There was no time to wonder now. Sage was hurt! She ran to him then, staring down at his bloody, panting body. She knelt beside him. “Sage!”
“Be careful,” he groaned. “Might…still be alive.”
She looked over at the bear, then looked back at Sage and shook her head. She leaned closer then, tears brimming in her eyes. Sage was hurt! She loved him and had to help him. “Sage,” she whispered.
He looked up into violet eyes and saw the spark there again. She remembered. It had taken a terrible fright to do it, but she remembered.
“Mary? You back with me? You know who I am?”
He was covered with blood. Blood. There was something terrible about blood, but she couldn’t connect that thought to anything in particular, except that she knew sometimes it meant death. Death was when people went away forever. She touched the blood on his chest, then looked at his eyes again.
“Sage…don’t die.”
The words helped him forget some of his pain. She had spoken. She had said two new words, and they made sense. Love was written all over her face. Just hearing the words made him feel better.
“I won’t die, honey. But…you gotta help me. Somehow we’ve got to get back…to the cabin so you can bandage me up. I’m losing a lot of blood. It’s your turn…to help me now, Mary…instead of my helping you. You think you can do that?”
She wiped away tears and stood up. “The travois,” she said, speaking suddenly as if she had never stopped. “I’ll go get one of the horses with its travois and bring it close. You can try to get on the travois and I’ll pull you back.”
“No.” He reached up for her. “Help me up. You’ll…never get the horses to come over here…where the bear is. I’ll have to go to them.”
She took his arm and helped him up, but she was of little use under his hulking frame. She nearly fell down as he leaned on her to walk. His steps dragged, and his breathing suggested a man in great pain. He managed to get to a travois, and he flopped down on it, the front of his coat and buckskins soaked in blood.
“I should have…sensed bear around here,” he told her. “Seems like since meeting you…I forget to be careful. My mind…is so full of you all the time. It’s a poor specimen of mountain man…who gets outsmarted by a bear. That one…he went down hard.” He winced with pain and she began tying the rawhide straps around him. “Get the rifle,” he told her. “You can ride this horse…lead the other one.”
He put his head back, feeling weaker every minute, struggling to keep his wits about him. He had to guide her back. He had to rely on this woman whose mind was not even all there. But he could see by her eyes she had come back to the woman he’d left that morning before she was attacked. She was even better than that. She had spoken, clearly, concisely. How had that happened? How was it she now moved quickly, with the attitude of someone who knew just what to do?
Again he was amazed at what love could do to a person. It had changed him completely, his whole attitude on life, removing his selfish desire to be alone and on his own, making him need for the first time in his life, giving him a desire to settle. And now apparently it was stimulating the healing process of this woman called Mary.
She finished tying him on. “I’ll leave your arms free,” she told him. “You point which way I should go.” She covered him with an extra blanket. Sage watched her mount the other horse, more in shock from the way she was speaking and how clearly she was thinking than from his own wounds. She picked up the reins of the horse that would pull him. “Which way?” she called out.
With great agony he raised an arm and pointed over his head. “Be careful,” he told her. “This snow…can be tricky in these mountains. Don’t force the horse…to go too far in some direction…it doesn’t want to go in. It knows where the danger is.”
He could only hope she had heard him, for he knew his voice was getting weaker. He felt the travois begin to move. He hoped the wood he had collected so far would do for a while, for it was certain it would be some time before he could go for more, if he lived at all. Out here a man could die from the tiniest wound, and bears were notorious for being dirty. Claw wounds nearly always got infected. It didn’t trouble him for himself. But what would Mary do if anything happened to him? She would be so helpless and lost up here, so vulnerable. She had already been attacked by those men, and a bear had come close to killing her. She didn’t even know how to use a gun, as far as he knew. Mary! He had to hang on for Mary.
The smell of snow was stronger. Between his wounds and the snow he was sure was coming, he would be laid up for a long while. Everything would be up to Mary now.
