The Touch of Sage (46 page)

“
Just cinch up yer corset strings and hang on for the ride, Sage,
”
Mary said
,
nodding with encouragement.

Eugenia breathed a heavy sigh and said,
“
Well, girls…let
’
s get goin
’
.
”
She looked back to Sage as they turned to leave.
“
I do love you, Sage.
I love you as much as I do my own children.
It
’
ll all be fine.
”

They were gone.
Sage closed her eyes, allowing some of her tears to travel over her cheeks.
She couldn
’
t let them all escape, however.
It was bad enough Reb was going to come home and eventually find her.
She couldn
’
t let him find her dressed like a saloon girl, tied up to his bed
,
and red-faced and puffy-eyed from crying too.

Leaning her head back against the headboard
,
she sighed.
She closed her eyes and listened.
Through the open window of Reb
’
s bedroom
,
she could hear the rumble of the wagon as her friends abandoned her.
The rumble grew fainter and fainter until it was too distant to hear.
Soon only the soothing music of crickets and the far
-
off burping of the frogs down by the creek reached her ears.

Sage opened her eyes and looked around the room then.
The dim light of the lamp cast soft shadows, the flicker of its flame causing them to dance along the walls.
There was a washbasin and pitcher on a nearby table.
An old trunk with blankets and clothes strewn across it sat in one corner.
A mirror hung on one wall above a chest of drawers
,
and a framed painting of a cow hung over the wall above the headboard of the bed.

She couldn
’
t help but smile as her eyes fell to another corner of the room where a pile of boots, shirts
,
and worn blue jeans lay in a heap.
She sighed, all at once delighted by
the idea of being in his room—
of witnessing the place where he slept.

Her smile faded instantly, however, as her ears caught the sound of approaching hor
ses. For a moment she thought (
actually hoped
)
Reverend Tippetts,
Winnery,
and the widows had experienced a change of heart and were returning to free her.
As the sound grew louder, however, she rec
ognized the rhythm of the gait—
of horses bearing riders.

She heard a sharp whistle—
heard Reb call,
“
Here!
Bullet!
”
Suddenly
,
her
body was awash with goose bumps—
trembling with nervous anticipation.

“
I
’
m bunkin
’
in early tonight,
”
she heard Charlie Dugger say.

“
Ya feelin
’
all right, Charlie?
”
Reb asked.

“
Oh, yeah,
”
Charlie said.
“
Just a bit more tuckered out than usual.
”

“
Don
’
t ya want some supper?
”
Reb asked.

“
Nope,
”
Charlie said.
“
Had me some jerky
’
fore ya rode out with me.
I
’
ll take care of ol
’ Ned for ya
though.
Ya look
as
tired
out as an
ol
’
dog tonight.
”

“
Well
,
I won
’
t thank ya for that, Charlie,
”
Reb chuckled.
“
But I will thank for
ya
takin
’
care of Ned for me.
I
’
m a bit tired out myself tonight.
Looks like I left the lamp burnin
’
inside when I left this mornin
’
.
I gotta start makin
’
sure I
’
m wide awake when I ride out from now on.
”

“
Well, it has been a long couple of days,
”
Charlie said.

“
It
’
s been a long week,
”
Reb said.

“
Good
night then, Reb,
”
Sage heard Charlie say.

“
Good
night, Charlie,
”
Reb said.

Sage held her breath as she heard Reb
’
s boots on the front porch.
Held it even longer when she heard him open the doo
r and walk through the kitchen—heard
the
click click
and soft padding of Bullet
’
s paws as he accompanied his master. She heard the sounds of the pump
handle working in the kitchen—
heard water splashing in the sink.

“
There ya go, boy,
”
Reb said
.
“
Yer a good dog, Bullet.
A good dog. You eat hearty, okeydokey?
I
’
m turnin
’
in.
”

Sage began to br
eathe again then—
the rapid breath of fearful anticipation.
What could she do?
What could she possibly say?
She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to disappear.
But when she opened them again, nothing had changed.
She still sat dressed in Scarlett Tippetts
’s
old saloon dress, tied to Reb Mitchell
’
s bed
,
and unable to do anything to change it.

Anxiously
,
she watched the bedroom door, waiting for him to appear and burst into angry questions.
In the next moment he did appear, pausing in the doorway as he yawned pulling his shirt off over his head. Tossing the shirt to join the pile of others in the corner, he closed his eyes tightly shut, stretching long and hard.
He seemed ov
erly tired, completely worn out—
and Sage felt all the more fearful and anxious for intruding on his private existence.

