Rage of the Mountain Man Read Online Free Page A

French Market, with its heady aromas of spices, exotic coffees, and succulent vegetables. And, oh, the plethora of seafood: oysters, shrimp by the ton, redfish, crabs, and lobsters.
    The latter were not so good, Sally had to admit, as those of New England. Yet she found the Crescent City enchanting. Who could not be charmed by the Garden District, where all the swells lived? And the constant rainbow flow of humanity and its many languages. From the palest, pampered milk white to coaly black, with cajuns, creoles, and red men mingled in for variety.
    With conscious effort; Sally arrested her fleeting images and returned to her original campaign. “That would be very nice, dear,” she answered Smoke’s tempting blandly. “But Father has been growing more earnest in his urging for us to pay a visit. His last letter said he had a marvelous diversion in mind for you.”
    “You are all the diversion I need,” Smoke teased, as he cleaned up his noontime plate of pork chops, beans, and cornbread. “We could rent a room in that big old house on Basin Street, and I could have you all alone to myself.”
    “It’s . . . tempting,” Sally admitted. “But father would be so disappointed. “I’ve all but agreed, needing only to confer with you, of course.”
    A perfunctory necessity at best, the ruggedly handsome gunfighter admitted to himself. Sally Reynolds Jensen had a knack for getting around him on nearly anything. And why not? She had given him everything a man could want out of life: a home that had grown from a cabin to a sturdy, two-story log mansion; fine, healthy children; a partner in hard times, a nurse when needed, a companion, friend, and lover. That revelation brought to Smoke Jensen a sudden change of heart.
    “All right,” he drawled gently, albeit with a tinge of reluctance. “I suppose we can spare a couple of weeks to visit your father and mother. But I’m holding out for at least a week in New Orleans.”
    Sally’s eyes went wide. “Why, that’s wonderful. Only . . . it’s so extravagant.”
    “What’s wrong with that? We can afford it,” Smoke simply stated the obvious. “When do you want to go?” 
    “Right now. Right away,” Sally rushed to advise him. “I mean, right after the livestock have been rescued.”
    Smoke pushed back from the table. “I’ll ride in to Big Rock this afternoon to telegraph John about our intended arrival, and also get the tickets for the train.”
    Sally Jensen hung her arms around her husband’s neck and delivered a long, powerful, very wet kiss. “You darling, I knew you would say yes,” she sent after him as Smoke headed for the out of doors.

    Big Rock, Colorado, had grown considerably over the years since Smoke Jensen had first ridden into town. The main street had lengthened to three blocks of businesses, with an additional residential block at the north and south ends. Cross streets featured shops at least to the alley, with the central intersection extending the commercial area a full block east and west. Smoke concluded his business at the railroad depot by four in the afternoon.
    With himself committed to the journey east, he decided on paying a call on Sheriff Monte Carson. They had not seen each other for two weeks. Although Smoke Jensen had hung up his gun long ago, he liked to keep in touch with what went on outside the Sugarloaf. Particularly which specific gunhawks or bounty hunters happened to blow through town.
    A man could never be too careful, Preacher had taught him early on. In his wild, single years, Smoke had walked both sides of the law. He had never gone so far as to be considered a desperado. Yet he had made enemies. Some of them still lived, and carried around grudges the size of Pike’s Peak. So, after his siding with the sheriff during the Valley War, Smoke Jensen had cultivated his friendship with Monte Carson. It had more than once saved his life. He walked Dandy along Berry Street, the main drag, to the squat, stone building