“Always,” Smoke said with a grin. He hugged her and then hurried out after Pearlie.
“Sounds like . . . you folks have some trouble around here,” Luke acknowledged.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Smith,” she assured him. “Just some range hog who moved in recently. He’s got the loco idea in his head that he can bully Smoke Jensen.”
“Sounds like ... a pretty foolish thing to do.”
“It is.” Sally sighed. “I just hope this isn’t the time Smoke’s luck finally changes.”
“It’s not . . . luck.” Luke knew it was the Jensen blood. The sheer determination to do the right thing and stand up for yourself. He had failed in that respect so long ago, and he’d been trying to make up for it ever since. He could take another step on the long road back . . . if he could strap on his guns and stand beside his brother as Smoke faced down this trouble.
But that wasn’t possible, at least not at the moment. Luke had lost too much blood, been unconscious for too long, grown too weak. All he could do was lie there and regain his strength.
When he was stronger, he could offer to help Smoke with his troubles. He wouldn’t have to reveal who he really was. He’d just be a grateful stranger returning a favor.
Time enough for that later. He could barely keep his eyes open.
Sally recognized his weariness. “I’ll bring you some of that stew later, Mr. Smith. I think you need to rest a bit more before you eat.”
“Maybe . . .” Luke murmured, trying to fight off the exhaustion threatening to wash over him. Realizing he couldn’t, he gave in and let it claim him.
His last thought was that he wasn’t passing out. It wasn’t unconsciousness, it was good honest sleep. Healing sleep—just what he needed.
And when he woke up next time, he would be that much closer to being able to help his brother.
CHAPTER 30
The stew Sally Jensen brought up to him tasted as good as it smelled, Luke discovered after the delicious aroma roused him from his slumber. It seemed to possess some magical power, as well, he decided, because after one bowl of it, he felt strength coursing back into his body.
She sat in a chair beside his bed and fed him, and when the bowl was empty, Luke asked, “Did your husband 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.”