Sage: Take the Risk (F&L Story #3)

Sage: Part 35 & 36

Part Thirty-five

Saturday, August 28, 2010.

Sage adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat and squinted against the morning sun while the chestnut gelding she sat atop, Casanova, walked slowly along the river trail.  She'd not slept a wink the night before, but she wasn't all that tired either.  After Carey pretty much snubbed her and everything she offered, she lay in the dark room and stared at the ceiling.  She cried a little, and she got a little angry, yet she wasn't all that upset over his rejection.  The more she thought about what he told her, the more she realized that he was right.

The two of them had been circling each other for weeks, practically breathing in the pheromones that surrounded them.  She wanted him.  He wanted her.  But what was most important – their companionship – never came up last night.  When they first met, the attraction was immediate, but over time, she grown to like him as a friend...even with all his sexist faults.  He always meant well, with her moving into his apartment, telling Aunt Sally, giving her a chance to go to college...  He did all those things for her because he truly did care about her.  He just had a lousy way of showing it.  Never asking her opinion, always assuming it would be okay.  She'd have to break him of that habit.

The smartest thing she did last night was to leave, walk to the nearest bus stop and call Aunt Sally to come get her.  The hardest thing she did was convincing Aunt Sally to leave the matter alone.  The other woman threatened to go back and shoot out Carey's truck tires when she saw the tear tracks on Sage's cheeks.  “Please,” Sage begged, “don't do anything.  We just need some time away from each other.”

“Fine,” Aunt Sally said.  “But as soon as we get back to the farm, you're telling me everything.”

However, back at the farm, after a pot of coffee and an hour of explanations, Sage had to actually pry an unloaded – Thank God! – shotgun from Aunt Sally's fingers.  “You won't do anything anyway,” Sage said, placing the gun back in the gun cabinet in Aunt Sally's living room.

“That's what you think,” Aunt Sally muttered and crossed her arms over her chest with a huff.  She pointed a look at Sage and said, “He made you cry.  I told you not to take any of his crap.”

“You're absolutely right,” Sage said.  “He did make me cry, and you did warn me about Carey's crap, but this time he's not at fault.”

“Oh, sure, the one time he gains a conscience...”

“He's always had a conscience,” Sage sighed.  “I just didn't see it.  It's why we made it this far.  He really does care about what happens to me.”  She looked sadly down at her hands.  “I just wish he loved me, too.”

Aunt Sally hugged her tightly.  “Oh, honey, he's a dumbass if he doesn't love you.”

Sage laughed.  “We've already determined that he is definitely a dumbass.”

The embrace tightened and Sage could feel Aunt Sally smiling against her temple.  “I can't believe you stripped down to your birthday suit and he turned you down.  I think all that radiation from his treatments rotted some of his brain.”

Sage drew back.  “Can I stay the night?  I don't think I can see him right now.”

“Sure, hon.  You can stay as long as you like.  It gets mighty lonely out here all by myself.”

Aunt Sally's home was like walking into a Norman Rockwell painting.  There was white wood trim and pale yellow wallpaper, spindle-leg tables and braided rugs, lace curtains and a little black dog that followed Sage around wherever she went.  But she had to smile at the mud-crusted work boots by the back door, the giant deer antlers hanging over the refrigerator and the collection of jack-o-lantern photographs on the hallway walls.  Aunt Sally's decorating tastes seemed a little bi-polar, but Sage liked it.