“Yes, he was.”
“And everything will soon be as it should be?”
“Of course.” Litchfield forced a smile onto his face. “I promised you that all would be as you wanted it, didn’t I, my darling?”
“You did,” Deirdre said, smiling back at him. “And I appreciate you so much for that, my dearest.” She lifted her arms. The loose sleeves of the robe fell back slightly on her smooth, pale skin. “Come here.”
He went to her—he could never resist any invitation she issued—and embraced her trim waist as she put her arms around him. One hand patted him lightly on the back.
“Everything will be all right,” she murmured. “You’ll see. You’ll see.”
He wanted to believe her, but he wished that cold spot buried deep inside him would warm up.
CHAPTER 12
Sugarloaf Ranch
As Smoke had predicted, Sally was very happy to see Preacher. When the three men rode up to the ranch house the next day after the encounter with the panther, she came out onto the porch and smiled broadly at the old mountain man. “Preacher!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you here this year.”
He glanced over at Smoke, then said, “Well, you know how I am, Miss Sally. I’m like that ol’ bad penny folks talk about. You never know when I’m a-gonna show up.”
“I don’t think you’re a bad penny at all. I’ve got fried chicken just about ready for lunch. You are staying for a while, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think you could run me off with a stick,” Preacher told her with a big grin on his whiskery face.
As they’d approached the Sugarloaf, he had asked Smoke not to say anything to her about Eagle-Eye Callahan’s unjustified vendetta. “I know she’d prob’ly understand, but it’s a leetle embarrassin’, findin’ out at my age that some other hombre’s wife was pinin’ away for me all those years. I’da been just fine never knowin’ about the way she felt, and I’m sure ol’ Eagle-Eye woulda been, too.”
“I won’t say anything,” Smoke had promised.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut, too,” Cal had added.
“If Eagle-Eye shows up, Sally will have to be told what’s going on. It might not be safe for her not to know.”
Preacher had nodded glumly at Smoke’s warning. “Yeah, the last thing I want to do is put you folks in any danger. Reckon you’re as close to family as anybody I got left. I don’t think you got anything to worry about, though. Eagle-Eye’s plumb peaceable when it comes to ever’body ’cept me.”
As Sally came down the porch steps to greet the men, Dog, Preacher’s big wolf-like cur, moved up to her and sniffed her hand, then nuzzled against it. Most folks were scared of the vicious-looking creature, and if they meant Preacher any harm they were right to feel that way since Dog could tear out a bad man’s throat practically in the blink of an eye.
Sally and Dog were well-acquainted, though. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he grinned happily as she scratched his ears and said, “Who’s a good dog?”
Smoke, Preacher, and Cal had swung down from their saddles, and Smoke was ready to embrace his wife when she went into his arms. Even though they hadn’t been separated for that long—this time—their hug was passionate and heartfelt. Sally tilted her face up, and Smoke kissed her. Their lips clung together only briefly, but the kiss packed a lot of punch.
She hugged Preacher, too, patting the old mountain man on the back.
Cal said, “You know, Miss Sally, Preacher’s the one who bagged that panther. That big cat was just about to jump on Smoke when Preacher drilled it, clean as a whistle. And that was in the dark!”
“Really?” Sally said, arching an eyebrow at Smoke. “You nearly let yourself get eaten up by a panther?”
“Well, I don’t know that it would have turned out that way,” Smoke said, “but I was obliged to Preacher for being such a good shot, that’s for sure.”
Since Sally still had her arms around Preacher, she hugged him again and brushed a kiss across his leathery cheek. “Then I’m obliged to you, too, for not letting that panther get Smoke.”
“Some o’ that fried chicken you mentioned would go a long way toward settlin’ the score,” Preacher told her. “And maybe some pie if you got any.”
“Of course!”
“Fried chicken and pie,” Smoke drawled as they went inside. “Nice to know what my life’s worth around here.”
* * *
After they had eaten lunch, Sally said to Smoke, “I need to go into Big Rock this afternoon. Now that you’re back, you can come along with me.”
