The man raised his arms, leaving his rifle behind as he walked over close to the woman.
“Get away from her,” Sage warned.
Moose just kept grinning, looking down at her, reaching out to touch her breasts with the back of his hands. She jumped back.
Moose just laughed. “This could be more fun than I thought.” He started after her, but Sage let off a shot at his feet.
Moose whirled. “You’d shoot an unarmed man?”
“You bet your ass,” Sage answered angrily. “Touch her once more and find out.”
The woman cringed in the shadows, breathing rapidly again, frightened by the gunshot.
Moose sighed deeply, glaring darkly at Sage. “You’re crazy,” he fumed. He stormed back to his rifle. “I’m gettin’ out of here.”
Sage watched him carefully. “Ride far. And don’t come back. I just might let myself forget this when we meet again. I understand your needs, Moose, but you’ll have to find some other woman.”
The man stood with his back to Sage. Suddenly he whirled and shot. Sage had caught the movement immediately, shooting at almost the same time. Sage felt a sting across his right upper arm, and at almost the same time Moose’s body went flying backward, landing with a thud in the darkness.
Sage had no time to contemplate the fact that he’d just killed a man he knew, over a woman he didn’t know at all. Nor did he have time to see how badly he was wounded. Venado had run off. He hurried after her, seeing her in the distance in the moonlight once his eyes adjusted. Stones crunched under his booted feet as he chased her down, grasping her arm and jerking her close.
“It’s all right, ma’am. Don’t be afraid. I won’t shoot the gun any more.”
She clung to his buckskin shirt, panting and gasping. He moved his arms around her, hugging her tightly, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.
“Now look what you went and made me do, Venado,” he told her softly then. “I’ve gone and killed a friend over you, little lady. What the hell for, I don’t even know. All I know is I couldn’t stand the thought of him rakin’ over you like an animal. Why it matters, I don’t know.”
He kissed her hair, then gently led her back to the campfire. He urged her back under her blankets, then dragged Moose’s body out of the light of the fire. He removed his shirt and then took a bottle of whiskey from his supplies and dumped some over the flesh wound on his arm. He wrapped it as best he could, tying the gauze with his teeth and left hand.
He just sat down then, adding a little wood to the fire. He looked over at the young woman, who was asleep again, as though nothing had happened.
“I’d better get some sleep myself,” he muttered. “I’ve got a grave to dig in the morning before we leave.” His heart felt heavy and he was confused. He hadn’t wanted to kill Moose, but the man had left him no choice. He could never have let the man grovel over the young girl, let alone the fact that Moose had tried to kill him first.
What bothered him most was that he wanted the woman, too. He’d killed another man for the very same thoughts he was having himself.
He lay back against his saddle. His head ached, and he wondered if it was from what he’d just been through or from the painful frustration brought on by the strange young woman with the violet eyes.
For the rest of the night and the next morning there was no sign of Jed Baker. Apparently he had gone on, letting Moose return alone, probably wanting nothing to do with the man’s intentions. Sage knew both men well; knew it would be like Jed to keep going, confident Sage MacKenzie could handle himself against Moose Kennedy.
He had certainly done that. He’d checked the body the night before to be sure. He’d have helped the man if he had still been alive. But Moose was dead and that was that. He winced with pain as he dug a grave. Digging was no easy job with an injured arm, not to mention the fact that the ground was hard and rocky in this area. He was angry at Moose for what he had tried to do, but he couldn’t leave the man’s body behind for the buzzards.
The young woman watched him dig, showing no particular emotion or sign that she had understood what had happened.
“It would help if you’d thank me or something,” Sage told her sarcastically. “Do you realize the trouble you’re causin’ me, girl? I should have left you sitting back there where I found you. I haven’t had this much trouble in years. See what happens when a man lets himself get involved with others?” He pushed the shovel into a pile of dirt, going for Moose’s body. “When I scouted for wagon trains, I let those people take care of themselves, you know? I didn’t get involved. All I did was scout ahead, give them advice, show them the way, and then let them take care of their own personal problems. You—I got too involved this time and this is the result.”
He yanked and pulled until Moose’s body was beside the grave. He rolled it in, then just looked at it a moment, sighing deeply.
“Sorry, Moose, but you pushed it too far.”
He stood up, folding his hands in front of him and standing there quietly a moment before looking up at the heavens.
“Lord,” he spoke aloud, “I’m sure not one of your best servants, and ol’ Moose here wasn’t either. But we’ve both got souls, I reckon. Now I’m asking you to be as understanding as you can with Moose here. He was good in a lot of ways—honest, too. He was just maybe a little drunk, and lonely for a woman. So try to look at all his good points and forgive his bad ones if you can and see that he is comfortable, someplace where there’s mountains and green grass and lots of game.”
He looked at the body once more, then turned and picked up the shovel, tossing in the dirt until finally the grave was filled. Then he began the task of piling rocks over the grave to keep animals from digging into it. By the time he finished, it was nearly noon and he was tired and hungry. His arm ached. He walked back to the camp fire and poured himself a cup of coffee, looking over at the woman.
“You hungry?”
She only stared back.
