Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  Sax set down his bread and coffee. “I reckon I do. What about the woman?”

  “She doesn’t remember. That day and some that followed are a complete blank to her. She asked once where the extra horses came from. I told her about those two, but I told her I got here before they touched her. I’m afraid for her to know the truth. She’s been through so much and she’s so confused as it is. It just about killed me finding her that way, Sax. If you want to know the truth, I love her, plain and simple. I’ll never forget how I found her, and I’ll never regret making that Johnny die slow. I dumped both the bodies over a cliff for wolf bait.”

  Sax swallowed, glad he’d never gotten the idea of abusing the woman himself. He had thought about it early on, but he soon realized Sage MacKenzie considered her his own, and nobody messed with something belonging to Sage. To hear the man say he loved a woman was astounding.

  “Well, well. Looks like you’ve gone and got yourself right hooked, Sage. I never would have believed it.”

  Sage grinned almost shyly then, taking off his beaver hat and hanging it on a hook. “Neither would I. Just do me a favor and don’t mention those men in front of her. I don’t want to have to do any more explaining. She’s one damned smart woman, Sax—sees right through a person. It’s hard to lie to her, but I don’t want her hurting with knowing what they did to her. Makes no difference to me. I love her. Wasn’t her fault. Nothing that’s happened to her has been her fault.”

  “Red Dog says she’s talking now—talkin’ a blue streak.”

  Sage nodded. “That she is. But she still doesn’t remember where she came from—just bits and pieces.” He went to the door. “I’ve got to go help her. Stay right there and we’ll be in right quick.”

  He went out and Sax shook his head. Sage MacKenzie in love! Sage MacKenzie staying in one place! It was incredible. Several minutes later the two of them came inside. Mary’s face glowed with the cold, and her eyes shined with love as she followed Sage in. She looked at Sax, smiling.

  “Hello, Mister Daniels,” she said. There was no mistaking fine breeding, just in those first words, calling him Mister. He grinned.

  “Hello, ma’am. You’d best call me Sax. I’m not the Mister type, if you know what I mean.”

  She removed the wolf-skin coat. “Whatever you wish, Sax. You both must be very hungry. I’ll cook some of that bear meat outside, Sage, if you’ll cut some down.”

  “Sure will.” He went outside, and Sax watched Mary, studying her lovely form, evident even under a dress too big for her.

  “Glad to see you’re talkin’,” he told her. “That’s good.”

  “Yes. It all happened the day Sage was attacked. Several days before that are all a blank to me for some reason. But when I saw that bear attacking Sage, something happened inside me. I knew who he was, knew I loved him. I wanted to scream to him about the bear, and the words just poured out. Once they did, it all began coming back.” She got out an iron pot and sliced a few potatoes into it, cutting off the eyes that were beginning to grow on them.

  Sax noticed that her hands looked rough; they were taking on the look of the hands of Indian women and pioneer women. But the rest of her did not match those hands. Her voice was cool and soft, her words clearly enunciated. She carried herself straight, like a woman of elegance might do, and her teeth were white and straight, like the teeth of a rich woman who could afford those fancy doctors who took care of such things. People like this woman in front of him only came from very civilized places.

  “Glad to see you lookin’ so well, ma’am—and Sage. Must have give you a right good scare seein’ that bear clawin’ at him like that.”

  “It was terrible,” she answered, looking up at Sage as he reentered. “He bled so badly. And then there was that terrible infection.” She looked back at Sax. “If not for Red Dog’s herbs, I’m not sure Sage would have lived.”

  “I would have lived—just from your good care and your love,” Sage teased then, laying some meat on the table. He looked at Sax. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Sax. Any news at the fort? What’s goin’ on in civilized places?”

