, it’s beautiful.”

  “Sage built it with plans to finally settle—maybe start raisin’ a family.”

  “Thank God it weren’t with that she-devil he brung here a couple of years ago,” Joe spoke up.

  Maggie frowned while tying Nell’s reins to a hitching post. “She-devil?”

  “Shut up, Joe,” Bill warned. “You know Sage don’t like anybody talkin’ about it. This ain’t the time nor the place, and Sage would figure it’s nobody’s business.”

  Joe dismounted, and Maggie suspected his horse was quite relieved to be rid of his weight. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said as he tied the horse. “I spoke out of turn.” He glanced at Bill, and the look they exchanged told Maggie that the woman Joe had mentioned was not someone for whom they had any good feelings. “We’d best get Sage settled inside.”

  Another man rode up to greet them—a Mexican man Bill called Julio.

  “Blessed Mother what happened to the boss?” Julio asked in a thick accent as he dismounted.

  “He run into a grizzly,” Joe answered, untying Sage from the travois.

  “I thought maybe those killers shot him.”

  “He never got the chance to catch up to them,” Bill told Julio. “He came across this lady here buryin’ her husband. Turns out them same men killed her man and took off with all their stock and some of their supplies. Left her out there to die. Sage was bringin’ her back here to heal when he was attacked by a grizzly.” He nodded toward Maggie. “This here is Maggie Tucker, and believe it or not, she shot the grizzly flat dead with an old Sharps rifle.”

  Julio’s eyes widened. “You killed a grizzly?”

  Maggie couldn’t help a smile of pride. “I just got lucky,” she answered. “Believe me, I was scared out of my mind, and I don’t remember taking special aim. I just raised my pa’s old rifle and pulled the trigger.”

  Julio shook his head and climbed down from his horse to help the other two men pick up the travois.

  “Go open the door, ma’am, and we’ll carry him inside,” Bill asked.

  Maggie hurried up the steps, across the wide porch to open the door. While the others carried Sage inside to a bedroom, she looked around the great room that took up the entire length of the front of the house—a good fifteen feet wide. Large stone fireplaces adorned each end. At one end sat two large leather chairs, a rocker, and a couple of small tables, a colorful braided rug at the center of the clutch of furniture. A hide from some kind of wildcat hung on the wall above the fireplace.

  The other end was the kitchen, with a hutch, a rustic pine table, and hand-hewn chairs. An iron sink with a water pump was built into a long cabinet against one wall. A window placed just above the sink allowed a person… maybe the woman Sage “almost” married… to see outside while she scrubbed dishes. The hutch was filled with neat stacks of white china, finer dishes than any Maggie had ever owned. Some woman’s presence prevailed. Maggie figured no home run by only men would have lovely china, furnishings, and conveniences men wouldn’t care about.

  The kitchen fireplace hearth was quite wide, with cranes on each side holding trammels where a woman could cook in two large pots at the same time, and a grate at the center where a coffeepot could be kept warm. Besides the fireplace, there was a wood-burning cookstove that looked barely used… perhaps a more convenient contraption Sage had brought here for the mysterious “almost” wife. Maggie decided that for however long she might be here, she’d not use that stove. The “almost” wife might come back and be offended to find some other woman using it.

  For now, all that mattered was to finally lie in a real bed and sleep. Julio came inside with the two large satchels she’d brought along and carried them down a hallway. “Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can stay,” he told Maggie.

  He headed down a wide hallway located at the center of the back wall of the great room. It led to four more rooms, one of which looked like a sewing room, one a bedroom where Bill and Joe were tucking Sage into a bed, the other two also bedrooms. Maggie could see this house had indeed been built with a wife and children in mind.

  The Sage Lightfoot she knew didn’t fit any of this… a nice home… a family. From what she knew about him so far, he’d had a pretty rough life, apparently even running with outlaws for a time. Surely somewhere, sometime in his youth, he’d seen some kind of family life, maybe even a loving family, and wanted it for himself… but something had gone awfully wrong.

  “You can sleep here,” Julio told her, setting down the satchels and nodding toward an iron bed covered neatly with a colorful quilt. Julio nodded toward a curtained doorway. “In there is a dressing room and a place to hang your clothing. There is also an iron bathtub. You can heat some water and take a bath if you like. No one will bother you. At the end of the hallway is a back door, and not far beyon
d it in the backyard is the privy.” He backed out of the room as though embarrassed to be alone in a bedroom with a woman. “I am glad to meet you, Señora Tucker. I hope you enjoy your stay here. We will all help however we can.”

