CHAPTER 7
Smoke arose well before dawn, but not early enough to be up before Sally. When he came into the kitchen, the air was already full of the smells of bread and pies baking, coffee, and fresh-cooked bacon. He came up behind her as she stood at a counter kneading more bread dough, rested his hands on her shoulders, and nuzzled her thick dark hair.
Sally sighed and leaned back against him. “Are you ready for today, Smoke?” she murmured.
“Sure. What’s not to be ready for?”
“We’re going to have a daughter-in-law. We’re going to be grandparents. Step-grandparents, I suppose would be the proper thing to say, but considering how precious that little boy is . . .”
“He’ll be the same as our own flesh and blood,” Smoke said. “I know that. And it’s fine with me. Louis and Melanie may well have some kids of their own, too. It’s sort of the natural order of things.”
“Not necessarily. Denise doesn’t show any signs of settling down and having a family.”
“Denny’s still young.”
“The same age as Louis. And I wasn’t much older than she is now when you and I were married and starting this ranch.”
“Well, times change.” Smoke kissed the back of Sally’s head, then moved over to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Folks don’t get married quite as young now. And don’t forget about that young Rogers fella. One of these days Denny might get serious about him.”
Sally looked around at him. “You mean Brice? He’s a nice young man, but half the time Denny acts like she can’t stand him.”
Smoke sipped the coffee and then said, “And the other half of the time she’s making cow eyes at him. Just let things take their own course. If it doesn’t work out with Brice Rogers, some other young man will come along.”
“I don’t know what to hope for,” Sally said with a shake of her head. “He’s a deputy U.S. marshal, after all. That’s a dangerous job.” She glanced at Smoke. “I know all about falling in love with a man who tends to ride into danger rather than away from it. I’m not sure I recommend it for my daughter.”
“Well, lucky for us Denny’s headstrong enough she won’t give a damn what we think!” He could tell that Sally tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t hold it in.
“You have an odd idea of being lucky, Smoke Jensen!”
“I don’t know about that. I’d say I was mighty lucky to ride into a town up in Idaho that had hired a gal from back east named Sally Reynolds to teach school.” He took his coffee and went outside to stand on the front porch for a few minutes and watch the day being born.
At that elevation, the air was cool early in the morning no matter what the time of year. Smoke enjoyed the crispness of it as he sipped his coffee. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the eastern sky had lightened with its approach and displayed a faint golden arch. The sky was clear except for a few long, fluffy streamers of cloud that also caught the sun’s rays and stood out brightly. It was going to be a beautiful day, he thought.
The ranch had already started coming to life. Even on such a special day there were chores to be done. Lights glowed in the dairy barn where a couple of the younger hands would be milking the cows. Out in the bunkhouse, Cal would be rousting out the men who would ride the range instead of taking part in the celebration. They had drawn lots to determine who those unfortunate souls would be. Somebody had to check on the cattle in the lower pastures. Smoke would try to make it up to them with some extra free time later.
Men were also stationed at the line camps up in the higher ranges, but those fellows were in the middle of their assigned jobs and wouldn’t return until the end of the month, when other members of the crew would take their place.
Smoke spotted a bow-legged figure coming toward him and raised a hand in greeting. As the man reached the bottom of the steps, Smoke said, “Morning, Pearlie.”
“Mornin’, Smoke.” Wes “Pearlie” Fontaine had been the Sugarloaf’s foreman for many years, as well as Calvin Woods’s best friend and mentor. A former hired gun and outlaw, he and Smoke had been on opposite sides of a fight when they first met, but Pearlie had decided pretty quicklike that he wanted to throw in with Smoke. They had been friends ever since, and Smoke had never had a more staunch ally.
Pearlie was retired from the foreman’s job—Sally had dubbed him Foreman Emeritus—but he would always have a place on the Sugarloaf. He spent his days advising Cal and helping out any way Smoke needed him to.
He thumbed his hat back on his grizzled head and went on, “I was just out in the barn lookin’ over the horses, and I noticed somethin’ odd.”
“Why were you looking at the horses?”
“I like bein’ around the critters. Had plenty of good friends of the equine persuasion—ain’t that a plumb fancy way of sayin’ horses?—over the years. I don’t sleep as well as I used to, neither, and I got a mite restless.” Pearlie sounded a little defensive. “Anyway, I like visitin’ ol’ Max. He’s been put out to pasture, too, sort of like me.”
Max was the horse Pearlie had ridden most of the time for many years, but he was too old for regular ranch work. Smoke suspected that being retired bothered Pearlie a little more than it did Max, though.
“What did you notice that was odd?” he asked to change the subject, and because he was curious, too.
“That Rocket hoss ain’t in his stall.”
That news made Smoke frown. He looked toward the corral where Rafael worked with the green horses, but it was empty. Rafael wouldn’t have had any of his charges out there at this time of the morning, anyway.
“You don’t mean he busted down the gate and got out, do you?”
Pearlie shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t see any signs of that. And his bridle was gone. Looked for all the world like somebody opened up that stall and led him outta there.”
“I can’t think of any reason for anybody to do that.”
“You reckon we got a hoss thief on our hands, Smoke?” Pearlie almost sounded a little eager for that to be the case, as if he would welcome the chance to hunt down such an interloper.
“Anybody who stole that devil of a mustang would probably regret it,” said Smoke, “but I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.” He rubbed his chin, his fingertips rasping a little on the beard stubble he hadn’t yet shaved off this morning. “I’ve got a hunch it’s something else entirely.”
“What do you reckon?”
Smoke hesitated, then answered, “I’d rather not say just yet. Not until I’m sure.”
“Dadgummit, Smoke, you know if you want me to keep somethin’ under my hat, I can dang sure do it—”
“I know,” Smoke broke in. “It’s not that. It’s just that if my hunch is right, I’m not quite sure how to handle it.”
Pearlie frowned. “Huh. Smoke Jensen not sure what to do about a problem. I ain’t sure I’ve ever seen that before. Generally, whenever somethin’ rears up to cause you trouble, you just punch it or shoot it, and that takes care o’ the problem.”
“I can’t do that this time,” Smoke said. “Why don’t you go hunt up Rafael and make sure he doesn’t know anything about Rocket being missing, and I’ll go check on something else.”
Pearlie nodded and headed off toward the barn again. Smoke could tell he still wanted to know what was going on.
Preferring to be certain first, Smoke drank the rest of his coffee and went inside, set the empty cup on a small table in the foyer, and headed upstairs, moving with his usual quiet, easy grace that didn’t cause much noise on the steps. He went along a hallway on the second floor and paused in front of one of the bedroom doors.
He rapped a knuckle on the panel lightly and listened for a response from inside. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little louder but not loud enough to disturb anyone who was still sleeping in the other rooms.
When there was still no response, Smoke reached down, closed his hand around the knob, and turned it slowly. It wasn’t locked, which came as no surprise since for the most part nobody locked any doors in the house.
Smoke eased the door open a few inches, leaned closer to the gap, and said, “Denny? You in there?”
When his daughter didn’t answer, he called her name again, then opened the door wider. Outside, the dawn light had grown stronger, and enough of it spilled through the gap in the curtains over the window to show him that Denny’s bed was empty. The bedclothes were rumpled enough that he could tell it had been slept in—or at least tossed and turned in—but Denny wasn’t there.
Neither were her boots, Smoke noted as he glanced at the empty spot beside the bed where they usually sat. He grunted and backed out of the room, then eased the door closed.
With a look on his rugged face that was half worried, half amused, Smoke shook his head. “Denny, what the hell?”