“Why are you going to Big Rock?”
“Some of the ladies from the churches are getting together to finish organizing the Christmas Eve celebration and the midnight service.”
Every year, Smoke knew, all the churches in the settlement got together in spite of their denominational differences and threw a party to celebrate the Lord’s birth. If the weather wasn’t too bad, they would build a bonfire and have the gathering outside, setting up tables loaded with food until they practically groaned. After the meal there would be games for the children and everyone would sing Christmas carols before one of the town’s ministers conducted a traditional Christmas Eve service. When conditions didn’t permit that, everyone crowded into one of the churches or the town hall and the party went on as planned. It was one of the highlights of the year, especially for the children and the ladies. And the men didn’t mind all that much and actually enjoyed it, although some of them wouldn’t have admitted it.
That didn’t mean Smoke wanted to take part in the planning for the event, so he began, “You don’t really need my help for that—”
“Of course we don’t,” Sally said with a smile. “But I thought that maybe if you and Preacher came along, you could go down to Louis’s and have a nice visit with him while I’m meeting with the ladies.”
The thought of spending some time at Louis Longmont’s saloon was a lot more appealing. Smoke grinned. “Now you’re talking.”
A short time later, while some of the hands hitched up the buggy horse for Sally, Smoke and Preacher saddled mounts from the ranch’s stock for themselves. Preacher was going to leave his big gray stallion—which he called Horse, of course—at the ranch, since the animal had put a lot of miles behind him over the past few weeks and could use some rest.
Sally came out of the house wearing a dark blue dress and a gray wool jacket. She had a blue bonnet tied over her lustrous dark hair. Smoke helped her into the buggy, then mounted up. She wouldn’t need a driver. Sally could handle anything from a buggy horse to a twenty-mule team if she had to. For a girl born and raised in the East, she had adapted quickly to life out on the frontier, thanks to Smoke’s influence.
A short-barreled Winchester carbine was behind the seat in the buggy, and Sally could handle that quite well, too, if the need arose. Smoke didn’t expect that to happen, but his adventurous life had taught him never to take peace for granted.
As they rode the seven or so miles to Big Rock, Preacher squinted at the thick gray clouds overhead, sniffed the air, and announced, “Gonna snow.”
“Today?” Smoke asked.
“Naw, I don’t reckon. But tonight, maybe.”
“Are we talking about a blizzard or just a little dusting?”
“What do I look like to you, one o’ them dang Gypsy fortune-tellers? You see me carryin’ around a crystal ball?”
Smoke grinned. “I figured you knew just about everything there is to know, that’s all.”
That seemed to mollify Preacher. “You mean on account of how I’m so wise.”
“No, I mean on account of how you’re so old.”
“Dadblast it, boy, if it weren’t so much durned trouble, I’d take off this ol’ hat o’ mine and lambaste you with it for a while. I know for a fact your pa taught you to respect your elders.”
“I just said I figured you knew everything. I didn’t actually mention Methuselah . . .”
“There you go again—”
From the buggy, Sally laughed. “I swear, you two squabble just as much as Pearlie and Cal, and they’re at it all the time. Do you really think it’s going to snow, Preacher?”
“Yes’m, I do,” the old mountain man replied. “I’ve seen a heap o’ clouds with snow in ’em in my time, and I’ve smelled it in the air. I reckon we’ll get a right smart amount. But that part of it’s just a hunch, you understand.”
“As long as it doesn’t snow enough to interfere with the Christmas celebration, that will be fine. Actually, snow seems appropriate to the holiday season. There’s nothing like singing Christmas carols on a brisk, snowy evening. What do you think, Smoke?”
“Sounds good to me. One thing I’m sure of... whatever the weather’s going to do, there’s not a thing in the world we can do to stop it, one way or the other.”
That was true. A lot of things in this world were beyond the control of mortal men, and the weather was one of them.
