“No, I didn’t,” Sam protested.
“Yeah, you did. I smell lye soap and lilac water!” When Sam shook his head, Matt went on. “I can go ask the clerk if you had a tub and some hot water sent up.”
“Oh, all right, all right,” Sam said. “So I took a bath. So what? We’ve been on the trail for a long time. You don’t exactly smell like a rose.”
“I don’t stink…but I don’t smell flowerdy, neither.”
Sam jerked his hat brim down over his eyes. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Let’s just go. And you don’t have to say anything about this to Hannah and her father.”
“I don’t intend to. It’s downright embarrassin’.”
Sam glared at him and then stalked out. Matt chuckled and followed.
Dusk was beginning to settle over Cottonwood as they walked along Main Street and then turned onto Third. There were houses on only one side of the street, so they didn’t have any trouble finding the neat, white frame structure belonging to Marshal Coleman. It had a nice, well-cared-for yard, and a porch with a couple of rocking chairs on it that looked out at the seemingly endless prairie rolling away across the street. They walked past a small flower bed and went up the steps onto the porch.
A small, shaggy, gray and brown dog that had been lying there stood up and barked in greeting, his stub of a tail wagging frantically. Coleman appeared at the open front door and pushed back the screen door.
“Howdy, boys,” he said. “Come on in.” To the dog, he added, “Hush there, Lobo.”
Matt looked down at the appealingly ugly mutt and said, “Lobo?”
“He thinks he’s a wolf,” Coleman said in apparent seriousness.
Matt and Sam went inside, and both young men immediately noticed the wonderful smells in the air, a mingling of savory roast beef, fresh-baked bread, and—
“Is that apple pie I smell?” Matt asked with a hopeful expression on his face.
“Sure is,” Coleman replied. “You won’t find a better apple pie in the whole state of Kansas than the one Hannah makes.”
Matt licked his lips. “I can’t wait to sample it.”
“You’ll have to save a little room for it, then.”
“You’re a wise man, Marshal.”
Coleman took their hats and ushered them into the living room. The house was simply but comfortably furnished. There were woven rugs on the floor and lace doilies on the tables. Framed photographs stood on the mantle above the fireplace. In one of them, a much younger Marsh Coleman stood behind a woman with her fair hair pulled back in a bun. He had one hand on her shoulder, and both of them wore solemn expressions and their Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes.
“Your wife?” Sam asked with a nod toward the photograph.
“That’s right. That’s my Elsa, God rest her soul. A fever took her when Hannah weren’t but a little tyke.”
“We’re sorry,” Matt murmured.
“It was a hard thing, but life’s that way. You got to take the bad with the good, or not have any of it at all.”
“And that’s Hannah a few years ago,” Sam said, pointing at a portrait of the lovely young woman.
“Yep. One of those traveling photography fellas came through here with his wagon and set up for a few days to take everybody’s picture who wanted it took. I reckon she was sixteen or seventeen then.”
Hannah came into the room and said, “Dad, don’t bore our guests with a lot of family history. We asked them here for supper, remember?”
“We’re not the least bit bored, Miss Hannah,” Sam said. “And that’s a beautiful picture of you.”
She blushed a little. “Thank you.”
“But I think you’re even lovelier now,” Sam added.
“Oh, go on with you.” She wore a white apron over a blue dress dotted with yellow flowers. She took off the apron and went on. “Come in the dining room. Supper’s ready.”
The delicious aromas grew even stronger as they went into the dining room and sat down at a table covered with a cloth of snowy white linen. From the looks of the place settings, Hannah had brought out the fine china and silver. In the center of the table sat a serving platter with a roast on it, surrounded by bowls of potatoes, peas, and carrots. Steam rose from a basket of fresh rolls nestled in a cloth. Everything looked almost as good as it smelled.
“Sit down and dig in, boys,” Coleman said.
“Not until we say grace,” Hannah corrected.
“Oh, yeah.” Coleman bowed his head. The blood brothers followed suit. Coleman went on. “Thank you, Lord, for the bounty we are about to receive, and for the visitors you have brought to grace our house with their presence. Amen.”
“Amen,” Hannah murmured. She reached for a chair, but Sam beat her to it, pulling it out and holding it for her as she sat down.
The food was the best that Matt and Sam had had for a long time, and the company was certainly pleasant. Matt asked Coleman to tell them about Cottonwood.