They rode for several minutes before she turned and asked again which way to go. He turned his head from one side to another. “Right—up that ridge there,” he told her. “You should see…the cabin from there.”
She dismounted and came to kneel beside him. “I can’t hear you, Sage. Tell me again.”
He reached up, touching her cheek. “Mary. The way you’re talking—I can’t believe it.”
“Not now, Sage. We’ve got to get you to the cabin. Which way?”
He told her again and she hurriedly remounted. It seemed to take forever to climb the ridge. Sage wondered about the bear. If it lay there and froze, he could go back for the meat later, as long as wolves didn’t ravage it first. It annoyed him that it hadn’t died before wounding him. He could have skinned it and taken some of the meat right there. A bearskin would have come in handy and, certainly, the meat. The travois bounced over rocks again as it started moving, and he lamented the waste of leaving that bear behind.
“It’s starting to snow,” Mary told him. “I think it’s a good thing we’re leaving anyway. We have enough wood for a while. The wind is picking up. If we stayed there all day, maybe we would have gotten caught in a storm.”
He didn’t care about the bear, his wounds, or the storm. She was talking. Mary was talking! Now he had to get well. How much more pleasant life was going to be around the little cabin with Mary talking. They could make love again, now that she remembered who he was. But did she also remember her attack? Maybe she had even remembered who she really was. “Not now, Sage,” she had told him. What did that mean? Did it mean she had something more to tell him?
He felt the wind whipping up, and snow swirled around his face. He lay feeling more weak every moment, and amazed he could rely on Mary. If she had not come around, he would be lying helpless back there in the snow and neither of them would have made it back. They would have died out there. It was as though the hand of God had reached down to bring some kind of miracle.
“I see it! I see the cabin,” she shouted. “We’ll be all right, Sage.” His chest felt cold where his clothes were wet with blood. Since it had remained so wet, he knew it could only mean he was still bleeding fresh blood. It was not drying. “Goddamned grizzly,” he mumbled. Minutes seemed like hours until at last he saw the cabin come into view. They were stopping in front of it. The wind was howling and snow was blowing wildly. It blew the hood off Mary’s head as she bent over him.
“We’re here, Sage. We’ve got to get inside fast.”
“The horses,” he mumbled. “Take off…their gear. Untie the travois. They’ve got to be loose…in this kind of weather.”
“I will, Sage. I’ll unload them. First we have to get you inside.” She worked frantically with the rawhide straps, her fingers numb from the cold. She squinted against the stinging wind. “Oh, Sage, you’re bleeding so much.”
He saw panic in her eyes. “Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve bled before. I’ll be all right.” He clung to her as she helped him up. He immediately fell, amazed at how weak he was.
“Sage! Sage, you’ve got to get inside! Get up! I can’t carry you!”
She pulled at him under the arms as he crawled through the snow up the steps and to the door. He didn’t know how he accomplished that much, yet he was spurred on by the certainty that if he didn’t get inside now, he never would, and Mary would pr
obably die of the cold outside just trying to get him in. Mary opened the door and he managed to get inside. She closed the door.
“Slide the…lock,” he said, almost groaning the words. “Always slide the lock.”
She obeyed, showing no particular reaction. Perhaps she still didn’t remember her attack.
“Come on, Sage, get to the bedrolls.” He crawled on hands and knees and flopped down on his back.
“Mary.”
“I’m right here, Sage. I’ll help you.”
Why did the words sound so familiar? He had heard them before. Hadn’t he said those very same things to her once? Now it was he who needed the help and there was no one but Mary. He could only pray she wouldn’t slip back into that other world and leave him to bleed to death.
Chapter Twelve
Mary threw the buffalo robe aside. She took Sage’s hunting knife from its sheath and tried to cut off his buckskin shirt but was not strong enough. She moved around and pulled up his arms, then reached down and carefully pulled the shirt off over his head.
