“You haven’t heard me snore because I always sleep with one eye open,” he answered. “I never get to fall into a truly deep sleep… which reminds me… Cutter never came back last night. He’s all Indian, which means he can be around without a person knowing it.”
“Will you know it?”
“I’m not sure. It’s been a long time.”
“A long time since you lived like an Indian, or since you were around such men?”
“Both.”
They rode quietly for several minutes before Maggie spoke again. “So you did live with Indians once. Dare I ask what tribe?”
Sage frowned. That was something else he didn’t care to talk about, and the mood he was in this morning, he found the question annoying. “I’d prefer we changed the subject.”
“Okay. How old are you?”
“Old enough to have experienced just about everything a man can experience in life… and yet too young for all of it. I’m thirty.”
“Have you ever seen a really big city? James and I got on the train in Omaha. That’s the biggest city I’ve seen. We didn’t live all that far from St. Louis, but neither my pa or James took me there.”
More silence. The only sound was the creaking of their saddles and the occasional huff and snort of one of the horses.
“I lived in San Francisco for almost ten years,” Sage finally answered.
“San Francisco!” His answer surprised her. “Is it true they have fancy opera houses there, and men walking around with gold in their pockets?”
Sage snickered. “Some do, I suppose—the ones who live on Nob Hill.”
“How was it a man like you lived in a big city for so long?”
He shrugged. “Long story.”
“Lord knows, we don’t have anything else to do the next few days but talk. You told Cutter that you lived like him once. And you’ve already admitted to living with outlaws. You’ve been married. You run a big ranch. And now, you say you’ve lived in San Francisco. That’s a lot of living in thirty years.”
“Leave it alone, Maggie. I’ll explain sometime when I’m in the mood, and I’m not in the mood.”
“Don’t get angry again. I don’t like you when you’re angry.”
“And I don’t like being angry, so quit asking so many questions.”
Maggie trotted her horse farther ahead. “Are you still mad about sleeping on the floor?”
“That’s another question.”
She looked back at him. “Either way, the next time we get in a situation like that, I’ll let you have the bed.”
“Your thoughtfulness overwhelms me, but it will be a while before that happens. It’s the hard, cold ground again for the next couple of weeks.”
Maggie trotted Smoke back beside Sage. “Do you really think we’ll find those men?”
“We’ll find them. When someone betrays me like that, I don’t let it go.” The remark brought memories of Joanna—how she, too, had betrayed him. There was a time when he would have enjoyed wringing her pretty neck.
“I won’t give up either,” Maggie told him. “Whatever I’ve had to do in life, I never gave up. Mostly, I never gave up hope that things would somehow get better.”
“I suppose that’s a good way to—”
Sage’s words were cut off by the whirring of an arrow that came so close the feathers at the end of the shaft brushed his nose. It all happened in a split second, and the next thing he knew, Maggie was screaming from an arrow in her thigh. She grasped her leg, trying to hang on to a startled Smoke. Storm also sensed the danger and reared slightly.
“Hang on!” Sage knew he had to act fast, before another arrow pierced him or Maggie. He grabbed Smoke’s reins and charged toward a rocky incline to their left. He urged the horses higher, onto a ledge where a large, flat, overhanging rock hid them from whoever was above. He leaped down and pulled Maggie from her horse.
“Shit,” he said. “It’s Cutter! Lie low, and hang on to the horses the best you can. I’ve got to find him!”
“Don’t leave me!” Maggie pleaded. “Oh, God, it hurts!”
“I can’t help you till I kill that sonofabitch!” Sage propped her into the recesses of a pile of huge boulders and put the reins into her hands. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I’ll come back. As long as you don’t tug on that arrow, there won’t be much bleeding.”
She dug her nails into his arm. “What if he kills you?”
He took her six-gun from the holster she wore and laid it in her lap. “Try to stay alert, and keep this handy. I know you’re in pain. I’ll be back!”
Sage yanked his rifle from its boot and headed higher into the rocks.
