Authors: Paradise Valley
“Just somebody from my past,” he answered. “Name’s John Polk, and he doesn’t have much respect for women… decided to beat the hell out of a prostitute we all used to do business with down at Brown’s Park. I decided to show him how it felt to get beat on. I liked that girl. The other men had to drag me off him. By the time I’d got done, I thought maybe I killed him, but he obviously survived. We all rode off without him after that, and I never saw him since… till now.”
Again Sage’s violent side came into perspective. From the injuries John Polk mentioned, it must have been quite a beating… and over a woman. If Sage could beat such a big man so violently over a prostitute, what would he do in defense of a woman he loved enough to marry?
“Do we need to worry about him?” she asked Sage.
Sage stared straight ahead. “From here on, we have to worry about pretty much every man we come across.” He glanced her way then. “But let
me
do the worrying. You’re going to Ma Pilger’s to rest and clean up—and tonight I’m taking my beautiful wife to a dance.” He gave her a wink and galloped Storm and the pack mules up to Ma Pilger’s place.
“There ya go, honey.” Ma Pilger tucked a rhinestone comb into the last curl atop Maggie’s head. “Now, take a look. I’ve got to say, you’re the prettiest thing that’s passed through Atlantic City in a hell of a long time. You looked like a kid when Sage walked in here with you, and you’re goin’ out a full woman.”
Maggie turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror in Ma’s bedroom, where the crusty old woman had let her bathe, then take a good, long nap before helping her dress. Rather than wear the ribbons she’d bought, Ma coiffed her red hair into a mass of curls bedecked with combs and tiny flowers.
Maggie sucked in her breath. “Ma!” She literally stared at herself. Never had she felt like a pretty woman, but she did now. “I’ve never looked like this!” She touched her lightly rouged cheeks, ran her fingers along the tiny daisies that decorated the bodice of her baby-blue checkered dress, cut slightly off the shoulders—just low enough to show she was a woman without revealing too much. She put a hand to her small waist. As with her first baby, she showed no signs so far of being with child. “I’ve never seen myself like this,” she told Ma. “And my hair—” She touched the curls. “I don’t even look like myself.”
“Ain’t you ever been dressed up fancy?” Ma asked her.
Maggie smiled. “No, never this fancy.”
Ma Pilger was a sweet woman with almost comical features—skinny arms and legs, wide around the middle. Sage was right that Ma looked far older than her years. He’d figured she should be about sixty now, but she looked ninety with so many lines in her face it would be impossible to count them.
“Back on the farm in Missouri I knew nothing but farm work,” Maggie told Ma. “A trip to the closest town once in a while, but only to get what things we needed—never for something fun, and never a reason to dress fancy.”
Ma’s deep brown eyes remained bright in spite of her aging features. Her kindness and friendly personality made up for her lost looks, so much so that after a mere couple of hours of knowing her, a person didn’t notice the incredible wrinkles, and the fact that when she smiled she showed only two teeth. “Well, you’ll have fun at the dance,” she told Maggie. “You and Sage hit town at just the right time. And I sure am glad to see Sage has took a wife. I ain’t seen him since he was still a hell-raiser and ridin’ with outlaws. I’m glad to see him happy and settled.”
Maggie decided not to explain that Sage had already been married once. Maybe Ma knew, but decided not to ask questions. “Sage said he’d take care of me having the proper dress for tonight,” she told Ma. “He sure kept his promise. Where on earth did he get this? I don’t remember seeing a dress shop, but then I haven’t seen the whole town.”
She wondered what Ma’s first name really was, or if she’d ever been married herself. Sage told her no one in town knew much about Ma—only that she’d come to Atlantic City one day, paid to build a rooming house, and then settled there. By then, she was already getting old.
“Well, now, there ain’t much to the town, darlin’,” Ma answered. “Far as that dress, you’ll have to ask Sage. He said I shouldn’t tell you.”
Maggie felt a tiny sting of jealousy, suspecting the dress came from his visit to a local prostitute—maybe more than one—to find something they could use to keep Maggie from getting pregnant. He’d dropped off the dress without an explanation and left to visit a bathhouse. Maggie worried about the man called John Polk, but as far as she knew, Sage had no more trouble with him.
