Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  She nodded and he reached up to pull the hood away a little, wanting to see her face. She smiled at him and he winked back. “You feeling all right?” She nodded again. He felt a surge of desire and cursed the rats and mice as he turned back to go into the cabin. They were only prolonging the moment when he could make love to her again.

  He went back inside the cabin. The woman waited for what seemed an eternity, while several shots were fired intermittently. She watched in wonder as several rodents scurried from beneath the cabin walls to the outside. She wondered where the tiny creatures stayed when it was so cold. She couldn’t blame them for seeking the shelter of the cabin, but now that she and Sage would be living there, they would simply have to go.

  Her eyes moved to take in their surroundings. The cabin sat high, its back to a ridge that jutted upward for what seemed hundreds of feet. Large rocks were perched here and there, and she hoped none of them would come tumbling down. High at the top of the ridge were fir trees, which she knew were tall but looked tiny from where she sat on her horse. The land sloped gradually downward from the cabin to the valley below.

  She noticed a wooden outhouse in a cluster of pines not far from the cabin and shivered at the thought of using it. She wondered how she knew what it was for, and also wondered at the memories that again struggled to be set free. Somehow she knew that wherever she had come from, she hadn’t used an outhouse. It had been something different, but she didn’t know what it had been, except that she hadn’t had to go outside in the cold. She could see a flowered curtain, some kind of white washing tub, and a pot with a lid on it. But she could not envision any particular kind of house, or any people. Just the flowered curtain.

  Trying to remember made her tired. She turned her attention back to Sage, who came outside then, carrying the gunnysack, which had something stuffed into it. He walked off to a spot several yards away, looking over a ledge and then holding out the gunnysack and dumping something from it. She realized it must be dead rodents. He hadn’t wanted her to see them.

  She smiled at the way he was so careful about her feelings, afraid of frightening her or offending her. He returned and took something else from his parfleche, an unlabeled silver tin with a lid on it. He walked around the cabin, sprinkling something near the walls, kicking away snow where it was necessary. Then he took the tin inside. After a few minutes he emerged, shoving the tin back into his supplies. He walked up to her then, reaching up. She smiled as he lifted her down from her horse.

  “You see that tin I had?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s bad—poison. Don’t ever touch it. Promise me?”

  She nodded again, hugging him.

  “Come on,” he said with a smile. “I’ll show you the cabin. There might be a mouse or two bothering us at first, but I think they’ll leave us alone for the most part. They won’t hurt anything. They’re just pesty.”

  He wondered as he took her inside what kind of house she might once have lived in. Was she the grand, rich daughter of some wealthy rancher? Maybe she was just a farmer’s daughter, and this cabin wasn’t much worse than the little log or sod house she had come from. But somehow he couldn’t picture anything but a grand house, his Venado dressed in a full, flowing gown, her hair done up fancy, her cheeks colored.

  “Well, here it is. This is home—at least for the winter. Once we get that fireplace going, it will warm up quick enough. Whoever lived here before left some wood there.” He pointed to a stack of wood in one corner next to the fireplace. “There’s a little more stacked outside, but I’m gonna have to brave the storm and get us some more. We’ll spread that hay I brought along over the floor so it will be a little cleaner. I’ll go get it.”

  He turned, but she grabbed his arm, throwing off her hood and looking up at him and smiling. She wanted to say aloud how much she loved the little cabin, loved the idea of being here with him. She tried to say it, but all she could say was “Sage.” She hugged him and he patted her shoulder.

  “You wait here a minute. I’ll get that bale of hay off the travois.”

  She waited, helping him spread the hay when he returned. She became more excited, going over to clean the fireplace and get a fire going while Sage brought in their supplies. In the midst of unloading, she confronted him with two buckets, one they had brought and one that had been left in the cabin. She held them out, an eager look in her eyes.

  “Water? You want water?”

  She nodded. She wanted to clean off the wooden shelves nailed to the walls. She would set her canned fruit there. How could she explain?

