She wore an Indian tunic, beaded in a design he had never seen before. Whatever Indians she had had the misfortune of being with, it was no tribe in these parts, at least not from the look of the pattern on her dress. There were few Indian designs he did not know, but he did not recognize this one. With expert hands he took inventory of a slender, perfectly rounded body that would give any man wild thoughts; but he found no broken bones, nothing to explain why she lay so limp and lifeless. He pushed up the tunic. She wore nothing under it, and for a moment his breath caught in his throat, for she was indeed something to behold. He had not been with a woman in months, but he shook away the sinful thoughts his baser needs brought to mind. Her condition discouraged such thoughts, for there were several bruises about her hipbones, abdomen, and thighs, some looking like they had been left by a man’s forceful, prying hands, perhaps more than one man. This was a pretty young girl who undoubtedly had been through some kind of traumatic ordeal. He had no doubt now what that ordeal had been. He gently probed her abdomen, unsure what he thought he would find.
His touch brought no sound from her lips, and after examining her, he pulled the tunic back down and rolled her against his chest, pushing back her hair and examining the back of her neck for a small arrow wound of some kind or a knife wound. But there was nothing, and no blood on her anywhere.
Sage sighed deeply, feeling helpless. He laid her down gently in the grass and went to his horse, retrieving a blanket and placing it over her. He walked over to the wagon, and it was only then he saw the body of a man lying under a wagon axle as though he had been pinned there, perhaps before being attacked by the Indians. The man had apparently been trying to fix the wagon and had gotten caught under it. The wagon was very big and heavy. He would have been crushed quickly in such an accident. It looked as though the wagon was some kind of freight wagon, but everything on it had been burned.
Sage walked around it, wondering if there was anything he could salvage that would help him understand who these people were. Out of the rubble he was able to pull only one trunk that was charred but contained a few pieces of women’s clothing. Whether they were simply some of the wares or they belonged to the young girl lying in the grass, he couldn’t be sure. He rummaged through the trunk but found only a couple of nightgowns, three dresses, and a few stockings and bloomers. That was it.
He picked up a stick and began poking through the rest of the rubble but was unable to find anything that might give him a clue to the woman’s identity. He walked back to the man’s body, wondering if the man had come here to sell the woman to the Crow. That was quite possible. It would explain his presence. But then he must have been killed before he could make the deal. The Crow must have come along and found the man dead. They had probably stolen a good many items off the wagon before burning it.
But what about the woman?
“Crazy woman,” Sage muttered again. Yes. With her staring eyes and motionless body, the Indians would think her crazy, perhaps an evil spirit or one returned from the dead. That would explain why she had not been stolen away. The Indians would want nothing to do with a white woman full of evil spirits. It was not likely the bruises on her body had been put there by the Crow. Sage had no doubt the immediate culprit was the man with whom she had been traveling, but there had probably been others—perhaps from the Indian tribe that had given her the beaded dress with the design he did not recognize.
Sage rubbed his whiskered chin. Had the man under the wagon been a cruel husband? Had they simply gotten lost? Had the man been some underhanded merchant who had come here to sell the poor young girl? And how had he gotten her in the first place? She was young and exquisitely beautiful. She had the appearance of a well-bred young lady, in spite of the common tunic she wore.
He looked around, wondering if there were more bodies. But he saw nothing. He looked back at the young woman, lying quietly under his blanket. She still had not stirred. He had no choice but to take her to Fort Bridger with him. He couldn’t leave such a helpless creature here alone. She would most certainly die quickly, even if she were to awaken and be able to walk.
He supposed he should bury the man’s body, but was sure the smoldering flesh would fall apart in his hands if he tried to move it. The wagon was still too hot for him to even think about lifting it from the man, and the man’s clothes were burned right onto his body so that it would be impossible to rummage through his pockets to find any identification.