  “Thank you, Julio.” After he left, Maggie walked to the bed and sat down, bouncing slightly to see what the mattress was like. Right now, any mattress would feel wonderful, but this one was better than most, thicker and softer than anything she’d ever slept on. Had it belonged to the mystery woman who’d apparently turned all this down? Had she and Sage slept on this mattress?

  As soon as the thought hit her, she jumped up from the bed, amazed she’d even wondered about such a thing. It wasn’t her business, and she didn’t care. Still, what woman wouldn’t be thrilled to live in a fine house like this? Compared to the plain little cabin Maggie lived in most of her life back in Missouri and the not much bigger one she’d shared with James, this house was like a castle. Sage Lightfoot had done a good job building a fine home to raise a family in.

  She walked to the dressing room and pulled the curtain aside. There sat the iron bathtub. A couple of dresses hung on the wall. She could tell by their length that Sage’s “almost” wife had been taller than Maggie, and the dresses were quite fancy, much finer than the plain gingham dresses Maggie always wore. She touched the lace on one.

  From the look of things, the woman who’d worn these dresses had not just been an “almost” wife. She’d lived in this house, which likely meant Sage had been married to her. Maybe he still was… or maybe, they had divorced or split up, and the dresses belonged to nothing more than a fancy prostitute.

  Eleven

  When the men Joe sent for Maggie’s wagon returned with her belongings, the fact that she’d never see James again hit her harder than she’d expected. Her life now was surreal, an adventure that seemed to be happening to someone else. In a sense it was, because she was not the same Maggie who left Missouri to come west.

  Myriad emotions kept her awake most nights… her attack… fear of the unknown… and odd feelings of gratefulness mixed with attraction for Sage Lightfoot, who lay recovering in the next room. For nearly two weeks she’d nursed and fed him, wondering if he would even survive when a serious infection settled into his arm. The threat of losing the limb had sent Sage into a tirade of profanity and threats. He’d told Joe that he’d kill any man who tried to amputate. If they put him out first and did it anyway, he’d kill them when he woke up.

  The men apparently took Sage’s threat seriously. No one again mentioned taking off his arm. Maggie still knew next to nothing about Sage’s past, but she could guess plenty, and her guess was that Sage and some of these men had once lived the outlaw life. She had no actual facts, but there wasn’t one man on the ranch who wasn’t pretty rough around the edges.

  Still, probably thanks to orders from Sage, Maggie felt no threat. Bill told her that early on, just like his threat to kill any man who tried to take his arm off, Sage had threatened to take down any man who didn’t treat Maggie with respect. She knew that by now, most of them had a pretty good idea of what had happened to her, but it didn’t seem to make her any less worthy.

  She was actually grateful for the constant care Sage required the first few days. It kept her busy and allowed time for her own healing. When Sage got a little better, he asked Julio’s wife to stay at the house with Maggie, so there would be no suggestive talk of Maggie being alone there with Sage. Rosa Martinez Jimenez was a plump but pretty woman who didn’t say much, mainly because she spoke little English, and Maggie spoke no Spanish. The two sons Rosa and Julio shared were grown and worked on the ranch, and Rosa often cooked outside for the entire bunch of cowboys who lived at the bunkhouse. The Indian woman who’d been raped had taken her son back to her tribe somewhere farther north, leaving Rosa the only other woman there.

  The days turned into over two weeks of nursing, cooking, and doing laundry, and Maggie helped. The busier she stayed, the better she liked it… less time to dwell on the reality of her situation… a woman alone in a strange land amid a bunch of hardworking, but often rather unruly men, who liked to drink up a storm on Friday nights. She had no idea what she’d do with her life now, other than still being determined to go with Sage when he left to hunt down her husband’s killers—the same men who’d made off with a considerable amount of Sage’s hard-earned money. He’d never told her how much that was, but it was enough to create a real thirst for revenge and a dogged determination to go after them and get his money back.

  Maggie stirred another large pot of chicken stew, what was left of a bigger batch she’d made for the ranch hands when Rosa took sick and stayed in bed at the little cabin she shared with Julio. Maggie felt pleased that the men loved the stew and praised her cooking. She wondered if perhaps, when her trip with Sage was over, she could come back here and work as a cook and laundress for a while, until she had some idea what to do, where to go. Part of her was falling in love with the ranch, this splendid home—the Wyoming landscape. She told herself she shouldn’t start feeling too comfortable. When Sage Lightfoot was well, and he was now mending fast, he’d probably suggest she settle somewhere in town when all this was over.