Sage shrugged. “I don’t know why I asked.” He took some flour from his supplies and threw some in a tin pan, adding a little water and salt. “How about biscuits and gravy? I’m not the best at making biscuits, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll add a little rabbit meat from that rabbit I got yesterday evening. There was a little left over. Should flavor up this gravy all right. I’m getting a little tired of rabbit, but that seems to be all I can find lately.”
He stirred the mixture and left it over the low fire, then mixed more flour and salt with yeast and water in his only other pan. “When I’m through I’ll knead this all up and set it over the fire with a lid on the pan. This is my way of makin’ biscuits—one big piece of dough that rises in this pan like bread. Us mountain men have a different way of cooking and baking than you women. ’Course, a real, home-cooked, woman-made meal is worth a fortune to men like us. Some women live at the forts and pretty near get rich just cookin’ for the men.”
He began kneading the dough when all of a sudden the woman got up and walked over to him, kneeling in front of the pan and touching his wrist. He looked at her with a frown as she pulled the pan away from his hands. She walked to a large, flat rock, brushed it off with her dress, then threw flour on it. She dumped the sticky dough from the pan onto the floured rock and began kneading it herself, adding a little flour.
Sage watched in total surprise. “Well, now, what do you think of that?” He rubbed his hands in sand to remove the sticky residue, watching her knead the dough against the rock as though it were her kitchen table. Something more was coming back from her past. She apparently knew how to cook, and he was more convinced she was from some nice home. If only she would start talking to him.
After a time she finished kneading and patted the dough into a nice, round ball with a much better texture than anything Sage could have made. She sat back and looked at it, then reached out and stroked it almost lovingly, as though very proud of what she had done.
“What kinds of things go through your mind?”
Sage wondered aloud.
She turned to look at him, then walked over to him, kneeling in front of him and reaching up to hug him around the neck. She was like a child, and he sensed she was somehow aware he’d protected her, was showing some kind of gratitude by kneading the bread herself and then hugging him.
“You sure do know how to confuse a man,” he told her then, his arms moving around her.
She smelled good. She’d washed herself that morning with a shallow pan and some water from his canteen, opening her dress and washing her neck and her arms. Sage had been glad he was digging the grave and not sitting and watching. Now he could smell the soap and was suddenly conscious of the fact that he could use a bath himself. Men who lived as he did seldom worried about such things until hitting a town where there were bathhouses and loose women.
It didn’t seem to matter to this young woman. She rested her head on his shoulder, then shocked him by kissing him on the neck. He grasped her arms and pushed her away.
“Hey, now, don’t be doing things like that, little lady. It’s too hard on me.”
She leaned forward and kissed him several times on his whiskered cheeks. Sage pushed her away again, standing up.
“Now you quit that.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, which was getting long. “You stay put and watch that there dough or whatever. I’ll be back in a bit. There’s a stream not far from here. I’ll be over there. Don’t you run off on me now. I’m going to wash some and maybe find another fresh rabbit.” He turned and picked up his canteen and the soap and a towel. He reached into his parfleche and took out a pair of scissors and a mirror, then picked up his rifle and walked off.
Sage’s mind reeled as he headed for the stream. What on earth had compelled the woman to kiss him that way? He couldn’t figure out if it was the hug and kiss of a woman wanting him, or of a grateful child. Either way, it was torture to his neglected sexual needs. He stripped down and washed almost angrily, not even sure why he was cleaning himself up. The woman had made him self-conscious with her own soapy smell, and he didn’t like the thought that he might smell bad to her. Yet he realized it shouldn’t matter at all and might be better if he did smell.
He hung the mirror on the branch of a scraggly, stunted tree, combing back his wet hair and cutting it so that it hung just to the base of his neck and not past his shoulders. He trimmed down his beard but decided not to shave it off, wondering why the thought had occurred to him in the first place. He’d never shaved it off for any woman before, so why should he do it for this one? She hadn’t even asked him. She hadn’t said anything at all for that matter.
He pulled on clean long underwear and clean buckskins, deciding that soon he’d have to visit his good friend White Bear among the Shoshoni and trade some blankets and beads and tobacco for a new set of buckskins. But first he had to kill himself a few deer and clean their hides and get them ready. Maybe he’d find some Indian women at Fort Bridger who would sew some skins for him.
He decided to leave the bandage off his arm. The wound was only superficial and was heavily scabbed now. It would heal faster in the open air. He decided to leave off his shirt for a while and put it on later. It was going to be a warm day. But then he wondered if his warmth was from the weather or from the fact that the pretty young girl had hugged him and kissed him.
He rolled up his soiled clothes and tied them into a bundle, then picked up his rifle, walking into the brush a way to try to root out a rabbit. Perhaps staying away from his Venado a little while would help him control himself.
After an hour or so a huge jackrabbit skittered out from a hole in the ground that had been hidden by a dried-up yucca bush. He quickly raised his rifle, took careful aim, and fired. The rabbit went rolling head over rear and landed with a flop.
Sage hurried over and picked it up, grinning with delight. Again they would have fresh meat for supper. In these parts he could fire his gun, for he knew that most of the Indians around here were peaceful and could be bargained with. He was only about three days from Fort Bridger. He turned with the rabbit and headed back to where he had left his things. When he got there, he found the woman standing there looking frightened.