It was the woman who needed help. After all, she was still alive. Besides that, the Indians might return, bringing friends to see this “crazy woman.” He did not care to be found here with her. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
Sage walked over to her again, rechecking for signs of life. There was still a strong pulse. If only her eyes would move or tear. If only she would give some indication that she understood she was being helped, that she realized she didn’t have to be afraid. Yes, that was the look he read in those provocative violet eyes. Fear. No, not just fear. Terror. And such beautiful eyes they were, surrounded by long, dark lashes and perfectly formed eyebrows.
Again his manly instincts teased him, sending waves of desire and need painfully through him. She lay there for the taking, for any man with no conscience. But that was something he had not lost in these mountains. He still had a conscience and a sense of right and wrong, and availing himself of this helpless creature would have been wrong.
“Sage, you’re a damned fool,” he told himself. “What a waste. She probably wouldn’t even know the difference.”
He sighed deeply as he went to the trunk of clothes and took out most of them, then walked over and stuffed them into an empty parfleche. He always carried one or two empty bags, never knowing what he would come across in his travels. He was low on supplies, however, and was planning to pack up at Fort Bridger, maybe even fix up a travois. Where he’d go after that, he didn’t know, especially if there were no scouting jobs at the fort. He supposed he’d just wander until he found something he liked. Maybe he’d even spend the winter in the mountains alone. But whatever he did, he had to do something with this young girl first.
He closed the flap on the parfleche, then walked over to the lithe young woman lying on the ground.
“Ma’am? I’m taking you for help.” He shook her slightly. “Ma’am? Can you hear me? Everything will be all right. You don’t have to be afraid.”
He wrapped her in the blanket and picked her up in his arms, carrying her over to his horse and flopping her over it, belly down. He eased up onto the animal himself, then maneuvered her body into a sitting position in front of him, holding her tightly in one strong arm while he picked up the reins.
“This won’t work for long,” he grumbled to himself. He couldn’t hold on to her forever. “Soon as we get to safer places, I’ll make up a travois so’s you can lie on it while I ride,” he told her, hoping she could hear and understand.
He started off then, and her head flopped down as though she were asleep. She felt good against him and Sage could think of nothing nicer than her waking up and turning out to be a loose and willing woman.
His horse splashed through the stream and he headed south, leaving behind the still-smoldering wagon and its mysterious owner. Already crows and buzzards were beginning to gather. But that was the way it was in this land, and Sage didn’t doubt he’d end up the same way someday, dying out here with no one to bury him.
The girl’s thick, dark hair drifted against his face then, reminding him that he was most certainly alive, and so was she.
Chapter Two
Man and horse stopped for the night. Sage was still five or six days from Fort Bridger. He hoped he could get the girl talking by then, and he wondered how he was going to explain all this at the fort and what anyone would want to do with an apparently mentally disturbed young woman.
He had stopped mid-afternoon to cut down several young saplings, fashioning them into poles for a travois and tying skins between them to form a sli
ng-type bed for the still-nameless woman. By the time he stopped in a soft meadow that evening to take her from the travois, the skins were wet.
“Well, apparently some things are still working right,” he muttered. “I expect I’ll have to fix you up with some towels or cattail down like the Indians use on their babies if you’re going to be doing this to me.”
He carried her to a blanket and threw off one of the skins from the travois.
“I hope you know this is a waste of good skins, woman,” he muttered. He walked back to her, pulling off her tunic and throwing it aside also.
The sun had not quite set, and in the soft light of dusk she seemed even more beautiful. He allowed his eyes to take inventory of her lovely form. Other than the bruises, there was not a flaw on her anywhere, and the rough and rugged Sage MacKenzie had never beheld a more perfect woman.