  Sage set down their bedrolls. “Well, this sure is a change for me, woman,” he teased. “Fetching water for a woman and all. You’d best not be asking me to do too many chores. I’m not one to take orders.” He took the buckets. “There’s a stream not far away. I reckon that’s part of the reason whoever built this place decided to put it here. Maybe he was using the stream to pan for gold and realized there isn’t any of that stuff around here. I just hope the water’s not frozen.”

  He walked out with the buckets, and she picked up the tarpaulin he’d brought inside and spread it out in a corner near the fireplace. On top of that she spread out the bedrolls and blankets. She kept her wolf-skin coat on and poked at the fire. It began burning better, and by the time Sage returned it was burning brightly.

  “Well, look there. That’s a fine fire you got going there, Venado.” He set down the buckets near the fire and she looked up at him with a smile. She untied the leather ties of the jacket and removed it, leaving on the warm but lighter deerskin jacket she wore beneath it, a gift from Red Dog’s woman. Sage stepped closer, rubbing at her arms. He noticed the bedrolls already spread out nearby, and he ached for her. He bent down and kissed her lightly. “We’ll get warmed up right good soon enough,” he told her. He kissed her again, and she reached up around his neck, returning the kiss eagerly. Sage pulled her tightly against him. Oh, how he’d missed this! How he’d missed her! How could he have left her behind the way he had? He moved his lips to her neck, pushing one hand against her bottom and pressing her tightly against himself.

  “We gotta get the rest of the gear inside and I’ve got to let the horses loose to find something to eat, honey. Let’s get all settled in and get it a little warmer in here—maybe eat a little something. Then we’ll go to bed. With this weather we might just stay there all day tomorrow. Who cares? Who’s to know? We’ve got enough wood for that. I can’t think of anything better than just lying by the fire under those blankets with you.”

  He was on fire for her, as passionate as a man much younger. What was it she did to him? She made him feel crazy, alive, wonderful, foolish.

  “I’ll bring in the rest of the gear so we can make some coffee,” he told her, pulling away.

  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Sage stay,” she said firmly, smiling.

  “That’s right. I’m staying.” He grasped her small face in his big hands, bending down and kissing her once more. “I’m staying.”

  He turned and went back outside. The woman hung the wolf-skin coat on a large nail near the door. Under her dress she wore some of Sage’s long underwear, tied with rawhide around the waist to hold it up. She pulled off the huge buffalo skin moccasins he’d put on her feet and inside those she wore smaller moccasins, also made of buffalo hide, the shaggy hair side turned inward for insulation around her feet. Those had also been given to her by Red Dog’s wife. She felt pounds lighter without the bigger moccasins and the huge, wolf-skin coat. The cabin was beginning to warm as Sage brought in the rest of their supplies.

  “I’ve got to go out and unsaddle the horses and take off that travois. I’ll have to turn them loose to forage for themselves,” he told her. “I just hope they hang around. The way that wind is coming over the ridge above us, they’ll probably stay close to the cabin.”

  She nodded, taking the speckled blue and white coffeepot from their gear and looking for the tin of roasted coffee be
ans. She realized they were getting stale and there were few left. She would have to begin roasting the green coffee beans they had bought at Fort Bridger, and only a few at a time so they would stay fresh. It seemed the roasted ones went stale so fast. It took many more stale beans to make a good pot of coffee than it did fresh ones.

  She frowned then, wondering how she knew about coffee beans. Here again was something that seemed to come to her so easily, like how to cook, what an outhouse was for, how to make a fire, and even how she should feel about a man she loved. But it gave her a headache to wonder at the things that came so naturally.

  She started to scoop some roasted beans into the pot, then hesitated. It seemed to her it would be much easier to pour the coffee out later if the beans were wrapped in something first. Surely the flavor would still be there. She walked over to the parfleche where her clothes were kept, taking out a pair of bloomers and tearing off a little of the material at the bottom of one leg. She brought it back over and put the beans into the material, then tied it around the beans, dropping the little package into the pot and then adding water. She set the pot on a high grate over the fire, then stood back and watched it, proud of her idea but wondering where she had gotten it. Was this, too, something from her past?