“I have to say, you’re lucky he found a dress small enough to fit ya’,” Ma added. “You’re about the tiniest woman I’ve ever met, ’sides Louella over at—” She covered her mouth, and her eyes widened as though she’d been caught red-handed at something. “Don’t tell Sage I said anything. And he didn’t have no choice. There
is
a dress shop in town, but they didn’t have anything that comes near to fittin’ you. I’m the one who told him about Louella over at… well… over at Delight Cabin. It’s a saloon. There’s only two girls that work upstairs, and I knew one of ’em was about your size. She’s right nice. Really. And Sage… I can see in his eyes how he feels about you. You shouldn’t ought to worry where he got that dress.”
Maggie almost felt sorry for her. She looked ready to cry at accidentally revealing the source of the dress. “It’s okay, Ma. I already suspected.” Maggie looked in the mirror again. “Thank you so much for doing my hair. I’ve never worn it like this before. I hate to take it back down after the dance, but I sure can’t ride the trail looking like this.”
Ma smiled, but kept her lips closed, obviously a bit embarrassed about her lonely teeth. She walked closer and tugged on one curl to make it dangle a bit longer. “You sure can’t—not in this country.”
Someone knocked on the door. Ma opened it, and there stood Sage, in clean denim pants and a white shirt with a black string tie. He looked wonderful, and the stunned look on his face made Maggie feel even more beautiful. He shook his head in wonder. “By God, Maggie, you’re—”
“Beautiful, that’s what she is,” Ma finished for him, chuckling. “Now, you two get on to the dance.” She glanced at the six-gun that hung in its holster at Sage’s side. “You gonna wear that thing? It’s a friendly dance.”
Sage glanced at the old woman, scowling slightly. “Do you really expect me to leave my weapon behind in this country, with a woman on my arm who looks like Maggie, and with the chance of running into the men we’re after? That doesn’t include the fact that John Polk is probably still around.”
Ma shrugged. “You know the code out here. Ain’t no men gonna give you trouble at that dance, ’specially knowin’ Maggie’s your wife. And from your description, I ain’t seen any of the men you told me about. You know me. I don’t miss much in this town. Ain’t like we’re a big city where nobody knows his neighbor. Far as that Polk fella—none of the other men will let him bother anybody at that dance.”
“We can’t be too careful, Ma.” He looked at Maggie again. “Ma is right. You
are
beautiful. I already knew that, but I didn’t expect anything like this, even after all the time we’ve been together.”
Maggie felt like crying. “Thank you… for the dance… for this dress.”
He walked closer, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Let’s go, Mrs. Lightfoot.”
How she wished that really were her name… Maggie took his arm.
“Wait.” Ma walked to a wardrobe and opened the doors, reaching into the bottom of the closet and taking out a lovely knitted shawl. She brought it to Maggie. “You might need this later. There’s always a chill in the air in the mountains at night. This belonged to me when I was young… and pretty… a long time ago. I haven’t worn it for years, but it’s too special to give away, so I’ve always kept it. My own ma knitted this for me.”
Maggie took the shawl, marveling at the softness of the yarn used to make it. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” She threw it around her shoulders, wondering at the old woman’s past and the secrets it held. “Are you going to the dance, Ma?”
The old lady waved her off. “Ain’t nobody gonna dance with me. I’ll be takin’ over a couple of pies and cakes later, but I ain’t stayin’. I’ll keep the coffee hot here for you two.”
“You’re wrong about nobody wanting a dance,” Sage told her, giving her a wink. “Most of the men in town would love at least one whirl with you, and I’m one of them.”
Ma chuckled. “Go on with you now.” She gave both a light shove. “Have a good time.”
Maggie left with Sage, wishing every day from here on could be this wonderful.
Maggie couldn’t remember enjoying herself this much in her whole life. The local citizens had transformed the livery into a real dance hall, having cleaned the stalls and pushed the hay aside. A table along the back wall boasted a variety of cakes and pies, as well as a huge bowl of strawberry punch. A three-man band made up of two fiddles and a banjo played a mixture of slow tunes and fast-paced dances with moves called by a bearded man wearing bib overalls. Maggie’s only experience at dancing came from when she would whirl around her house or in the fields alone back home. This was all new to her, and being raised by missionaries and then running with outlaws, Sage’s own experience with legitimate social frolics was limited. He’d confessed that what little he did know came from dancing in saloons with not so legitimate women. Together they managed to move to the slow dances with reasonable ease, their personal emotions taking over in a natural rhythm that helped them move about the hard-packed dirt floor with few stumbles. Neither wanted to try the square dances, but others helped them learn the whirling movements and partner changes that had everyone laughing and stomping their feet.
