The Touch of Sage by Marcia Lynn McClure Page B

honey and butter. For a moment Sage was di stracted by the fact his shirt—untucked from his pants— hung open revealing the flawlessly sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach. His hair was mussed—as if he had just awakened— and he ran his fingers through it slowly when he realized she was studying him. “ You ’ ve been gone for hours, ” he added.
    “I- I…I… ” she stammered. The impropriety of the situation coupled with the pure titillation of it caused her mind to run empty.
    “ Ya lost track of time? ” he asked. She could only nod, pulling the blanket tighter around her body. “ I do that a lot, ” he mumbled, his eyes seeming to linger on the length of her hair. Sage was uncomfortable—painfully so— and she certainly wasn ’ t used to appearing in front of any man with her hair down, regardless of her manner of dress.
    “ Why are you here? ” she asked, rather more severely than she intended. Seeing him only brought her pain. She had spent the entire afternoon and eve ning purging her body of tears— driving heartache away , and now here it stood before her— handsome —alluring .
    “I- I wanted to apologize to ya, ” he said.
    Sage turned from him, trying to concentrate on the fire in the hearth. “ For what? ” she asked. “I should be apolo gizin ’ to you for saddlin ’ ya with a litter of pups. Not to mention their daddy. ”
    “ I ’ m a hard man, Sage, ” he said. “ And I don ’ t trust women, especially ones any younger than Miss Mary Farthen. ” A soft warmth began to envelop Sage , and she couldn ’ t discern if it began with the blanket Reb had draped over her shoulders or with his attempt at lightening her mood. She stiffened, however, when she felt his hands on her shoulders, coaxing her to turn and face hi m again. When she finally did— it was to find his eye s smoldering dark and enticing— his hair still delightfully mussed.
    “ But I know yer just tryin ’ to be my friend, ” he said. Sage glanced away , afraid he would see the tears in her eyes. Her heart was pounding so violently she feared it might beat itself to quitting altogether. His hand on her face as he cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him, nearly melted her into a puddle at his feet.
    “ I ’ m just not used to bein ’ touched by pretty girls, ” he said, smiling down at her. Sage smiled, moved by his efforts to ease her mind. He dr opped his hand from her chin .
    “ So, ” she ventured, “y ou ’ re a hard man, who doesn ’ t trust women…and you ’ re a liar too? ”
    “ What? ” he asked, obviously puzzled.
    “ Milly Michaels can ’ t wait to get her hands on you , and that alone tells me you ’ ve been touched by many a pretty girl, ” she told him. “ And anyway…I don ’ t quite fit in that ‘ pretty girl ’ corral anymore, now do I? ”
    Reb ’s eyes narrowed; his smile faded as he studied her for a moment before mumbling, “ Yer right. Yer more the ‘ beautiful woman, ’ type, ” he said. Again Sage felt tears fill her eyes , and she turned her face from him quickly. How could he tease her so cruelly? Or was he teasing? The mad pounding of her heart caused her to think perhaps he was sincere— and that consideration caused her even more discomfort.
    “ Look here, ” he said. She obeyed and looked back at him to see him point to a smudge of mud on his cheek. “ I smudged it up…just so ya could brush it off again. ”
    Sage smiled. Sure enough! A dark and much larger mud smudge donned his cheek.
    “ Bullet wanted to go ahead and lick it off for me, but I told him I was savin ’ it as part of my apology to ya, ” Reb said smiling. Sage ’s heart softened—melted— warmed like butter in a hot skillet. As he took her hand , raising it and pressing it to his cheek, Sage felt her body begin to tremble with fascination.
    “ Will ya give me another chance at bein ’ yer friend, Sage Willows? ” he whispered. Sage felt her breath increase to a