Jane Toombs - Wild Mustang

He couldn’t lose Sage, that’s all there was to it. His sister belonged here, where their mother had brought her, knowing he’d keep the girl safe.

Back at the ranch, Shane found the evening meal livelier with Laura present. Not that she did much talking. She didn’t have a chance with Sage and Grandfather both vying for her attention.

After the meal cleanup, Sage brought out her favorite shirt, which she’d torn on a nail in the barn, to show to Laura.

“I don’t know how to fix it without having it look gross,” Sage told her.

Though he seemed intent on the newspaper he was reading, Shane was acutely aware of Laura sitting across from him on the leather couch with his sister. It’d been a long time since there’d been a woman in this living room in the evening.

“You’re right. Any repair stitches would show,” Laura said. “But what we could do is cover the stitching with embroidery—a flowering branch could run from one end of the repair job to the other.”

“Embroidery?” Sage sounded as though even the word was alien to her.

“My grandmother taught me when I was about your age. It’s not exactly fun, but it’s kind of neat to know how to embroider. I can teach you, if you like.”

“But if I’m just learning, I might spoil my shirt.”

“Oh, we’ll let you practice on the hem of a pillowcase or something like that. Embroidery isn’t all that hard once you get the hang of it. We’ll need to buy some special thread and some designs, though—in Reno, I suppose.”

Shane lowered the newspaper. “There might be what you need in Grandmother’s trunk,” he said to Sage. “I seem to remember her trying to teach our mother some kind of fancy sewing.”

Sage bounced up from the couch. “Whoa! Really? Can we go look in the trunk now?”

From the corner where he’d seemed to be dozing, Grandfather said, “Our daughter wasn’t much for fancy work, but she turned out to be the best dancer on the res. Not much for picking good men, either, but I got to admit she turned out two pretty good kids.”

Sage grinned at him. “How come you’re always telling me I’m bad, then?”

“It’s like Coyote—you got two sides.” Grandfather turned to Shane. “All that sewing stuff is in one of the reed baskets Grandmother’s mother made.”

Shane rose and left the room, with Sage trailing him.

“He’s a sound man,” Grandfather said to Laura. “Once he learns to laugh again, he’ll be hard to beat.”

Laura tried to think how to respond to this but gave up. She found herself at ease with Grandfather as a man, but she wasn’t always sure exactly what he meant.

Reverting to what he’d said to Sage, she asked, “What did you mean about Coyote having two sides?”

“One to do good for the people, the other to play tricks on them. I figure we’re all more or less like that.” He leaned forward in his chair, fixing her with an intent gaze. “We can’t lose Sage. We need her, and she needs us.” While Laura believed this to be true, she didn’t understand how Grandfather could think she’d be able to help, even though she wanted to.

“So you’re going camping with Shane,” the old man said, completely changing the subject. At least this one was easy to respond to.

“When he finds time—maybe in a day or two,” she said.

Grandfather nodded. “Desert nights.”

She was sure his cryptic words meant something that she was missing. “I’m sure they’re lovely,” she said cautiously.

“Can carry a chill this time of the year,” he told her.

That seemed fairly straightforward, but before she could reply, Shane reappeared with Sage who was carrying a beautifully woven, round basket, its muted-colored design scarcely faded with age. The girl dumped the contents of the basket onto the coffee-table, and Laura leaned forward to sort through them. In no time at all, she’d located what she needed and, sooner than Shane would have believed possible, his sister was getting her first lesson in embroidery and, by all indications, having fun.

Grandfather rose and, in passing Shane’s chair, murmured, “Get along well, don’t they?”

Shane grunted, well aware now of the old man’s motives. Grandfather knew very well why Shane would never marry again. He also ought to have known that dangling Laura in front of him, like a carrot held out to entice a mule, was not going to work.

“What you need is a kick in the rear,” was Grandfather’s parting shot before exiting.

Despite himself, Shane carried to bed with him the image of the two heads—blond and black—bent over the sewing. He had to admit Laura really seemed to like his sister. As for Sage, she was obviously in the throes of heroine worship.

When he woke around three, he found himself weighing the pros and cons of Laura’s suggestion about—how had she put it?—a marriage of accommodation. He cast his mind over possible candidates among the women he knew, assessed them and, one by one, rejected them.

Cursing himself for even considering the idea, he turned over and tried to chase down sleep. But as fast as he reached for it, the faster it drew away.

Keep my little girl safe. He heard the echo of his mother’s words in his head. She’d known she was dying and hadn’t seemed frightened for herself, only for Sage. How easy it had seemed then to think he always would be able to protect his baby sister.

There must be a way. Unfortunately, the only idea he could think of that seemed likely to work had come from Laura, and that one was impossible. There might be more than one woman in the world he’d like to take to bed, but there wasn’t any he wanted to marry.

Marriage was a trap. A snare and a delusion. It brought grief and heartache and guilt. And in his mother’s case, disillusion and pain. He wanted no part of it.

Laura was in good spirits as she and Shane rode out early in the cool of the morning. So far, there’d been no problem staying at the ranch. She welcomed the chance to make friends with Sage, although she’d never imagined she’d wind up teaching any girl to embroider.

It was a skill she hadn’t called up in years, but, as it turned out, she hadn’t forgotten. “Like riding a bicycle,” she said aloud.

Shane turned to look at her. “Bicycle?”

“I was thinking that we rarely forget skills we learned as children,” she told him.

“I was six when my father taught me how to whittle,” he said.

“I admire the mustang on your mantel. You’re really talented. I didn’t notice any other pieces, though.”

“Most of what I make goes to the shops to be sold. Keeps us eating.”

If the wild horse was any example, she thought his carvings ought to fetch top prices.

They rode in silence for a while, Laura enjoying the clean desert air and the sight of the snow-capped Sierra peaks in the distance. “What’s the altitude here?” she asked.

“Over four thousand feet.” His glance was assessing. “Tends to bother people coming from near sea level.”

“So if I sleep in, that’s why?” she asked. Actually she’d had trouble forcing herself out of bed this morning. Sheer determination had fueled her I’ll-show-him attitude or she’d still be asleep.

He half-smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think you will.”

After another silence, he pointed to some sleek, streamlined clouds drifting over the Sierra peaks. “Lenticulars. Some weather heading our way. You can feel the dampness in the air.”

“You’re the local weather expert—I’ll take your word for it.”

“Smell the air.”

It was an order, so she did. His raised eyebrows told her that he expected a comment.

“The scent of sage is maybe a bit stronger than usual.”