  Her biggest problem was Sage himself. She’d watched the hell he’d gone through healing from his awful wounds, watched as he grit his teeth against the pain of letting Bill reopen his arm to let the infection pour out of it, the groaning agony of allowing men to hold him down while Bill applied a red-hot piece of iron to the wound to cauterize it. Maggie could still remember the awful stench of burning flesh.

  Sage Lightfoot was one tough man, and he had a way about him that made his men respect and obey his every word. If they once rode together against the law, Maggie had no doubt that Sage was the leader of the pack. It was difficult to put the man together—a wild outlaw who now owned a ranch and apparently tried once to settle here with a woman. When she thought about what a nice life this could be, she had to wonder why that woman left. Maybe Sage had a mean streak. Maybe he’d even beat her. As good as he’d been to Maggie when he found her, she couldn’t quite picture that, but then a person didn’t really know someone until they lived together. Maybe Sage was the type who was kind to a woman until he made her his wife, and then figured since she belonged to him, he could treat her any way he liked.

  She filled a wooden bowl with the stew, then took a spoon and towel and carried the bowl to Sage’s bedroom to coax him into eating lunch. She walked across the wide plank floor, down the hallway, and through the curtained doorway to Sage’s room. To her surprise, he was standing at the window dressed in denim pants, but barefoot and bare-chested, except for the bandages wrapped around his arm and belly. To everyone’s relief, he could use his arm quite well now, although it still caused a lot of pain. At the moment, he was raising it up and down, and Maggie couldn’t help noticing the way his hard muscles rippled as he moved it, like a sleek, lean horse when it was in motion.

  She drew a deep breath, feeling embarrassed at the thought. “You shouldn’t be up,” she told him. “You’re still too weak.”

  Sage turned. “That’s your opinion. Besides, a man doesn’t get stronger lying in bed.” He walked toward a small table next to the bed, where Maggie set down the bowl. “Is that more of that good chicken stew you make?”

  “Actually, it’s mostly broth. You and the others already ate most of the dumplings and chicken. I just didn’t want to waste what was left.”

  Now that he was up and around and beginning to act like the Sage she’d first met, Maggie suddenly felt a bit self-conscious as he sat down on the bed to eat. It was one thing taking care of him when he could barely move, but seeing him at full stature and with no shirt on was something else. She was, after all, sleeping in his house. When the men realized he was better…

  “Relax,” he told her, apparently reading her thoughts. “Now that I’m better, I’ll go stay at a bunkhouse the next couple of nights. Day after tomorrow we’ll head out, if you t
hink you’re up to it, and you still insist on going with me after those men.”

  Maggie sat in a wooden chair near the table. “If I’m up to it? I can hardly believe you’d be up to it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ve already lost too much time. I’ll have Joe pack us some gear, and we’ll get this thing over with.” He picked up the bowl and drank from it, rather than using the spoon. Maggie noticed that he spoke as though “this thing,” which she knew was the killing of three men, was just another of his daily chores. As much as she hated the men who’d abused her, she couldn’t look at killing them as just another job to do before going out to brand a steer.

  “Well, I’m glad you still intend to take me along.”

  Sage shrugged. “Hell, I might come across another grizzly.” He grinned, a strikingly handsome smile. His teeth were even and white, his smile genuine.

  “So, you do have the ability to smile.”

  His grin quickly faded, as though he felt guilty for showing any kind of softer side. “Sometimes.” He finished the broth. “Your good cooking must be why I’m mending so fast.” He set the bowl aside. “You’re a woman of many talents,” he added, his dark gaze moving over her with a look she couldn’t quite read. “You work hard, you braved a hellish attack without letting it bend you, you can handle a gun, you scrub clothes, and you’re a good cook. Bill says you even killed and plucked the chickens yourself for that stew.”

  “I’ve killed and plucked chickens since I was about ten years old.” Maggie picked up the bowl.

  “Don’t leave yet,” he said when she rose. He nodded toward a dresser on the opposite wall. “There’s a tin of tobacco over there—and some cigarette papers. Do you know how to roll a cigarette?”