CHAPTER 32
Two hundred yards was too far for a handgun, so Luke drew his rifle and fired a shot in the direction of the hidden rifleman, aiming high so the bullet would carry a little farther. Ignoring the pain lancing through his side, he rolled toward the doorway as another shot blasted. He didn’t want the wound on his side to break open and start bleeding again, but that pain was better than being a sitting duck.
The slug struck the rocking chair he’d been sitting in, and a chunk of wood flew off the back of it.
“Mr. Smith!” Sally cried as she jerked the door open. “Luke!”
He dived at her, tackling her around the knees and taking her down as a bullet plowed into the door. They scrambled farther into the house, and Luke kicked the door closed behind them.
“Luke!” Sally gasped. “I heard shots! What—”
A rumble of hoofbeats sounded outside, and Luke knew Smoke had miscalculated . . . and so had he. Neither had realized Baxter’s attack on the ranch the night before was just a feint. Baxter had counted on some of his men being killed, and on Smoke recognizing them. He’d been trying to goad Smoke into rushing over to the neighboring spread and taking most, if not all, of the Sugarloaf crew with him.
“It’s Baxter,” Luke told Sally in a taut, grim voice. “He’s come for you. He figures with you as his prisoner, Smoke won’t have any choice but to do what Baxter tells him.”
“Men have tried that before,” Sally informed him. “Smoke killed them. He’ll kill Baxter.”
“More than likely,” Luke agreed as the rush of hoofbeats came to a stop outside the house. “If I don’t kill him first.” He jerked his head toward the stairs. “Get up there. I’ll stop them.”
“You’re one man against two dozen, and you’re wounded!” Sally protested. “You can’t—”
“Go!” Luke told her as he climbed to his feet. He didn’t have anything to lose, making him more dangerous than any number of men Baxter could muster.
Sally didn’t understand that. She stood up beside him, and suddenly threw her arms around him and came up on her toes to brush a kiss across his gaunt cheek. “Luke,” she whispered, “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think I know—”
“Just go,” he cut in, “while you still can.”
A man shouted orders outside. The gunnies knew Baxter wanted Sally alive, but they also knew at least one man with a gun was inside. Luke figured they wouldn’t come in shooting for fear of hurting her, but they would rush the place, counting on the force of numbers to overwhelm any opposition.
Sally squeezed his arm and turned to run to the stairs. As she started up, Luke faced the door, squaring himself to the opening and bracing his feet. He had both guns drawn and pointed at the doorway, waiting grimly to start their thunderous song.
He didn’t have long to wait. Something crashed against the door and it flew open. Hard-faced men with guns in their hands rushed into the room, and at the sight of the tall, lean man dressed in black waiting for them, they raised the weapons to open fire.
They were too late. The revolvers in Luke’s hands were already spouting flaming death.
As it always did at such moments, everything else faded away for Luke. The world receded until there was nothing left in the universe except him and the men he was trying to kill . . . the men who were trying to kill him. The roar of guns was like the bellow of great primordial beasts, the clouds of powder smoke rolling through the room like the eruption of ancient volcanoes, and the blood flowing the bright crimson of man like going all the way back to the dawn of time.
Luke didn’t feel the smash of bullets like he expected. He was still on his feet and fighting, and that was all that mattered to him. Men fell before his guns like wheat before a scythe.
Vaguely, he became aware of shots pealing out from other places. There seemed to be a battle going on outside the ranch house, as well as a rifle blasting somewhere close by.
Suddenly, as the hammers of both Remingtons clicked on empty chambers, only one enemy faced him, a tall, burly man with a rough-hewn face and silver hair under a black Stetson. The man’s clothes were better and more expensive than those of the others, and Luke had a hunch he was facing Simeon Baxter.
That was confirmed a second later when the man pointed a fancy, nickel-plated revolver at Luke and yelled, “I don’t know who you are, you lousy interloper, but you’ve ruined all my plans! Now you’re gonna die, you and that skirt both!”
Luke glanced over and realized Sally was standing beside him, holding the Winchester. “I’m empty. You?”
“Me, too.” But she was smiling, unafraid.
Luke realized why when a powerful voice bellowed from outside, “Baxter!”
The would-be cattle baron whirled around. A shot blasted from his gun, soaring harmlessly into the air, and was answered by a pair of crashing reports from a Colt. The bullets drove Baxter through the doorway and spilled him onto his back, almost at the feet of Luke and Sally. He writhed in pain, pawing at his chest with blood welling through his fingers, and ended up on his side looking up at Luke. “Who . . . who are you?” he gasped.