“Sage!” Maggie screamed. “Don’t go!”
The plea cut into him, but he knew he had no choice. That arrow was surely meant for him, and poor Maggie suffered for it. Apparently, Cutter was not as adept with bow and arrow as he was with his knife. Trouble was, both weapons were silent, so he had nothing to go by in locating the man. Cutter could be anywhere up here. He had to find him—and fast! Maggie desperately needed his help.
Eighteen
Maggie could not control her shaking. The pain in her thigh was excruciating, and the sight of the arrow sticking out of her leg only made the injury more terrifying. What if Sage didn’t make it back? What horrible things would Cutter do to her with his knife? Even worse, what would he do to her before he killed her? Either way, if neither man returned, she’d have to lie here and slowly die alone in the wilds of Wyoming. No one but the buzzards would find her body.
“Sage!” she screamed again. Would Cutter kill him? It hit her hard then how deeply she would mourn his death, even more deeply than her husband’s death. If that was a sin, then so be it, but bad or good, she realized she was in love with Sage Lightfoot, and there was no getting around it.
“Sage!” she yelled again, yet she knew she wasn’t yelling at all. Her strength was fast leaving her. “I love you,” she said softly, no longer able to raise her voice. She leaned her head against the boulder behind her and closed her eyes, listening.
Gunshots! They came from somewhere up in the rocks. She struggled to remain conscious, counted the gunshots… four… five… six… seven… eight. Everything grew quiet then. At some point in her weak condition, she’d let go of the ropes to the horses. Surprisingly, they remained nearby, although every time a gun was fired, their ears would perk up, and they whinnied and skittered slightly. Maggie tried talking to them and wished she could grab hold of the reins again, but the pain in her leg was too intense to get up.
Surely Sage would be all right. He told her he could handle someone like Cutter. He was strong and sure and able. He knew men like Cutter. Still, why was it so quiet? Had Cutter won? Was he slicing open Sage’s throat and preparing to come for her? She clung to the six-gun Sage left with her, but she was so weak and dizzy she wasn’t sure she could raise the weapon and fire it.
Maybe Sage was right in saying she shouldn’t have come along on this journey. Maybe her presence was only making his job harder and putting him in more danger. If they hadn’t been talking… if she hadn’t asked Sage so many questions… he would have been more alert, maybe aware of Cutter’s presence.
Her thoughts wandered, her vision blurred. Then, suddenly, pain ripped through her as someone jerked her up. Whoever it was tore the gun from her hand. She screamed in agony as a strong arm moved around her from behind.
Cutter!
The man grasped at her breast. “Now, you and me will have some fun, huh?”
Oh, God, Sage must be dead! She’d barely finished the thought when something broke the light in front of her. Maggie’s vision cleared enough to see Sage standing there, his forty-five caliber in his right hand, rifle in his left. It looked like he was bleeding from his lower left side.
“Sage,” she whimpered.
“Let her go, Cutter!” Sage growled.
“I think I will have my way with your woman before slitting her throat.”
&n
bsp; Maggie could see Cutter raising his right hand, aiming his gun at Sage. Everything happened as though in a strange dream. She had no idea how much time passed—a fraction of a second, she supposed. She saw the flash from Sage’s gun, felt the bullet whiz past her right ear, and heard Cutter cry out. The man’s grip on her weakened. Finally, they both fell to the ground. Maggie groaned from the awful pain in her thigh. She saw Sage come closer. He reached beyond her then dragged Cutter away by his long black hair.
“Let’s see how you like the feel of your own knife slitting your throat!” Sage seethed.
Maggie watched Sage yank Cutter’s knife from its sheath. Cutter’s eyes were huge, his teeth gritted against pain. Sage kept hold of the man’s hair and jerked his head back, slashing the big knife across Cutter’s throat. Then he rammed the knife into the man’s heart, yanked it out, and kicked Cutter’s body over the ledge. He stood there a moment then—panting—watching Cutter’s lifeless body tumble. At last Maggie knew what Sage meant when he told her she might be surprised by his dark side.