  Sax bit into another piece of bread. “You know how it is this time of year, Sage. Hardly anybody comes through in winter. But one group of men came by from the East—said they’re on their way to California and wanted to get there right quick because it’s rumored there’s gonna be a war with Mexico and they figure California will end up in the hands of the United States government. They intend to already be there to grab up some of the land that’s gonna come open—maybe even get a chance to claim some fancy Spanish rancho for themselves.”

  “War with Mexico? Hell, we already had one—down in Texas in ’36.”

  Mary felt all her senses come alert. Texas. She had heard that name.

  “Well, Mexico never did own up to Texas independence, and it sure as hell didn’t like her being declared a state last year.”

  Sage scratched at his cheek, realizing he needed a shave again. He hated shaving, but Mary liked him that way, and he liked pleasing her. He looked up at her and found her staring at him.

  “I’ve heard of Texas,” she told him, the strange fear in her eyes again.

  Sage reached over and grasped her wrist. “From the other things we’ve figured out about you, I reckon you have,” he told her. “Could be where you’re from, Mary. You’ve sure got an accent to your speech that sounds like somebody from way south of here. But remember what I told you—about taking one day at a time and letting the memories come. Don’t stand there and scratch your brain about it. Just let it come natural.”

  Their eyes held a moment, and Sax Daniels was astounded at the love he saw there.

  Mary smiled, though there were tears in her eyes. “I will,” she said quietly.

  Sage turned to Sax. “What did you bring us in the way of supplies?”

  “Hell, I got blankets, a sheepskin coat, more flour and salt—and look at this!” He got up and walked over to a large gunny sack in the corner. He pulled out a smaller cloth bag and brought it over to the table. He opened it, pulling out yarn and knitting needles. “For your woman. Those men that came through had run across a late wagon train that held up at Fort Laramie for the winter. One of the wagons belonged to a man that lost his wife. The supplier at Laramie thought maybe we was low on things at Bridger, seein’ as how we’re harder to reach. He said in case there was some women at Bridger needin’ things, maybe they should bring some woman things with them to Bridger. The men agreed. Hell, I even brought a couple dresses and some—” He reddened. “Well, some woman’s underthings and toiletries and such.”

  Mary blushed but smiled. “Oh, thank you, Sax! How good of you to think of so many things. We need them so much.”

  The man sat straighter, feeling more important. “Ain’t nothin’. That’s why Bridger set up the post—to help mountain men, travelers, and such. I felt mighty lucky to come across them things this time of year. I had to leave a few things at the fort, in case some other woman in need comes along.”

  “That’s fine, Sax.” She wiped her hands on a towel and picked up the yarn. “Oh, it will be so wonderful to knit again. I can make Sage some warm socks and—” She looked at Sage. Again she had remembered something. Apparently she knew how to knit. “And a scarf for each of us to wear around our faces,” she finished, her voice trailing.

  Sage grasped her hand with the yarn still in it. “Just enjoy the yarn, Mary. You know how to knit. That’s good. It will be especially good when we go for long days with nothing to do.”

  She blinked back tears. “I know.” She looked at Sax. “Thank you so much. I’m so glad you came by. It must have been such a hard trip for you.”

  They all returned to conversing about other things, but Mary and Sage each knew the other was thinking of something else. Mary knew about Texas, and she knew how to knit. Every day something new came to her. How long would it be before faces began to appear, faces from the past, and memories—some good, some t
hat could change their lives forever, some that had to be so horrible that they had made her lose her mind.

  Sage’s love had brought her back. Was their love strong enough to endure whatever truths the awful memories would bring?

  She began preparing the bear stew. She wouldn’t think about anything else now. For now Sax Daniels was here, and Sage would have a good visit. And she had yarn for knitting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Winter moved in with the kind of force it could wield only in the mountains. There was no sign of the horses, nor could Sage have gotten to them even if they had been around. It became a monumental task just to keep a path dug from the cabin to the outhouse, and eventually it was actually a warm walk from one to the other, as the snowbanks on either side became so high they formed walls and blocked the wind.