Deep lacerations covered his chest and one side of his face. “Dear God,” she whimpered. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, telling herself to stay calm, afraid of slipping into some other world where she was not aware of her surroundings. She had to stay aware. She had to stay better, for Sage’s sake.
She quickly poured water into the wash pan and began sponging off the wounds. Now that he lay still, the bleeding finally seemed to be slowing some. Sage lay quiet, saying nothing, his eyes closed. Praying he would not die, she rummaged through his supplies to find some bandages and a smelly salve she remembered he had put on her finger once when she had cut herself fixing potatoes.
More blood oozed from the wounds as she carefully smeared salve into them. Sage’s body jumped slightly and she froze. Was she hurting him?
“Sage? Talk to me, Sage.”
He said nothing, and she struggled against tears as she continued applying the salve. His body shuddered then, and he groaned. She quickly finished, then began the difficult task of wrapping his chest in the bandages, reaching under him as best she could as she brought the gauze around and around. It seemed to take forever. He was a big man, and heavy to lift even slightly. She tied the end, yet already bloodstains were appearing through the gauze. There was nothing more she could do.
She looked over the rest of him. There was blood on his left thigh. She quickly removed his moccasins, then untied the buckskin pants and unbuttoned his long underwear, pulling both off. But the blood had apparently dripped there from someplace else, perhaps from the bear. She washed it off his leg, relieved there was not another wound there.
Before covering him, her eyes lingered a moment on that mostly manly part of him, and she remembered what it had been like to be in his arms. He had made love to her that morning, hadn’t he? Yet somehow she knew it hadn’t been that morning at all, but several days before. Where had she been between then and now? Did he still love her?
She carefully pulled blankets over him. She hoped he wouldn’t get them too bloody. After all, they didn’t have that many blankets. But he was hurt, and his body had begun to shiver. She tucked the blankets around his shoulders, then hurriedly added more wood to the fire. She came back and washed his face, wondering if she should shave him. Surely the cuts on his face would heal better without the beard there. She decided she would do just that, but when she moved to look for his razor she realized he was shaking even worse. She bent closer.
“Sage? Please talk to me, Sage. Are you cold?” Her eyes teared. “Don’t die, Sage. Please don’t die! I love you so.”
Subconsciously he wanted to reach up and touch her, wanted to assure her everything was all right. But he was so weak he couldn’t lift his arms. He felt himself floating back from some darkness, realized he wasn’t on the travois anymore. He was in the little cabin, bandaged and covered. She had done it. Mary had done it.
“M—Mary,” he muttered. He felt her hand stroking his hair. “Cold,” he told her then. “So…cold.”
“I’ll help you, Sage.”
She looked frantically at the fire. It just wasn’t warming him enough. How could she warm him better? If only they had something warm she could put under him. A vague memory came to her then. She had been sick and cold. Someone, some kind woman, had wrapped heated rocks in a blanket and had put them around her feet. She couldn’t picture the woman who had done it, and could only picture a little bit of the room she had been in. Her room. Her very own room. Somehow she knew that, too. She bent down and kissed Sage’s forehead.
“I have an idea, Sage. You lie real still. I’m going to help you get warmer.”
He wanted to object when she left him, but he could not make his mouth move. Where was she going? Was she all right? He had never even had a chance to ask her that. Had the bear hurt her at all? Had she been hurt when she had fallen in front of it?
He groaned at the memory. He could see the great, furry monster coming at him. He could hear the firing of his gun, but it kept coming! He fired again, and again, and still the beast came at him. He was vaguely aware of Mary’s going in and out of the cabin several times. What was she doing? There! There it was again, the great bear, with its yellow teeth and smelly breath and wild eyes. It was on him, growling, clawing, trying to kill him. He could feel his blade sinking into the creature, over and over, until finally it rolled off him.
He had been around plenty of bears. But none had gotten the better of him like this one. He wondered if he was going to die. The claw scratches were almost certain to get infected. Would Mary know what to do?