He threw the knife away and wiped sweat from his eyes with his shirtsleeve, then looked down and touched his bleeding side. He seemed to just realize he’d been shot.
“You’re hurt,” Maggie muttered. “I… can’t… help you.”
His dark eyes, still on fire with fury and ruthless revenge, met her gaze. He stood there briefly, as though to gather his thoughts and rid himself of the shroud of hard, angry darkness that enveloped him. “I think the bullet went right through,” he said. “It’s a flesh wound.”
In a daze, Maggie watched him grab the horses to calm them. He took something out of his saddlebag. Gauze. He removed his shirt then wrapped the gauze around his middle. Maggie noticed the burn scar on his right arm where Bill had cauterized the bear wound. He was barely mended from those terrible injuries, and now he’d taken a bullet to protect her.
“I’ve got to take care of this to stop the bleeding,” he told Maggie. “I’ll be no good to you if I pass out on you.”
“What if you… die?” Maggie asked. “Maybe we’ll both die… out here.”
“I’m not going to die, and neither are you,” Sage answered briskly, tying off the gauze. He shoved what was left back into his saddlebag and came over to kneel beside her, studying the arrow.
“It hurts something awful, Sage. And when you pull it out, it’s gonna bleed bad.”
“I know.”
Maggie cried out when he touched the area around the wound.
“I’m sorry, Maggie, but I have to figure out what to do about getting the arrow out. From what I can tell, it went through the muscle, but I don’t think it hit the bone, which is good. I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to break off one end and push the shaft through your leg. You’d better drink some laudanum first.”
“I’m so sorry, Sage. If I hadn’t insisted on coming… this wouldn’t have happened.”
Maggie felt her strength and consciousness waning.
“Don’t talk.” He got up and walked to the horses again. Maggie watched his back muscles ripple as he took a brown bottle of laudanum from his gear and brought it to her, kneeling beside her again. “Drink some of this. Soon as you feel good and groggy, I’ll get the worst over with. I might have to cauterize it before we’re done, but if I can get the shaft out of there and wrap it good, I can get you someplace where you can rest better. There’s a cabin not far north of here, if I remember correctly. It used to be deserted. If we’re lucky, it still is.” He leaned down and helped Maggie choke down some of the laudanum. She coughed and grimaced.
“I know it’s awful,” he said, stroking her hair. “But you’d better drink a little more. I want to spare you all the pain I can.”
Maggie managed another swallow, and in minutes she felt her senses leaving her. She never realized until she thought he’d surely been killed that she’d want to die if something happened to Sage Lightfoot. “Did you hear me tell you that I love you?” she asked. Oh, God, did she really say that? Why couldn’t she control her words?
Sage didn’t answer. She felt him ripping at her trousers around the wound. Then came the horrible pain as he grasped the shaft of the arrow and broke off the feathered end. She hadn’t drunk enough laudanum to kill the agony, and she passed out.
Nineteen
Maggie awoke with vague memories of being carried in a man’s arms, while she sat sideways in front of him on a horse. She remembered how warm and safe she felt, remembered no pain… until now. She cried out as she came fully awake to realize she lay on blankets on the dusty wooden floor of a ramshackle cabin that had grass growing through the floor. Broken boards at one end of the roof left a hole big enough to shed a ray of sunlight inside. The minute she moved her leg even slightly, she groaned with pain. She lay still then, slowly taking in her surroundings as the wind outside rattled the cabin’s shaky walls. She lay near a stone fireplace, where a fire burned for warmth.
One thing she’d learned in this land was that no day was the same. It was a little colder again, but if memory served her right, they’d moved into higher country as they headed for the South Pass. That would explain the weather. She pulled a blanket closer around her neck then reached down to feel for a second blanket caught under the top one. She realized then that Sage had removed her outer clothing, leaving only her drawers.