“I’ve seen some mighty pretty young Indian women,” he told her, kneeling beside her, “but they don’t have skin white as a lily.” He was almost angry with himself for being so “honorable.” Her hips were perfectly rounded, her waist slender, her stomach flat and provocative. Her breasts were full and firm, even though she was lying on her back, and their nipples were as pink as flowers. He wanted to pick those flowers, to taste their nectar. He thought of simply running his hand over her, just to touch such beauty. But he was afraid if he did he would not be able to stop with the touching. What if she was some man’s wife, or perhaps someone’s innocent daughter? Until he knew more, he had no right, but he suddenly wished to hell he were a lot closer to Fort Bridger.
He leaned closer again.
“Ma’am? Don’t you hear me at all? Can’t you tell me your name?”
Still nothing. Her staring eyes were beginning to unnerve him. He reached over and closed her eyelids, and to his relief, they stayed closed. He sat back, taking one more moment just to drink in her naked beauty before clothing her in one of the dresses he’d found on the wagon.
“I think I’ll call you Venado,” he said softly to her. “That’s Spanish for little deer. You’re like a lovely young fawn, lost and frightened. I have to call you something. Makes me feel better.”
He rose then, going to the parfleche and pulling out a blue gingham dress and a pair of bloomers. Then he shook his head and put the bloomers back, taking out instead a towel and some rawhide ties. He walked back to her.
“I’ll wrap this towel around you and if you have another accident, I can wash it out each time we stop.” He took out his knife and poked holes in the top of the towel through which he could put the rawhide strips. Then he placed the towel under her, bringing it up between her legs. He pulled the rawhide strings through the holes and tied them so that the towel would stay around her. Then he sat her up and pulled the dress over her head, finding it very awkward trying to get her arms in the sleeves. When he finally managed to do that, he laid her back down and pulled the dress the rest of the way down.
“Hmm. A little big. Must not have been your clothes.” He shook his head. “Where in hell are you from? If I find out later you were a whore or something, I’m gonna kick myself from here to kingdom come for being so damned honorable. You know that, don’t you? You’d by-God better turn out to be something pretty damn special.”
He left her there and built a small fire, on which he warmed a rabbit left over from some he’d cooked the day before. He walked over and waved a piece of it under the woman’s nose but got no response.
“Well, one thing I know is you can go a long time without food, but not without water,” he told her. He walked over and picked up his canteen, taking it over to her and cradling her head in his arm again, putting the lip of the canteen to her own lips. He tipped it. Some of the water just ran out of the side of her mouth, but then he noticed her swallowing.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with a grin. “She swallowed!” He gave her a little more. “Ma’am? Ma’am, you comin’ around?”
She said nothing. He set the canteen aside and bent closer. “Ma’am?” Nothing seemed to have changed, except that she had swallowed the water. “What made you this way, you pretty little thing,” he said softly.
He was close. So close. He wondered if he kissed her—
“Forget it, Sage MacKenzie,” he grumbled then. He laid her back down and capped his canteen before returning to the fire to finish his own meal. A short while later he unsaddled his horse and tethered the animal, then opened his own bedroll, looking up at the stars beginning to appear. It was going to be a clear night, which in these mountains meant a chilly one. He moved his bedroll next to the young woman, pulling her close then and covering them both with all the blankets he had.
“If you were conscious, you’d probably never let me do this, but I’ve got to keep you warm, lady, much as it’s gonna bring me great pain to sleep next to the likes of you all night.”
He curled his knees up into the back of her own, and her hair gave him something soft to rest his cheek against. He held her close, afraid she would get cold. He couldn’t resist then, but she made no move or response when one of his big, calloused hands moved up to cup a breast. Fire swept through him and he quickly moved his hand away.
“Lord help me through this night,” he whispered. “It’s awful hard to live with the animals this long and not act like one.”
His prayer was answered when the long, trying day soon brought on a hard sleep. Only once did the woman stir as an odd groan exited her throat and a terrific shudder engulfed her whole being. Her breathing quickened, and Sage sat up slightly.
“Ma’am?”
She only groaned in rapid gasps, as though terrified of something. Her eyes remained closed, and she trembled violently. Sage lay back down and held her tightly.