He still did not see her as he looked down, fiddling with the button at the waist of his blue jeans.
Sage gasped, realizing he might continue his routine of undressing if she did not make herself known.
But fear silenced her voice.
What could she say?
How could she possibly speak?

He glanced up for a moment but looked back to his hands working the button at his waist, as if his mind hadn
’
t quite noticed Sage tied to the bed.

Slowly then, he looked back t
o her—
a puzzled frown puckering his handsome brow.

“
Sage?
”
he asked.
Sage felt tears of humiliation and panic filling her eyes
,
and she looked away from him for a moment.
Reb turned and looked back over his shoulder as if he half
expected to see someone standing behind him.
He looked at her, still frowning
,
and asked,
“
Sage…what
’
re ya doin
’
dressed
up
like a saloon gal and tied to my bed?
”

Chapter Fourteen

“
It wasn
’
t me, Reb!
”
Sage began to explain.
“
I swear…it wasn
’t me. “I-
I didn
’
t do it.
It wasn
’
t me.
”

What Reb must be thinking as he stood there staring at her, she could only
imagine. Yet the sight of him,
his mere presence in the room
,
caused a breathless sort of thrill to rise in her bosom.

Still frowning
,
Reb walked toward her.
Sage felt more tears fill her eyes as her gaze fell to the painful-looking scars blazon
ed
on his chest.
The scars on his body were far more severe than the ones on her back.
She
was suddenly awash with guilt—
self-blaming for their existence.

“
I didn
’
t figure ya did it yerself, Sage,
”
he said as he approached.
His eyes narrowed as he studied her.
“
That
’
s a mighty good job of ropin
’
and tyin
’
though,
”
he said.

Sage
’
s heart poun
ded violently. He was so near—
standing there so close!
If she hadn
’
t been tied up she could
’
ve easily reached out and touched him.
Oh, how
she wished she could touch him—
throw herself into his arms.

“
It was Mr.
Winnery
!
”
Sage exclaimed.
“
The widows…the widows put him up to it!
Reverend Tippetts even!
He helped!
All of them!
They tied me up back at the boardin
’
house
,
and
Winnery
carried me out to the wagon.
Reverend Tippetts drove it here!
”

“Winnery
tied ya up?
”
Reb asked.
His expression hadn
’
t changed.
He still frowned at her, eyes narrowed as he listened.

Sage was desperate to absolve herself from any wrongdoing, however, and babbled on.

“
It was the widows!
I don
’
t mean for you to take me for a liar, Reb,
”
she continued,
“b
ut I think your Aunt Eugenia was at the heart of it!
They…they had masks too!
The wid
ows, they
wore red bandanas around their faces like they thought they were rustlers or somethin
’
!
They all threw me in the wagon, drove me out here
and…and…
”

“
And tied ya up to my bed,
”
Reb finished for her.

“
I swear, Reb…I didn
’
t do it,
”
she repeated.

He was silent for a
moment, still studying her—
his frown softening as he asked,
“
How
’
d they get ya in that dress?
”
Sage blushed from the top of her head to the very tips of her bare toes.
She felt so ridiculous, foolish for being so gullible.
“
Did
Winnery
do that too?
”
Reb asked.

“
No!
Of course not,
” Sage said, her teeth cle
nching with indignation.
“I
was
ignorant
enough to fall for that myself,
”
she admitted.
She continued to fight tears of humiliation, continued to wish she could reach out and touch him.

All at once, his face broke into a smile.
Sitting down on the bed next to her
,
he began to laugh.
Shaking his head
,
he looked at her and continued to laugh.

“
I can just see it,
”
he said
,
tipping his head back, shaking it in disbelief.
“
Them four old ladies dressed up like bandits.
”
He looked at her then, eyebrows raised as he chuckled.
“
They talked the Reverend Tippetts into this?
”
he asked.

“
He drove the wagon,
”
Sage reminded him.
“
This dang dress even belongs to Scarlett.
”

“
Does it now?
”
he asked, his gaze falling to her bare legs.
He placed his hand on her ankle, caressively sliding it up her leg to her knee.
Sage
’
s entire body broke into goose
bumps at the pleasing sensation of his touch.
“
And no stockin
’
s or shoes?
”
he asked.

“
The
y
didn
’
t give me time,
”
Sage said.