“It won’t take long,” he heard her say then. “I’m going to warm you up, Sage. You’ll feel a lot better. You lie still while I go unload the horses like you told me to do.”
She left again. Mary. She was talking. She was behaving like a normal woman. Did that mean she remembered everything? Surely she didn’t. She was much too calm for that. He worried about her, being outside all alone. He didn’t like this helplessness, and was angry that somehow his shots had missed the bear’s vitals and had only made the creature furious.
Finally he heard her come inside again. He heard the lock slide shut. Good. She remembered. Then she was kneeling over him.
“Sage?”
“Water,” he whispered.
She left him, and seconds later a cool ladle of water was put to his lips. She slid one arm under his head and helped him rise up enough to drink. He drank it all. Thirsty. He was so thirsty. And still so cold.
“I’m heating some rocks,” she told him then. “I’ll put them all around you, Sage, and you’ll feel a lot warmer.”
Heating rocks. It was amazing. She had thought of heating rocks to warm him. Where was all this common sense coming from? Where had she come from? She seemed to know everything to do.
“Sage, my Sage,” she was saying. “I’m helping all I can. I’m sorry, Sage. It’s my fault. I scared up the bear. I was just looking for firewood.”
“No…matter,” he managed to whisper. “Would have…come for us…We were in…his territory. I…should have known…should have sensed it.”
She sat with his head in her lap, stroking his hair. “I’ll take care of you now, Sage. You’ll see. I can do it. You helped me, and now I’ll help you.”
He began shaking more. Why couldn’t he stop this shaking? Why couldn’t he get warm? She left his side again and a moment later he felt her moving beside him, felt something shoved against his arm.
“This will help,” she was telling him. “I’m wrapping rocks into the blankets all around you. I heated them in the fire. Just wait until you see how warm it makes you. Someone did this for me once, but I can’t remember who it was. I’m starting to remember things, Sage, little things, but I’m remembering. I still can’t see faces, just little flashes of things.”
She suddenly wanted to keep talking, as though talking would keep him alive and conscious. She kept taking rocks from the fire, rol
ling them out with a stick and then picking them up in a towel. She wrapped each one in a piece of the bedroll and shoved it up beside his body until rocks surrounded him.
To Sage they felt gloriously warm and welcome. What a splendid idea she had had! He could count on her after all. She hadn’t slipped away on him.
“I’m going to shave off that beard when you’ve rested a while,” she told him. “I know you want to keep it, but it will help your face to heal.”
He felt her move closer, then get under the blankets beside him. “I’ll lie close to you, Sage. That will help too.” She pulled the covers up around them, snuggling close. How he wished he were well. How he wanted to hold her, kiss her, welcome her back to the real world, make love to her. If it had taken the tussle with a bear to wake her up, then he would gladly suffer the wounds.
“Love you…Mary,” he groaned.
“I love you, too, Sage.”
She gritted her teeth against an urge to scream out her panic. She must be calm. She must stay rational, for Sage’s sake. He needed her now, and she most certainly needed him to stay alive. But it wasn’t just because she needed his strength and protection. She simply needed Sage MacKenzie, the man. She could not help but wonder if there had ever been another man in her life. But it seemed useless to worry about it now. She had Sage, and he was all she needed.
She was cold herself, and the warmth under the blankets made her sleepy. There was nothing more she could do for now. The horses were free, the door was locked, and the fire was roaring. Sage was washed and bandaged. She could do nothing now but wait, and pray he’d be all right. She dozed off, wondering again who the woman was who had put the rocks around her feet.
Rafe Cousteau leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. Since the last search, James St. Claire had been bedridden. All of his duties at the bank had fallen to Rafe, and the extra work had been made more difficult by Rafe’s own lack of enthusiasm. There had been a time when he had had big dreams about his career in Texas. Now all of those dreams had been shattered.
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 17
