“Twenty’s not grown.”
“Think of all the things you had done by the time you were twenty years old.”
Smoke scowled. He had killed more than two dozen men and been forced to battle for his life countless times. He had married a woman, fathered a child, lost them both to vicious murderers, and avenged their deaths by tracking down those killers and blasting them to hell. He had been a wanted outlaw and worn a lawman’s badge.
Yes, it was safe to say that Smoke Jensen had grown up fast. Too fast.
But his children hadn’t lived that sort of life, thank God. Instead of dodging the law and shooting it out with gunmen, they had spent their time in clinics and universities and concert halls. They had learned mathematics and natural science and literature instead of how to track an enemy and reload a gun in the heat of battle and stay calm with bullets whipping around their heads.
Smoke was glad they hadn’t had to endure such hardships. To his way of thinking, that easy life meant they were still kids. Nothing wrong with that.
Instead of arguing with Sally about whether or not the twins could be considered grown, he said, “The twenty-seventh is only a couple days away. Can we be ready for them by then?”
“There’s no getting ready to do,” Sally said. “I keep their rooms just like they’ve always been. They can move right in.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen them. I wonder if they’ve changed much.”
“Probably not. Louis Arthur will still be handsome and Denise Nicole will be as beautiful as always.”
Smoke smiled. “I don’t doubt it.” They had always been beautiful to him, even as red-faced, squalling babies.
Louis Arthur was named for two of Smoke’s oldest friends, the gambler and gunman Louis Longmont and Preacher, whose real name was Arthur. The name was also a way of honoring Smoke’s first son, the one who had been murdered, who was named Arthur as well. Along with the old Reynolds family name Denise, Nicole, Smoke’s first wife, had inspired the middle name given to his daughter.
Smoke would never forget his first family, the one that had been ripped brutally from him. That tragedy had forged his steel-hard determination to see evildoers brought to justice, and he was more than willing to deliver that justice from the barrel of a gun whenever and wherever necessary.
He wasn’t one to dwell on the violence of the past, though. It was more his nature to look ahead to the future with optimism and a friendly smile.
Sally put a hand on his arm. “Would you like a cup of coffee before we go upstairs?”
Smoke slid his other arm around his wife’s waist again, feeling the supple warmth of her body under the robe, and smiled “No, I reckon not. If I’m going to be kept awake for a while, I’d rather it was by something else besides coffee.”
She laughed and linked her arm with his as they turned toward the parlor entrance. They had gone up only a few steps when she said, “Do you think the rustling is over?”
“I hope so. There’s no reason to think otherwise, but we’ll just have to wait and see. I can trust Cal and the others to keep a close eye on the stock and let me know if any more turn up missing.”
“I hope that’s the way it turns out. I’d hate to have a bunch of trouble going on just as Louis Arthur and Denise Nicole finally come home to stay.”
“Yeah,” Smoke agreed. “Jensens and trouble just don’t mix.”
She laughed and swatted him lightly on the shoulder, and they continued on their way upstairs to their bedroom.
The Darkest Winter Page 29