Smoke appeared in the doorway. “His name’s Luke Jensen. He’s my brother.”
Baxter’s head sagged back, an ugly rattle came from his throat, and he died.
Normally the first thing Luke did when he held empty guns was reload them, but he was just too tired. He slid both guns back into their holsters and looked himself over, expecting to see more blood on his clothes. It was a shock to realize he didn’t seem to be hit. With all the lead that had been flying around the room, he didn’t see how it was possible, but he didn’t feel any new pains, just a dull ache in his side from that old wound.
Smoke pouched his iron and rushed across the room to draw Sally into his arms. He cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her. “Are you all right?” he asked when he lifted his mouth from hers a moment later.
“I’m fine . . . thanks to Luke. Smoke, he’s—”
“My brother. I know. I can’t figure out how it’s possible, but there’s no doubt in my mind.” With his arms still around Sally, Smoke turned his head to look at Luke. “All I had to do was see him standing there with the dead men he’d killed defending you heaped at his feet, and I knew.” He shifted so that he could hold out a hand to Luke. “Welcome home . . . brother.”
Luke didn’t hesitate. Reaching out, he clasped his brother’s hand.
Pearlie and the other hands had dragged the corpses out of the living room and dumped sand on the floor to soak up the blood. Cleaning it all up was going to take a while.
In the kitchen, Smoke filled Sally and Luke in on what had happened after he left the ranch. “I figured out what Baxter was up to when we were about halfway to his ranch. We turned around and got back here as fast as we could, with me kicking myself for being a damned fool the whole way.”
“You were upset about your men being killed last night,” Luke said. “It’s understandable you wanted to have a showdown with Baxter.”
“And that’s what he was counting on.” Smoke shook his head. “I’m just glad we got back in time.”
“So am I,” Luke said with a wry smile. “I didn’t have enough bullets to kill all of Baxter’s men.”
“Maybe not, but from the sound of it I expected to find a small army trying to fight them off inside the house, not just the two of you.”
“Luke did most of it.” Sally gave credit where credit was due. “I never saw anybody handle guns like that, Smoke . . . well, nobody but you, that is.”
“It’s a skill that seems to run in the family.” Smoke took a sip of his coffee and fixed Luke with an intent look across the table. “I heard you were killed fighting Yankees in the wilderness, and then told later you were murdered by those varmints who stole that shipment of Confederate gold. What’s the real story, Luke?”
“I suppose if anyone has a right to hear it, it’s you.” Luke looked away. “Some of it’s not too pretty, though.”
“I want to know anyway.”
“Of course.”
For the next half hour, Luke told them everything that had happened since that fateful night in Richmond with the Yankee artillery pounding away at the city. He didn’t leave out anything. When he was finished, he glanced at Sally and saw tears shining in her eyes.
“You considered yourself a failure because those terrible men ambushed you?” She wiped at a tear.
“They stole the gold I was supposed to protect. They killed my friends.”
“And they nearly killed you! My God, Luke, that wasn’t your fault. You could have gone back home to your family.”
He shrugged. “I saw it differently.” He knew from the look in Smoke’s eyes that his brother understood.
“That wasn’t all. I was wanted for murder in Georgia.”
“Well, that just wasn’t right,” Sally declared. “You were only trying to protect that girl and her grandfather.”
“Yes, but I figured I’d caused enough trouble for them.”
“You didn’t cause the trouble.” Sally was starting to sound a little exasperated with him. “You saved them from it!” She blew out her breath and shook her head. “You stiff-necked Jensen boys! Matt’s the same way, and he’s not even a blood relative. You all think you have to be perfect and that you can never let anybody down.”
“Well, that’s something to aspire to, isn’t it?” Smoke asked with a faint smile.
“Maybe ... but it’s not human.” Sally took Smoke’s hand, then reached across the table and clasped Luke’s hand, too. “At least the two of you are back together, after all these years. Now I understand why you seemed so familiar to me, Luke. Even though you and Smoke don’t look that much alike, I was seeing him in you. I knew there was something special about you all along.”
“That’s nice to hear,” he told her as he squeezed her hand.
“And you have a home again at last,” Sally added.
Luke didn’t say anything. Glancing at Smoke, he saw the knowledge in his brother’s eyes and realized Smoke knew he wasn’t going to stay on permanently. Luke could never adjust to that sort of life. The wanderlust was just too strong in him.
Anyway, he still had outlaws to hunt down.
But not right away.
At that moment, he was content to sit in a quiet kitchen with his family and know that, while the place would never be his home, it was as close to one as he would ever come.