“It’s all right, honey. It’s gonna be all right. Just hang on to ol’ Sage.”
After several minutes she seemed to calm again, then was as quiet and motionless as ever. Sage lay awake for a long time, just holding her, wondering what terrible thing had gone through her mind.
“You sleep, little Venado,” he told her then. “Just sleep. No sense remembering until you can stand it. Right now maybe it’s best you don’t remember anything at all.”
“There’s not much for breakfast, Venado,” Sage told the woman as he scrambled together beans, potatoes, onions, and dried meat. “Mountain men eat strange things, depending on how plentiful or scarce the game is and how long it’s been since he stocked up on other supplies. And sometimes even if game is plentiful, he can’t shoot it for fear of letting the Indians know where he is.”
He looked over at her, hoping that if he began talking to her conversationally, something he said would eventually pull forth a response. The woman had slept snuggled next to him the rest of the night without any more bad dreams, and in the morning she had quietly risen and walked behind some bushes. After she came out again, Sage went to investigate, seeing the towel he had put on her. He scratched his head and looked over at her as she sat back down on the blanket, staring straight ahead again. Apparently she suddenly knew enough to go relieve herself.
He hurried over to her, waving his hand in her face again. “Ma’am? You waking up some?”
There seemed to be no change other than the fact that she had known enough to take care of her bodily needs by herself.
“I sure wish you’d talk to me,” he told her now as the food cooked and coffee steamed. “I swear, being with somebody who won’t talk is lonelier than being with nobody at all.”
He poured himself some coffee, then put some in another tin cup and took it over to her. “You want some?” He waved it under her nose, and to his surprise her eyes moved, seeming to focus on his own. She frowned, studying him, then looked at the outstretched coffee cup. She reached out and took it.
“Be careful now. It’s hot.”
She said nothing. She simply took the cup and sipped some of the stiff brew.
“I don’t much know how to act around you, ma’am,” he told her, mo
ving closer to the fire and picking up his own cup. “I mean, I don’t know if you’re rich or poor, sixteen or twenty, a captive or a willing traveler out here. I don’t know if you’re married or single, a real lady or maybe somebody from some whorehouse near some fort or town.” He looked her over. “My guess is you’re a lady, and I’ll say you’re a damn pretty one to boot. You’ve got me all confused, and I’ll be glad as hell to get you to Fort Bridger. Maybe somebody there will know you.”
She only sipped the coffee and Sage sighed. “The biggest problem is how I’m gonna keep getting through the nights.”
He dished some of his nameless concoction onto a tin plate and took it over to her, handing it to her with a fork. “Here you go. You try to eat some of this. You need to get some meat on your bones. Whoever had you, they didn’t feed you very well. Didn’t treat you very good all the way around, I reckon. But you don’t have to worry about that with me. Oh, I’m not saying I wouldn’t take advantage of a woman in some ways; but I’d never hurt one. Women are kind of like little animals, you know? I mean, they need taking care of, watching over, protection from bigger animals that might come and hurt them.” He studied the beautiful young face. “I just wonder what kind of animals it was that abused you. If they were here right now, they’d get a taste of Sage MacKenzie’s justice. I’ve learned from the Indians how to make a man die slowly, and that’s what I’d do to him—or them. ’Course if it was just that man under the wagon, he’s already got his due.”
A bird flitted down to a rock nearby and sat there a moment singing. The woman’s eyes moved to the bird, and she looked at it rather longingly. Then to Sage’s surprise, a tear slipped down her face. He got up and walked over to her.
“Ma’am? What is it?”
Again came the strange groan and the deep breathing that seemed to be building into pants of terror. She suddenly leapt up, food flying, then turned and ran off.
“Wait!” Sage ran after her, catching her just before she would have run right off a high ledge and fallen several hundred feet to the rocks below. “Hang on there, lady. It’s all right.”
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 2