There were only five other women present, three of them wives of local business owners, and two of those being the women Maggie had seen standing near the supply store earlier. They introduced themselves as Mary Calus and Elizabeth McKenzie. One of them asked Maggie if she was the same girl they’d seen at the store. When Maggie proudly declared she was, they all had a good laugh.
The fourth woman was the daughter of an older couple. Maggie guessed her to be perhaps sixteen, but she was big as a man—nothing feminine about her. Still, the oversupply of men there seemed happy to dance with any female, manly or not, and the girl was flirting unmercifully with all of them. At times, for lack of feminine partners, men danced with each other, which led to hilarious and colorful remarks.
The fifth woman was a middle-aged widow named Alice Beemer. She’d come here with her husband and opened a laundry. According to Elizabeth, Alice’s husband was killed trying to stop a man from robbing him. The rest of the townsmen promptly caught and hanged the murderer… one of the strange forms of justice in a lawless country. Alice stayed on and continued with the laundry service.
Maggie realized that any number of these men had likely committed crimes and acts of violence outside this haven for outlaws, but inside their own community, they adhered to their own unwritten—and unspoken—laws. Outlaw country seemed removed from the rest of the world, its own little kingdom with its own citizens and its own set of rules.
No one was dressed in frills and suits. Maggie had a feeling few people in this remote little town even owned fashionable clothing, but it didn’t matter. They were simply having fun the best way they could, celebrating the coming of warmer weather after what Ma told her earlier had been a miserably cold, snowy winter that kept most inside for days on end.
It felt good to be off the trail, happy and relaxed. What made it even better was knowing that tonight, she and Sage would sleep together in a real bed. She looked at him now as he turned her to another slow dance, telling herself she couldn’t think about James or her pregnancy or the real reason she and Sage were here in Atlantic City. Tonight was too wonderful. She felt adored and protected.
Another dance ended. Sage struck up a conversation with a local rancher, asking if he’d lost many cattle because of the harsh winter. Maggie saw Ma Pilger setting a pie on the table. She walked over to greet the old woman.
“Ma, you have to stay. Sage will be upset if you leave without at least one dance.”
“Oh, no. I’m not even dressed up.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll bet every single man here will want at least one dance.” Maggie took hold of the woman’s hand and urged her to where Sage stood talking. The fiddlers struck up another waltz as Sage turned to greet Ma. He put out his arms and told Maggie to slice him some pie while he danced “with the prettiest woman here.” He began turning Ma Pilger about the room, while the other men whistled and got in line to cut in.
Maggie walked back to the pies and moved between the table and the wall so she’d be at a better angle to cut into a pie.
“Well, now, ain’t you the best lookin’ woman this side of the Rockies?”
The voice sounded familiar. Maggie looked across the table then felt as though her heart dropped to her feet, along with all her blood. There stood the fat, bald man Sage told her was called Cleve Fletcher, one of the three men who’d raped her. He grinned.
“What’s yer name, honey?”
He didn’t even recognize her! She’d been nothing to him, a woman without a name, someone to poke, then leave lost and alone in a cruel land with her dead husband lying beside her!
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cleve said with a frown. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I ain’t that ugly, am I?” He laughed a familiar, ugly laugh and reached across the table, grabbing her arm. “Come dance with me, darlin’. I just rode into town and heard the music—figured I’d come see what’s up.”
Maggie’s thoughts converged in a mixture of panic, revulsion, and hatred. Sage! Cleve would recognize him the minute Sage turned around! She had to protect Sage!
There was no time to think—no time to run to Sage and warn him. And tonight, she was completely taken by surprise—she wasn’t carrying a gun.
She never expected it all to happen this way. She looked past Cleve, wondering if his two friends were with him, but she saw no one familiar. His eyes darkened more, anger moving into them.