“Oh, no.” She groaned in embarrassment. She looked around the room, realizing she was alone. Tears filled her eyes from pain. She felt sorry for Sage for having to stop and take the time to care for her. On top of that, he’d been injured himself. She should be the one taking care of him, after insisting on coming along.
She heard footsteps then, and the front door creaked open. Sage stepped inside carrying a bundle of wood. He stopped short when he noticed her watching him.
“So, you’re awake.”
“Yes, and I’ve never hurt so bad. Where are we?”
Sage carried the wood over near the fireplace and dropped it in a pile. “About three miles north of where we left Cutter’s body to the buzzards, and somewhere a bit southwest of Flaming Gorge. God knows who originally built this old cabin. The roof is already splitting from sun rot, but it will do for a place to hole up.”
He rose, removed his hat and jacket, and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s chilly. If I make a fire now, we’ll get this place heated up enough to keep us warm tonight when the sun goes down.” He walked to a table with one lone chair and sat down gingerly, obviously in pain himself. “While you were passed out from laudanum, I broke off that shaft and pushed it through. That’s the only way to get an arrow out without tearing up the wound even worse. I dumped a lot of good drinking whiskey into that wound. I hope I can keep what’s left for something more enjoyable.”
He gave her a smile, but Maggie could see the pain in his own face. He was trying to cheer her up, probably to keep her from thinking about how serious her wound really was.
“What about your side? Did the bullet go through like you thought?” Maggie asked him.
He shrugged. “It’ll heal. I’m far more worried about your leg.” Sage reached into his shirt pocket for a cigar, then rose and walked to the fireplace to pull out a thin piece of wood and light the smoke. Maggie felt deep embarrassment at the thought of him undressing her. “Where are my denim pants? Are they ruined?”
“I’d say so. I had to cut off the pant leg around the wound. I don’t think you’ll have much use for a one-legged pair of britches. Good thing you brought along a couple extras.” He walked back to the table and sat down.
Maggie looked away. “Thanks for making sure I was mostly unconscious when you took out the arrow.” A tear slipped down the side of her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
She wiped at the tear. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess. If not for me, you’d have caught up with those men by now.”
“Don’t worry about it. Life has a way of handing us things we never asked for.” He sat quietly smoking
for a moment.
“There’s coffee on the fire, and I’ll make us something to eat soon. Do you have to… you know… relieve yourself?”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, covering her face with both hands. “I’m so embarrassed at all of this.”
Sage rose. “A wound is a wound.” He set his cigar in an old dish on the table, then leaned down and lifted her, blankets and all.
Maggie thought how easy it seemed for him, even though his side must surely hurt. “You’ll make your wound start bleeding again.”
“I’ve suffered worse—that bear attack—for one thing. And I know what an arrow wound feels like, as well as a gunshot wound. I’m the one who’s sorry for not realizing that bastard was around.”
What kind of a wild, unsettled life had this man led? Just hours earlier she’d watched him slit Cutter’s throat with no sign of feelings or regret. Yet now, he showed that he could be incredibly gentle and caring. He held her in sure, strong arms, careful not to jostle her too much. When they got outside, he took her to an old outhouse, where he managed to get the toe of his foot in the door and force it open. Inside he lifted her blankets and placed them around her shoulders for warmth.
“I swept this thing out and checked for spiders, so don’t worry about any of that. This is as far as I go. You’ll have to get those drawers down and sit on your own. I guess I could do that for you too, but I don’t think you want me to.”
“I think I have to hang on to your arm to steady myself.”
“No matter. I’ll look away.”
He stood there while Maggie held one of his forearms and managed to get her drawers down enough to sit. The whole situation was so unbelievably embarrassing, but she had no choice, and Sage handled it matter-of-factly. “You can go now. I can’t do this with you in here,” she admitted. She let go of his arm and steadied herself with both hands on the wooden seat, hoping there weren’t any remaining spiders lurking in the old dark latrine.
Rosanne Bittner Page 10