  She opened a little black door at the side of the fireplace and found a small iron bin. Beneath it was a place for more wood, and behind it a vent where smoke would flow out. It was not the grandest oven, but it would do. She could make bread in it, and roast more beans. She opened the tin of green coffee beans and scooped some onto a tin plate, setting the plate in the little makeshift oven. She closed the door and scooped up some hot coals from the fire in the fireplace with a small spade that had been left there. She placed them in the little opening beneath the oven, then added a few pieces of wood. Soon both fireplace and oven were heating well.

  The coffee was beginning to boil when Sage came back inside carrying saddles and bridles, which he dropped in a far corner. He closed the door, sliding down a wooden latch.

  “By God, it’s nice and warm in here already,” he commented, taking off the buffalo robe. He spread it out in the hay. “Got to let some of that snow dry off.” He breathed deeply. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  She nodded eagerly, holding up a finger to indicate it wasn’t ready yet. She motioned him over to the little oven, picking up her dress to wrap around her hand when she opened the iron door to show him the roasting beans.

  “Good idea. We’ll need some fresh roasted ones soon.”

  She patted his stomach, her eyes questioning.

  “Hungry? Some. But there’s no hurry. We got all the time in the world.”

  Their eyes held and she nodded, smiling softly. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Maybe, uh, maybe you can move that coffeepot over some, so it doesn’t boil so hard—so you don’t have to watch it close. We could…well, we could eat later, Venado, if you know what I mean. I mean, I didn’t know till I left you behind how much I love you, and ever since finding you again…I feel like I’m going crazy, wanting to make love to you again. I want you a lot more than I want anything to eat right now.”

  She felt a wonderful warmth move through her. She loved pleasing him, loved when he pushed himself inside her and made her feel so wonderful. Here again was something she knew about, something she sensed was the epitome of love and devotion and joy. It was right, natural, something a man and woman were supposed to do when they loved each other.

  She took off the deerskin jacket and hung it on a nail. She walked over to the fireplace, picked up her dress to move the coffeepot off the hottest flames, then added another log to the fire before turning around and unbuttoning the front of her dress. She pulled it open and over her shoulders, exposing her full breasts, feeling their ends tingle as her nipples responded to the way her man looked at them.

  Their eyes met then. “I know I must be crazy, taking the chance of loving you, Venado,” he told her. “But I do love you and I’m not gonna fight it anymore.”

  He removed his own clothing, and she studied his muscular, virile body as he did so. He was raw power, a beautiful man. She wondered if he would look much younger without the beard. But she didn’t know how to ask him to shave it off and was afraid he would get angry if she did ask. She would wait until a better time.

  Never had she felt more aware of her surroundings, or closer to life and reality, than she had lately. It was as though she were coming out of some black tunnel, walking toward a light. What would be there when she reached that light? What was waiting at the end of the tunnel?

  She couldn’t worry about that now. Sage was kneeling in front of her, pulling down her dress and bloomers, kissing at the little crevice between her legs and the soft hairs that hid secret places. His hands moved over her bare hips and she gasped at the thrill of his touch.

  She stepped out of her clothes and moccasins, and walked with him to the bedroll. They crawled inside together and he was suddenly moving over her, touching her with his hands, lips; little groans came from deep inside him as he tasted her breasts. His skin felt like fire, as did her own.

  He moved to her mouth, consuming it, parting her lips, searching with his tongue, drawing out a fire in her own soul. Whatever it was that made her know what to do, she couldn’t wonder about it now. She only knew it all felt wonderful, and that it was right and good.

  His hands moved under her hips, grasping her thighs from behind and spreading them as he moved between her legs.

  “God, I’ve been wanting this so long, Venado,” he groaned. “I love you. It feels so good to say it. I love you. I want you to be my woman forever.”