  “We’ve added a room to the cabin,” Sage joked one day. “Just walk down the hall to the outhouse. You hardly have to put on a coat.”

  “Just so the snow doesn’t get so high there’s nowhere for the chimney smoke to go,” Mary quipped in return. “This cabin will be buried pretty soon.”

  But neither of them really cared. They were together. Mary had her knitting, and Sage whittled wood and sometimes worked on the bearskin, which he brought inside to clean. He used a special oil on the skin side to soften it, and the oil also gave it a nice smell.

  As he worked, he wondered at how well they got along. He never tired of Mary. She didn’t get on his nerves the way he had always thought a woman would, and he never got tired of having the same woman beside him at night. He figured that had to be love. What other explanation was there? There had never been another woman he had considered sharing all his time with, and he couldn’t imagine what the secret was that made a man suddenly not care about other women and want to be with only one special one. Why had he fallen in love with this woman whose full name he didn’t even know?

  Sax had left them some cards, and to pass more time Sage taught her how to play poker, using dried beans for money.

  “Something in the back of my mind tells me ladies don’t play cards,” she told him with a grin, laying out four Kings.

  His eyebrows arched at the hand, on which he had bet all his beans. “Well, maybe they don’t. But that doesn’t mean a woman can’t learn the game. Something tells me I’m glad we’re not playing for money. You suckered me with that innocent face, woman. You sure you haven’t played this game before?”

  She looked at him then with near horror in her eyes. “Sage! What if I have! Maybe I’m not from a rich family at all! Maybe I had nice things because I was…maybe I was a bad woman, a painted lady who took money from men!”

  The look on her face made him laugh. “Well now, maybe you were.”

  “Sage, don’t laugh,” she said, looking ready to cry. “What if I had been? You’d never love me if you found that out about me!”

  He still grinned, reaching over and taking her hand. “Mary, I’d love you no matter what. But I just don’t think that’s what you were.”

  “But how do you know for sure? What if, Sage? What if?”

  He squeezed her hand, trying to keep a sober face. “Honey, I’m sorry to say I’ve had a lot of experience with painted ladies. And where you got that term, I’m not sure. But there’s something about them—” He gave her a wink. “Believe me, if you’d been one of them, I think I could tell. You don’t have that hard, used look about you.”

  She felt the strange jealousy she’d felt when Red Dog had told her about Sage’s women. She pulled her hand away. “Red Dog—he’s the one who told me about them. He said you only slept with painted ladies who took money from men—and with loose squaws.”

  Sage broke into hearty laughter, leaning back in his chair. “That bastard,” he declared between laughs. “I’ll get him for that one.”

  She sat in a near pout across the table from him. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”

  Sage laughed so hard he had to wipe at tears in his eyes. “I reckon. But he didn’t have to be so blunt about it.” He laughed some more, sniffing and glancing at her, sobering slightly at the look on her face. “Mary, so what? At least there was never anybody special—not like you. Now I don’t need painted ladies. I’ve got my Mary.”

  Her lips puckered. “I don’t like the thought of your sleeping with other women.”

  “Well, then don’t think about it, because now that I have you, I won’t be sleeping with them. You can’t blame a man for what he did before meeting the woman he loves, now can you?”

  She shrugged. “No.” She met his dark eyes. How handsome he was! Surely other women thought so, too. How she hated the thought of other women’s putting their hands on him. “Really, Sage, what if we found that out about me?”

  He wiped at lingering tears. “Well, I guess we’d have to deal with it when and if it happens. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’d rather find that out about you than find out you’ve got a husband someplace. I think I could handle your being a whore better than I could handle your being somebody else’s wife. At least if you’d been a whore, you’d be unattached.” He got up and poured himself some coffee. “Hell, lots of whores up and marry one of their customers—make damned good wives, most of them. Not all of them are bad, you know. Some of them have pretty sad reasons for doing what they do. Fate can deal a cruel hand to people sometimes.”