“It’s all right. I just shot a rabbit, that’s all.”
She ran up to him, hugging him again as though afraid he’d been hurt.
Sage rolled his eyes at the feel of her face against his bare chest. “There you go again. You have to quit that, ma’am.”
He gently pushed her away, but his blood rushed hot when she stared for a moment at his hairy chest, then ran her fingers lightly through the hairs. Sage swallowed, grasping her wrist.
“Here. Look here. I got us another rabbit. See?” He held up the rabbit. She reached out and touched it, then began tugging at his arm. “Wait a minute. I’ve got to get my things,” he told her. He picked everything up and followed her back to camp then, to find that a wonderful smell greeted his nostrils. The pan with the dough in it sat on hot rocks beside the fire. He put down his things and walked over to it, lifting the lid to see rising bread inside. He looked at her and smiled, carefully putting back the lid.
“Smells right good,” he told her.
To his delight and surprise, she smiled back, ever so faintly. He shook his head. “If you aren’t a wonder. You ready to talk yet?”
She went to the gravy, stirring it, saying nothing.
“Well, I guess not.” He sighed deeply, thinking that the journey was going to get a lot more difficult if the woman was going to start all this hugging and kissing and smiling. “Damn,” he grumbled, taking out his hunting knife. “What a goddamned situation I’ve gotten myself into.” He carried the rabbit over to a rock, slitting it open to clean it. The smell of the bread and gravy made his stomach growl with hunger.
“Well, I guess I know a little more about you now,” he told the woman. “You can cook, and you sure as hell have a lovin’ nature. That’s the part that worries me.”
He looked over at her and she smiled again. He looked up at the sky. “Lord, help me,” he muttered, turning back to the rabbit.
It was nearly three o’clock before they were able to start traveling. Sage was upset that he’d lost so much time that morning. He rode harder than usual, trying to ignore the soft scent of the long, dark hair that whispered around his face as they rode, the feel of her slender body when he reached around it. He stopped once and made her ride behind him, but she only hugged him tightly to hang on, and with only a buckskin shirt on, he could feel her full breasts against his back, moving with the rhythm of his horse’s gait.
Finally it was too dark to go on. He made camp in a thick stand of pine trees, his body exploding with indecision. How was he to get through this night? Why had he cleaned up, and why had he chosen this spot, private, the ground covered with a bed of soft pine needles? Why, if not to do what she would be so willing to do? It was wrong, and he would fight it. He had killed a man to keep it from happening. But then he would never use her the way Moose would have.
He dismounted, furious with himself. He tried to ignore her completely as he made camp, but this time he caught himself watching her as she undressed. Until now he’d always turned away when she quietly took off her dress and put on a gown. Now as she did so, he gave in to the burning needs that had been gnawing at him since finding her. He caught sight of her gentle curves and slender thighs and waist. Her breasts were full, her nipples pink and taut. Her radiant hair hung to her waist. She slipped the gown over herself, apparently heedless of his eyes upon her, or perhaps too lost in the silent world she had entered through some unknown tragedy.
“You’re no crazy woman,” he muttered, turning back around to curry his horse. “You’re a damned witch, and a cruel one at that. What you’re doing to me is worse than making me eat poison.”
He brushed down the horse some more, then turned when she walked to his gear to get a pan. She set it on the fire he’d started for her, then unwrapped the rabbit he’d cleaned and salted and wrapped
in deerskin. She seemed to know where everything was now, and apparently had decided the cooking should be her chore. Was it her way of thanking him? She took some lard from the tin can in which it was kept and put some in the pan. As soon as it melted, she added the rabbit and it began frying.
The rest of the evening was quiet. Sage said hardly a thing to her. He no longer felt jovial. His situation was becoming all too serious. He was ready to kill to defend this young woman’s honor and person. But now he was disturbed with thoughts of taking both for himself. He felt like the animal he supposed he’d become after so many years living alone in this land. And he felt wicked.
He would fight this thing. If only she hadn’t hugged and kissed him that morning. If only he hadn’t felt the full breasts against his back, smelled her sweet scent. If only she weren’t so willing and vulnerable, and so damned pretty.
He ate his rabbit grudgingly, almost angry that it was delicious. Did she have to be a good cook to boot?
“Well, if you aren’t going to tell me anything about yourself,” he began finally as she cleaned up the food and pans, “I’ll tell you more about me.”
He moved away from her, sitting against a rock and lighting a cigar. “I’m a wandering man, understand? I’m not a man who settles, nor one who has special feelings for any one woman. A man like me—he’s with one woman one night and another the next. And I’m not worth any money either. I spent most of my life trapping beaver. Now nobody wants the furs. That was my only real profession. Oh, I’ve done some scouting, but a man doesn’t get rich doing that. He just gets by. I don’t know if you understand me, but I’m trying to tell you I’m not worth the grease you threw in that pan. I’m just an aging trapper with no future. A woman would be smart to look elsewhere with a man like me, especially a nice woman who wants to settle.”
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 4