  He surged inside her then, bringing a gasp from her lips, making her arch up to him in the sweet glory of knowing her Sage was here and he wasn’t going to leave her behind ever again. They moved with rhythm, joy enveloping their souls. His life spilled into her quickly, for he had thought about this for days.

  “Stay still,” he whispered, kissing her cheeks, her eyes, her throat, her lips. “Just stay right there. We’re gonna do this again—and again and again. I can’t get enough of you. I’ll let you enjoy it more next time.”

  He didn’t draw out of her. He only lay there, waiting until he could recapture the flame. It didn’t take long. Sage MacKenzie was a virile, hungry man.

  The coffee steamed quietly. The beans roasted slowly. Outside the wind howled and the snow deepened. But inside the warm cabin were two people who had lost all awareness of the weather outside. The little cabin stood quietly as snow drifted down over it, and smoke curled from its stone chimney.

  It was with great reluctance that Sage got all the way out of bed the next morning to go cut wood. The evening before, he had stayed in bed while his woman had cooked his supper and had brought it to him. It was not that he had demanded it. It was what she had wanted to do. The sight of her bare legs beneath the deerskin jacket she wore for warmth had only made him want her again. He wondered how many times a man was capable of making love in a twenty-four-hour period. Would he ever tire of her silken body, her captivating violet eyes, her flowing dark hair? Would he ever tire of the firm, pink nipples, the lovely roundness of her bottom, or the way it felt to be inside her?

  Morning had arrived too soon to suit Sage MacKenzie, and if they hadn’t needed more wood, he would not have gotten up at all. But it was awfully dangerous to let themselves get too low on wood. The wind had died. There was an apparent break in the weather. He had to take advantage of it.

  Morning coffee was the best he’d had in a long time, made with the freshly roasted beans. It seemed that green coffee beans lasted forever, but once they were roasted, it didn’t take long for them to go stale. The best cup of coffee came from beans freshly roasted, beans that still contained the oils and flavors a man loved.

  He drank his coffee and ate some bacon. He was amazed at how clean his Venado kept herself. She had already been up and to the outhouse. Now she was dressed, her hair brushed and tied into a
neat bun at the nape of her neck. By the time he was ready to go out for more wood, she was already kneading bread.

  “You’re some woman,” he told her. “A man like me couldn’t ask for better. You’re everything I always pictured in a woman, if I ever settled with one, and before I met you, I never really thought I’d settle at all.”

  She smiled at the remarks and he leaned over and kissed her.

  “You sure know how to please a man, Venado. This is probably the happiest I’ve been in my whole life.” He touched her face. “I’m glad I found you now. I won’t leave you behind again. But I can’t help wondering…” His eyes saddened. “What’s going to happen when you remember? How long can we stay this happy?”

  Her own eyes saddened, then teared. She reached up and touched his beard. “Sage stay. Mary stay.”

  He frowned, searching the violet eyes. “Mary?”

  She blinked, putting fingers to her lips as though astonished she had said it. As unexpectedly as other tiny memories had returned, so had this one. Her name was Mary. Somehow she knew that, but she didn’t know her last name. She stepped back, gazing up at him with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Mary,” she repeated. She put her hands to her face, felt her hair, ran her hands over her body. “Mary.” She met his eyes again and he reached out and took a hand.

  “Is that your name then? Mary?” He stroked her face. “Mary what? Do you remember a last name?”

  She only blinked, struggling to remember. She frowned, then hugged him as though afraid. “Mary.” She looked up at him, her mouth obviously trying to form a word. “Love,” she finally managed to get out. “Mary love…Sage.”

  He smiled, tears in his eyes. “My God. Listen to what you said. Mary loves Sage.” He hugged her tightly. “You’re talking more every day, Venado.” He kissed her hair. “I reckon I should stop calling you that. I’ll try to remember to call you Mary. Maybe the more I use it, the more you’ll remember. Mary. Mary. I like the name. It fits you. It’s soft, simple—makes a man think of someone sweet and pretty, just like you.”