get back from talking to that fellow Baxter?”
Sally had been smiling and cheerful when she came into the room, but a shadow passed over her face at his question. Luke didn’t like that he had caused her distress, but he needed to know what was going on.
“They talked,” Sally said. “Baxter denied having anything to do with the trouble we’ve been having. From the way Smoke sounded, it was pretty tense between them for a few minutes, but there was no shooting.”
“That’s good. Range wars usually don’t work out well for either side.”
“I know that. Sometimes you have to stand up and fight for what’s yours, though. I know that, too.”
Luke couldn’t argue with her. Earlier, the exact same thought had crossed his mind. He said carefully, “I’ve heard stories about your husband, Mrs. Jensen. I would think a man would have to be pretty foolish to come in and try to hog Smoke Jensen’s range.”
“Some men are so arrogant they think they can have whatever they want,” she replied with a shrug. “Baxter has plenty on his payroll who are fast with their guns. Smoke just has our ranch hands, although Pearlie had a reputation as a gunman, too, before he gave that up to be Sugarloaf’s foreman.”
“How did Smoke leave it with Baxter?”
“With a warning that nothing else had better happen.”
Luke thought that was unlikely. He knew what Sally meant about the arrogance of some men driving them on, even when the smart thing to do would be to back off. He counted on the outlaws he hunted having the same attitude. They could usually be goaded into doing something stupid that would give him a chance to bring them down.
Sally changed the subject, saying she wanted to check the dressings on Luke’s wounds. He let her do so, feeling a little bit embarrassed about having his sister-in-law poking around his body. She didn’t know they were related, and he didn’t tell her.
“Everything looks fine,” she announced when she was finished. “Those old mountain men who found you probably had plenty of experience patching up bullet wounds. They took good care of you and put you on the road to recovery.”
“How long do you think it’ll be before I’m up and around?”
“Not long,” she assured him. “It’s mostly just a matter of getting your strength back.” Sally hesitated. “I noticed a terrible scar on your back . . .”
“An old war wound,” Luke said, trying not to sound too curt but making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Smoke was too young for the war, but just barely. His father and brother fought in it, though.”
Luke’s interest quickened. “Did they make it through?”
“His father did . . . but he was killed not long afterward by some men responsible for the death of Smoke’s brother Luke during the war.” She cocked her head to the side as she looked down at him. “You have the same name as him.”
Luke suddenly worried that he had probed too much. “There are plenty of men around named Luke.”
“Of course there are.”
Even though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he risked another question. “What happened to those men? The ones responsible for the deaths of Smoke’s pa and brother?”
“Smoke found them.”
The flat sound of Sally’s answer told Luke all he needed to know. Jasper Thornapple’s information had been correct. Smoke had settled that long-standing score.
Only it was worse than Luke had ever known. From what Sally had just said, Potter and the others were responsible for the death of his father as well. The confirmation that Emmett Jensen was dead, and had died violently at the hands of trash like that, was like a knife inside Luke for a second.
“Good riddance, I’d say,” he forced out.
“Yes, indeed,” Sally agreed. She brightened. “You get some more rest now. Let that stew do its work.”
“I’ll do that,” Luke promised. He leaned his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He owed a debt to Smoke Jensen for killing those four no-good thieves. He would find a way to pay that debt, he promised himself.
Even if it had to be as Luke Smith.
A couple nights later, Smoke brought him a cup of coffee and a plate of bear sign. Luke was glad to see him. After being unconscious for so long, once he began to get his strength back he wasn’t nearly as sleepy.
“Need me to break pieces off this and feed ’em to you?” Smoke asked as he settled down in the chair beside the bed.
“I think I can handle a pastry.” Luke sat up, moved the pillows behind him, and then proved it by taking one of the doughnuts off the plate.
“You sound like a cultured man, Smith.”
Luke managed not to laugh. “Far from it. I just have a taste for reading. I suppose I’ve picked up a few things from that. Most of my life has been spent about as far from what people would consider culture as you can imagine.”
“I have some books downstairs. Would you like me to bring a few of them up here for you?”
“That would be very much appreciated,” Luke said.
“In the meantime, you can tell me about all those dead men scattered around the place where my friends found you.”
Luke smiled. “You’ve been wanting to ask me about that ever since I woke up, haven’t you?”
“That old prospector said they were outlaws. Somebody named Solomon Burke and his gang. Supposed to be pretty bad hombres. Did you kill all of them by yourself?”
“Seemed like the thing to do, especially since they were trying to kill me at the time.”
“If they were using that place for a hideout, that means they didn’t ambush you. It was the other way around, wasn’t it?”
“I was hunting them, yes,” Luke admitted with a nod. “I was after the bounty on them.” He had to laugh. “I’ll bet that old pelican claimed it for himself, though.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Smoke said. “So you’re a bounty hunter.”
“That’s right.”
“There was a time I had a price on my head.” Smoke shrugged. “But I suppose a fella’s got to do whatever is necessary for him to get by.”
“I don’t blame you for not being fond of the idea of having a bounty hunter under your roof. For what it’s worth, all the men I’ve gone after were bad sorts, the kind of men who really need to be behind bars or six feet under.”
“As far as you know,” Smoke said.
Luke inclined his head in acknowledgment of that point. “I believe I’m right, but no one knows everything about the other people in this world.”
“That’s true. For example, you strike me as the sort of man who has secrets of his own, Smith.”
Luke didn’t like the turn in the conversation. “You already know all that’s worth knowing about me, Jensen.”
It sounded odd to him, saying his own name like that.
“I’m not sure,” Smoke said. “There’s something about you . . . something I can’t put my finger on. I feel like I ought to know you. Are you sure we’ve never met?”
“Positive.” Luke hoped he kept the tension out of his voice. “I know who you are, but I never heard the name Smoke Jensen until a couple years ago.” That was true, as far as it went.
Smoke made a face. “I never asked for a reputation as a gunfighter. I just wanted to be left alone. But then I found out some men had done my family wrong—skunks who had be dealt with—and I set out to do it. I’d already met an old mountain man named Preacher. He taught me how to handle a gun. Taught me everything worth knowing that my pa hadn’t already taught me. Along the way I got married to a fine woman, even had a son, but some other evil lowlifes took that family away from me. I met a young fella named Matt Cavanaugh and took him under my wing the way Preacher did with me. Matt’s the same as my brother now, even goes by the name Matt Jensen. Then Sally came along—” Smoke stopped and shook his head.
“I don’t know why I started going on about all of that. You’re not interested in my checkered past, as they