“You gonna dance with me, or do I have to wait outside to catch you for somethin’ more than a dance?”
Maggie jerked her arm away. “Let me get around the other side of the table.” She hurried so she’d be near the main dance floor. The anger left Cleve’s eyes, replaced with the same hideous hunger she’d seen only weeks ago. His cheeks were so fat that his eyes were more like slits in his face.
Quickly, Maggie bolted, hurrying after Sage and grasping his gun.
“What the—” Sage let go of Ma as Maggie turned, raising the six-gun and aiming it at Cleve, whose eyes widened as he went for his own gun.
In an instant, Sage grabbed Maggie’s arm and tackled her to the floor, ripping the pistol out of her hand.
“You!” he heard Cleve yell.
Sage rolled face up to see Cleve’s gun out of its holster. Women screamed and ran. Sage fired, and Cleve stood there a moment, his own six-gun half raised.
“Lightfoot!” he mumbled.
Her elbow hurt from being tackled by someone more than twice her weight. Maggie half sat up, staring at Cleve as he continued to stand there while blood spread outward from a hole in his chest. Maggie ripped the combs from her hair.
“And me!” she screamed. “Remember me?” She let her hair fall. “Remember the woman and her husband alone on the plains south of here?”
Recognition finally sparked in Cleve’s eyes. The life oozed out of him, and his legs folded as he plunked to the floor butt first. Sage got up and walked over to him, grabbing Cleve’s gun from his hand. “Where are the other two?” he demanded. “Are they here in town?”
Cleve looked at him. He shook his head. “…Lander,” he choked out, before the last spark of life left his eyes. He died sitting up… staring.
Sage shoved the man’s six-gun into the waist of his pants and placed his own revolver back in its holster. He put a foot on Cleve’s chest and forced his body out flat before it could completely stiffen. He knelt down then and rummaged through the dead man’s pockets, pulling a leather money pouch from inside his jacket. He grabbed some bills and counted them while everyone stared. Then Sage ripped a chain watch from the man’s belt.
He rose, shoving the money and watch into the front pocket of his pants. He glanced around the room. “This man and two of his friends once worked for me. They killed my best ranch hand, abused his wife, and stole money from me. I intend to get all of it back. Anybody here object to me taking what money this one had?” He rested a hand on his six-gun.
People shook their heads.
“You got a right, mister,” one man spoke up.
Others nodded.
Suddenly, a man bolted out of the barn, as though frightened.
“Polk!” Sage shouted. He ran after the man. Maggie wondered when on earth John Polk had snuck inside… and what he might have to do with what just happened. Ma Pilger and Elizabeth helped her to her feet. Outside, a shot was fired.
“Sage,” Maggie muttered. Was he all right?
Everything became so quiet inside the barn that they all heard a horse gallop away.
To Maggie’s relief, Sage stormed back inside and up to Maggie. “The sonofabitch got away!” he growled. “I couldn’t keep shooting into the dark for fear of hitting someone else.” He took hold of Maggie’s arm supportively and then scanned the staring crowd. “The man I just killed is called Cleve Fletcher,” he explained. “The others I’m looking for are a younger one called Jimmy Hart, and an old bearded man called Jasper. The one who just rode off is a big man called John Polk. He’s an abuser of women. Has anybody here ever heard of them?”
Nearly all shook their heads, most still watching in shock and surprise. Finally, Ma Pilger walked up to Sage. “You’d best take Maggie back to the rooming house,” she told him. “She’s lookin’ pale, Sage. The men here will take care of that one.” She glanced at Cleve’s body.
Maggie looked at Sage and knew by his demeanor that he was angry with her for grabbing his gun the way she did.
“Maggie and I will be heading out in the morning,” he told Ma. “Dying men usually don’t lie, so I’m figuring Fletcher told the truth about the other two being in Lander. I have a damn good idea that’s where Polk is headed too.”
He looked around the room again.
“Sorry for ruining the dance, folks. Go on with the music. There won’t be any more trouble.” He turned to Maggie, who suddenly felt ill. Being surprised by Cleve reopened ugly memories that got the better of her. She started to sway, felt someone lift her. “Sage,” she murmured.
He picked her up and carried her out.