  He sipped some coffee and looked over at her to see tears in her eyes. “Mary, don’t cry about it.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word. It sounds so awful.”

  “What word? Whore?”

  She made a face and looked at her lap.

  “Now see?” he told her. “Something from your past tells you that’s bad. You’re probably some proper young lady who thinks whores are the worst things that walk. You really shouldn’t think that way, Mary. Like I said, some of them aren’t bad at all.”

  She twisted her fingers in her lap. “What if you stay with me and then some day…some day get tired of me. Would you ever go back to women like that?”

  He grinned and shook his head, then drank some more coffee. “Now how can you think that?”

  “Because you’re so…so wild and free…and so handsome.”

  He laughed lightly, coming over to kneel in front of her. “Mary, I love you. You do things to me that no prostitute ever did—make me feel more wonderful than any woman I’ve ever been with. I’d never go messing with other women. I’ll never get tired of you.”

  She sniffed, hugging him around the neck. “And what if it’s the other? I think you’re right, Sage. I think I’d rather be one of them. At least I’d be free. If I have a husband—”

  “Don’t,” he told her, holding her tightly. “Just don’t say it.” He grasped her hair, standing up and pulling her up with him, kissing her almost violently. They were suddenly both on fire, realizing again how precious was the moment. He held her against him, her feet off the floor, and walked her over to the bedrolls. The thought of their possibly being torn apart awakened all their passion and desperation.

  Preliminaries were not necessary. They both simply knew they had to remind themselves they had each other. While they were here in this little cabin and her past was still a mystery, they could be together. Her dress was pushed up in disarray about her waist as he pulled off everything underneath. It was all sudden but necessary, their conversations of the possibilities about her past always leading to this, capturing the here and now, hanging on to something that could be stolen from them at any moment.

  His own clothes came off and he knelt over her. “Like I said, Venado, I could never get tired of this,” he told her, his eyes glittering with love and desire.

  She drew up her knees and opened herself to him, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath when he moved inside her. He shuddered with the ecstasy of it, coming down and meeting her halfway as she rose up to meet his mouth. Their breathing was heavy as their lips searched and he pressed himself deep inside her with rhythmic ple
asure. She clung to his arms, kissing his neck, then lay back, and his broad shoulders hovered over her as he kissed her hair, her face.

  “You’re mine, Mary MacKenzie,” he groaned. “Mine.”

  “Oh, Sage, I want to be yours,” she whimpered. “I want to be yours for always.”

  “You will be,” he whispered. He kissed her again, searching her mouth with his tongue, then moving over her cheek to her neck. “No whore either side of the Mississippi ever made me feel like you do.”

  His use of the word while making love to her only made her more bold, made her want to be sure he was pleased, want to prove she could outdo any woman he had ever been with before. She came up to meet his invasion with wild, rhythmic movements, wanting to take in every inch of him, wanting to be sure he felt the same glorious satisfaction he was giving her.

  He studied her beautiful face as he took her. With some guilt he realized she was more than he deserved, yet he could not resist tasting her forbidden fruits. The ecstasy of watching her take him was more than he could resist, and his life poured into her in wonderful pulsations that left him feeling weak.

  She lay there with her eyes closed then as he gently pulled away and lay down beside her, sighing deeply. “Some way to end a card game,” he teased. “Was that part of the bet?”

  She smiled. “If it was, who won and who lost?”

  He laughed lightly then. “I think we both won.”

  She pulled down her dress and pulled a blanket over herself. “Fix me some warm water, will you, Sage? I’ve got to wash now.”

  “So do I. Just let me lie here a minute.”

  The wind howled outside, and they lay quietly together. “Sage,” she said then.

  “Hmmm?”

  “The first time you made love to me…could you…could you tell if it was my first time?”

  Silence hung over the room. What was she after? He pulled her close and she nestled into his shoulder. “I don’t think it was, Mary.”