“We’ll just have to trust to the Lord, then,” Sally said, and Smoke couldn’t argue with that, either.
Big Rock, Colorado
They reached town, and Sally drove on down the street toward St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, where the meeting she planned to attend was being held, while Smoke and Preacher reined their mounts to a halt in front of Louis Longmont’s saloon.
Smoke had known Louis for several years. He was a gambler and gunman, known widely as a fast draw although his speed wasn’t a match for Smoke’s. But then, it was entirely possible no one’s was. Louis had drifted in and out of Big Rock for a while before finally settling down and opening the saloon that bore his name.
The place was more than just a drinking establishment and gambling den. With Louis’s French ancestry, he had a taste for fine food, so the saloon was also one of the finest restaurants in Big Rock, even though he didn’t push that part of the business. Certain of his good friends could always count on getting a good meal if they happened to be in town at dinner time, and among them were Smoke and Sally Jensen.
Smoke and Preacher had already filled up on Sally’s fried chicken, so they weren’t looking for food. Or drink, for that matter. Preacher enjoyed a good shot of whiskey and Smoke usually had a mug of beer when he went into Longmont’s, but neither of them drank to excess. It was companionship they were after.
As Smoke walked in, he spotted his old friend standing in front of the bar, talking to the bartender Johnny McVey, who in addition to being a drink juggler also played a fine classical piano. Johnny had performed a few times at the local theater.
Louis saw Smoke and Preacher come into the saloon, of course. As a man who had spent a long time living by his wits and his gun, Louis was in the habit of noticing everything that went on around him, all the time. A sleekly handsome man with dark hair and a narrow mustache, he smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. “Smoke, always good to see you. And Preacher! I didn’t realize you were in the vicinity.”
“I, uh, just drifted into these parts again,” Preacher said without offering any other explanation.
Louis didn’t find that suspicious. As Smoke’s oldest friend, Preacher could show up any time and always be welcome.
“What brings you to town today?” Louis asked Smoke.
He jerked a thumb in the direction of the church. “Sally came in for a meeting with the other ladies about the big Christmas fandango. Preacher and I just came along for the ride.”
“And to pay a visit to this fine establishment, obviously. Johnny, a beer for Smoke. And Preacher, I have a bottle of some very fine brandy you might like to sample . . .” Louis’s voice trailed off as the old mountain man shook his head.
“Fine brandy would be wasted on me, son,” Preacher told him. “I’d never appreciate it. A shot o’ plain ol’ rotgut will do me just fine, thankee.”
Louis chuckled and said to Johnny, “You heard the man. But I’ll have the brandy. I’ve been wanting to try it.”
When the men had their drinks, Louis raised his glass of amber liquor. “To your health, gentleman, and to Christmas, soon to be upon us.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Smoke said. “Here’s to Christmas.”
“The holiest, most peaceful time of the year,” Louis added.
Smoke didn’t say anything to that. Whether Christmas was actually the holiest time of the year was something for the theologians and Bible scholars to debate. In his experience, Christmas hadn’t been exactly peaceful a lot of years. Trouble could break out during the holiday season just as it could any other time of year, and it seemed to be fond of plaguing not only him but any other Jensens who happened to be in the vicinity, too.
Maybe this year will be different, he told himself as he sipped the beer. Maybe this Christmas all will be calm, like in that song “Silent Night.”
Those thoughts had just gone through his head when the door of the saloon opened, a heavy footstep sounded, and a man’s voice said, “There you are, Smoke. I’ve been looking for you.”
CHAPTER 13
A lot of times in the past, when somebody came into a saloon where Smoke was and said something like that, it was a prelude to violence. Way too many hombres fancied themselves fast on the shoot and wanted to build their reputation by outdrawing the famous Smoke Jensen.
However, the men who wanted to challenge him to a gunfight usually just called him Jensen, not the nickname Preacher had hung on him years earlier. Often there were phrases like “You dirty polecat!” involved. Obscenity and profanity were common.
