CHAPTER 25
“It’s good to see you again, Brice,” Sally Jensen said as the young lawman stepped up onto the porch and took the hand she held out to him. He held his hat in his other hand. He could tell she was clearly distracted by her husband’s arrival back on the Sugarloaf, but that wasn’t going to stop her from being gracious in greeting a guest. “You haven’t been out here to visit us much in a long time.”
“My job keeps me pretty busy, ma’am.”
“I’m sure it does. Smoke and I appreciate all your efforts to bring law and order to this area.”
Brice smiled. “I’d say that you and Mr. Jensen did more than just about anybody else to establish law and order in this valley, ma’am. With help from Sheriff Carson and Pearlie, of course.”
Sally laughed softly. “And from some of those old mountain man friends Smoke always called on for help in those days.” Her smile was a little wistful as she went on. “I’m afraid that’s a vanished era now.”
“Those days might be gone, ma’am, but I don’t reckon they’ll ever be forgotten.”
“We can hope not. A lot of men and women worked hard and risked their lives to make something out of the West, and their efforts and sacrifices shouldn’t be forgotten. And that’s just about enough ma’am-ing me. Call me Sally.”
“I don’t know if I could—” He stopped short at the stern look she gave him and said, “Well, maybe Miss Sally.”
“That’ll do, I suppose. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . my husband is home.” She hurried down the steps as Smoke dismounted.
He met her at the bottom of them, drew her into his arms, and gave her an enthusiastic and unabashed kiss that Sally appeared to return with equal enthusiasm. Denny stood nearby, smiling and holding the reins of Smoke’s horse in one hand while her other hand rested on young Brad Buckner’s shoulder.
Calvin Woods and the other members of the Sugarloaf crew who’d accompanied Smoke had peeled off to head for the bunkhouse, where Pearlie greeted them with handshakes and a round of backslapping.
Brice watched them from the porch and briefly envied their easy camaraderie. For the most part, his was a solitary job, although occasionally he was assigned to a case with other deputy marshals.
Smoke and Sally came up the steps arm in arm and paused long enough for Sally to say, “You’ll stay and have supper with us, won’t you, Brice?”
He hadn’t been expecting such an invitation, but as he glanced at Denny, he realized it held a certain appeal. He nodded. “I sure will. I’m obliged to you for your hospitality, ma’am—I mean, Miss Sally.”
She smiled and went on inside the house with Smoke.
Denny and Brad came up the steps and stopped on the porch, where Brad gazed up at Brice and asked, “Will you tell me about all the outlaws you’ve killed, Marshal?”
“Why, I don’t make a habit of killing folks, Brad. I don’t ever shoot anybody unless they just don’t give me any choice in the matter.”
“But you have shot some outlaws?”
“Well . . . yeah. It’s nothing I’m all that proud of, though.”
Brad couldn’t seem to grasp that, so Brice was a little relieved when the youngster finally went on into the house. That left him alone on the porch with Denny. “I hope you don’t mind that your ma asked me to stay for supper.”
“That’s not really up to me, is it?” she returned coolly.
“I reckon how you feel about it is.”
She shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t care one way or the other.”
He wasn’t sure which would be worse—if she was telling the truth about that, or if she wasn’t.
Before either of them could say anything else, a new voice hailed Denny. Brice looked around to see one of the cowboys who had ridden in with Smoke walking toward the ranch house. Brice didn’t recall ever seeing him before, but that wasn’t unusual. As seldom as he got out to the Sugarloaf, he was sure there were plenty of men in Smoke’s crew he didn’t know.
This puncher was tall, rangy, and redheaded, wearing a grin that Brice instantly pegged as arrogant.
The cowboy rested his hands on the hitch rail as he said, “Ain’t you glad to see that them rustlers didn’t fill me full o’ lead, Miss Denny?”
“Of course I am. I’m glad all of you made it back safely.”
“All of us except for that fella name of Nelson. He got plugged in the shoulder, in the front and out the back. The sawbones in Black Hawk says he’s gonna be all right, but he couldn’t ride yet. He ought to be back in a week or so.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that anybody was seriously injured.”
The cowboy’s grin widened. “We got off a whole heap luckier than them rustlers did. Every one of them no-good skunks has been planted in Black Hawk’s Boot Hill by now.” His gaze shifted to Brice, and his eyes narrowed. “Who’s this hombre? Don’t recollect seein’ him around the ranch before.”
“This is—”
“Brice Rogers,” Brice cut in, stepping down the steps and sticking out his hand. “I’m just an old friend of the Jensen family.” He didn’t identify himself as a lawman and had spoken up to keep Denny from doing so.
He wasn’t sure why he did that. His identity was no secret. If the puncher asked around in Big Rock or even brought up his name with other members of the Sugarloaf’s crew, somebody was bound to tell him that Brice was a deputy U.S. marshal.
Instinct had warned Brice to keep that to himself for now, and he had learned to trust what his gut told him.
The redheaded cowboy hesitated, then clasped Brice’s hand in a firm grip. “Steve Markham,” he introduced himself.
“Have you been riding for the Sugarloaf long?”
“Not that long.” The grin reappeared on his face as he glanced at Denny. “I signed on after I saved Miss Denny’s life.”
Brice couldn’t stop himself from giving Denny a surprised look. “He saved your life?”
“I never said that—”
“She don’t want to admit it,” Markham broke in, “but there was this horse race, see, the day of her brother’s wedding, and she snuck into it on this wild killer mustang called Rocket even though she wasn’t s’posed to, and he run away with her and was about to go sailin’ off into this gully and break both of their necks, when I come along and plucked her outta the saddle as neat as you please—”
“That’s not the way it was at all!” Denny exclaimed, breaking into the flood of boasting words coming from Steve Markham’s mouth.
“Oh?” the cowboy said challengingly. “And just what part of that little yarn I was spinnin’ was wrong, Miss Denny? I ask you.”
“I would have gotten Rocket under control and stopped him before he went into the gully.”
“Didn’t look like it to me.”
Brice stood there looking back and forth between them, and he couldn’t help but notice the intense way in which their eyes dueled. He recognized that attitude because Denny had looked exactly the same way at him during some of their arguments in the past, a mix of anger and . . . intrigue.
For some reason, the cocksure cowboy named Markham interested her.
And that made Brice’s hackles rise. He didn’t care for the feeling.
He turned to his horse and reached for the tied reins, saying, “Denny, I’ve just remembered that I need to check on something in Big Rock, so I can’t stay for supper after all. Will you convey my regrets to your mother and tell her again that I appreciate the invitation?”
“So you’re just going to ride off?” Denny asked, sounding annoyed. “Just like that?”
“Like I said, it’s part of the job.”
“And it won’t wait until you’d get back to town this evening?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Markham said, “Don’t argue with the fella, Miss Denny. He’s already done told you that he’s got to go.”
She drew in a breath deep enough to make her nostrils flare as Brice untied the sorrel’s reins. “I suppose you’re right, Steve. I’ll tell my mother, Brice. She’ll be sorry you weren’t able to stay.”
“Yeah, so am I.” He swung up into the saddle, turned the sorrel away from the house, and heeled the horse into an easy lope. He wanted to look back over his shoulder and see if Denny and Steve Markham were still talking but kept his gaze fastened straight in front of him.