Reb shook his head, chuckling again.
“
Looks like I really missed out on the fun this time.
”

“
Please, Reb,
”
Sage begged then.
“
Please…please just untie me.
I
’
m sorry…I
’
m sorry they…
”

“
Untie ya?
”
he said, frowning again.
“
Well, how do I even know yer tellin
’
me the truth, Sage?
”
he asked.

“
What?
Of course I
’
m tellin
’
you the truth!
”
she exclaimed.
Certainly she knew how ridic
ulous the entire story sounded—
how far-fetched.
But Reb knew the widows as well as she did.
He knew they were little mischief-makers.
Furthermore, he knew she couldn
’
t have possibly tied herself up the way she was.

“
But what if yer lyin
’
?
”
he asked.
“
Wha
t if…what if Santy Claus just co
me early on this year?
What if yer my Christmas present and Santy Claus just had to drop ya down the chimney a might premature?
Ya know,
’
fore ya spoiled, or went bad or somethin
’
?
”

“
Please, Reb,
”
Sage whispered.
He was teasing her now.
Not maliciously, but she still felt all the more foolish.

He seemed to ignore her plea, however, saying,
“
Looky here.
”
He reached out, unpinning the note from her dress.
“Seems Santy Claus
left
me
a note.
Maybe this
’
ll explain why he
’
s come by so soon…so unexpected.
”
He tossed Mary
’
s bent-up old safety pin on to the lamp table next to the bed.
“
I mean, Christmas don
’
t often come in August.
”

“
Reb,
”
Sage begged.

“
Hush now, Sage,
”
he mumbled.
“
Ain
’
t often a man gets a note from Santy Claus hisself.
”

Sage sigh
ed. She felt so very defeated—so very tired—
so very uncomfortable.
If she hadn
’
t known better, she
’
d have thought Reb was in cahoots with the widows,
Winnery,
and Reverend Tippetts.
He did not seem the least bit angry.
He only see
med amused. She wondered then—
wondered if perhaps what Eugenia said was right.
Perhaps Reb did care more for her than he let on.
She studied him as he read the note from Livi
e, happy to see his face again—
delirious to be in his presence.
All at once, she didn
’
t care so much she was dressed up in some ridiculous getup, helplessly tied up to his bed.
All at once, all she cared about was being with him.

It was all worth it
, she thought
.
Just to be with him again…all this was worth it
.

She watched as he finished reading the note.
Folding it once more, he tucked it into the pocket of his trousers.

“
Yep,
”
he said, grinning at her.
“
Ol
’
Santy says he just had to deliver early this year.
”
He chuckled, taking hold of her ankles and running an index finger over the bottom of one of her feet.
Sage flinched, trying to pull her ankle from his grasp before he could tickle her again.
“
I
’
ll say this
’
bout ol
’
Santy, though,
”
he began,
“
I sure like what he
’
s leavin
’
off for me these days a darn sight better than them toy soldiers he brung a few years back.
”

“Y-you
don
’
t seem very angry,
”
Sage stammered.
Oh, he was beautiful!
For a moment Sage was so lost in the alluring fire of his eyes she almost forgot she was still tied up.
He
’
d cleaned up his whiskers since she
’
d seen him the day before.
His mustache and goatee were once again perfectly manicured.
His hair, however, was mussed and tousled the way she preferred it.
Oh, how she wished she could reach out and run her fingers through the softness of his hair.

“
Why would I be angry?
”
he asked.
“
What kind of fool would be mad about findin
’
you all gussied up and helpless?
”
He frowned then and added,
“
Even so…I do wonder what they were thinkin
’
I
’
d do with ya when I found ya this way.
Reverend Tippetts must trust my self-restraint a bit more than I do myself.
”

Sage blushed, delighted at his teasing inference.
S
he wished she coul
d sit and stare at him forever—
stay tied up if it meant she could do so.
She sighed, realizing the widows had been right. S
he was glad they
’
d tortured her, for Reb was speaking to her again.

Reb
’
s smile faded, however, and he reached down drawing a knife from his boot.

“
More
’
n likely they
’
re all just callin
’
me out as coward,
”
he mumbled, cutting the rope binding Sage
’
s ankles.

“
What?
”
Sage asked, remembering the conversation she
’
d had with Eugenia.
She felt hot, disgusted with herself.
In her anger and hurt, she
’
d called him a coward too.
She knew, as she knew when she
’d said it—
Reb Mitchell was no coward.
It was heartache that had caused her to say it.
Heartache and the fear the devil had put in her.