None of that happened. Smoke recognized the man’s voice, so he moved leisurely as he turned away from the bar and lifted a hand in greeting to the newcomer. “Hello, Monte.” He frowned slightly as he saw the worried expression on Sheriff Monte Carson’s face.
Something had put a burr under Monte’s saddle.
The lawman was a solidly built hombre a number of years Smoke’s senior. Before pinning on a badge, he had made his living as a hired gun, first, working for Tilden Franklin when that ruthless cattle baron had set out to become the biggest rancher in Colorado, even if it meant killing anyone who got in his way, including Smoke Jensen.
When Franklin put out a call for professional gunmen, Monte Carson had turned up in Fontana, the town controlled by the cattle baron, but he had soon realized that he was too decent at his core to be doing Franklin’s dirty work. He had switched sides during that bloody range war and had been a staunch friend to Smoke Jensen ever since.
Tilden Franklin was dead and Fontana was gone. Abandoned, fallen into ruins, it had slowly faded away as if it had never been. Big Rock had replaced it and had grown by the proverbial leaps and bounds in the relatively short span of its existence. Already it was one of the leading towns in that part of Colorado. Monte Carson deserved a sizable amount of the credit for that. He maintained law and order in the settlement with a firm but fair hand and had enough of a reputation as a gunhand to prompt many troublemakers to steer clear of the place.
“What’s wrong?” Smoke asked as the sheriff came across the room toward him.
“Bart Pascoe and some of those muleskinners of his are over at the Brown Dirt Cowboy getting a snootful.”
“Nothing unusual about that, is there?” Smoke said with a shrug. “That’s what they do every time they come into town to pick up those loads of goods.”
The railroad had come to Big Rock, but the smaller communities in Eagle County and the surrounding counties didn’t have that luxury. The businesses in those settlements had to have their merchandise and supplies brought in by wagon. Bart Pascoe owned the freight line that served many of them. He was a veteran muleskinner and bullwhacker and went along on most of the freight runs himself, instead of trusting the operation to his employees.
He was also a big, hard-fisted man who was quick to anger and always on the lookout to take offense. The men he hired tended to be on the proddy side as well.
“That’s right,” Monte Carson said in response to Smoke’s
comment about Pascoe and his freighters being fond of their liquor. “Usually when they start getting rambunctious, I herd them down to the jail, let them cool off for a spell, and then turn them loose. Pascoe’s not a bad hombre, he’s just too quick-tempered.” The lawman made a face. “Today’s different, though.”
“How’s that?” Smoke asked.
“Gil Green and some of his bunch are in town.”
Louis Longmont said, “That doesn’t bode well.”
Smoke agreed with that. Gil Green owned the only other freight outfit in Eagle County, and naturally a rivalry existed between him and Pascoe. Pascoe’s line had been operating longer and as such was sort of entrenched in the county, but Green had been making inroads into Pascoe’s business in recent months by undercutting his prices and Pascoe resented it. More than once, he had threatened loudly to run Green out of that part of the country.
Louis went on. “I thought you’d ordered Pascoe and Green to stay out of town at the same time.”
“I did,” Monte said, “but as long as they’re not breaking any laws I don’t have any legal basis for enforcing that order. It’s more of a . . . suggestion, I guess you’d call it.”
“Where’s Green now?” asked Smoke.
“Picking up a couple wagonloads of goods at the depot. But the stationmaster overheard him telling his men that they’d stop at the Brown Dirt Cowboy for a drink before they started out of town. The stationmaster knew Pascoe was down there, so he figured he’d better warn me.”
“Need me to be an unofficial deputy and help you head off any trouble?”
“That’s what I was hoping,” Monte admitted. “I don’t mind saying so, either.”
“And I don’t mind backing your play,” Smoke said with a smile. They had known each other long enough and were good enough friends that neither of them ever hesitated about calling on the other for help in times of trouble.
Preacher downed the last bit of whiskey in his glass and said, “I’ll come along with you boys. Might be entertainin’.”
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