Ambush of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone Page B

spare bedroom, and after they’d both managed to get freshened up from their trip and their rather exuberant welcome home, Smoke knocked on the bunkhouse door.
    Pearlie answered it, since Cal was in the middle of trying to mend a hole in one of his socks that was almost big enough to put a fist through.
    Smoke leaned inside. There was no one there except Cal and Pearlie, the other hands not in from the fields yet.
    â€œYou boys interested in some real home cooking for a change?” he asked.
    Pearlie shook his head, a sorrowful expression on his face. “You don’t mean you’re gonna make Miss Sally cook her first night back home, do you, Boss?”
    Smoke shrugged. “I offered to eat leftovers from Cookie’s dinner meal, but she insisted on cooking. Said it’d been a long time since she cooked for her family and she wanted to do it.”
    â€œYou sure she intended for you to ask Pearlie an’ me over too, Smoke?” Cal asked from his bunk.
    Smoke grinned. “When Sally said she wanted to cook for her family, who the heck do you think she meant?”
    Pearlie beamed at him and Cal being included in the term family by Sally, and quickly nodded. “You bet, Smoke. Give us a few minutes to clean up an’ we’ll be right over.”
    Smoke looked back over his shoulder and sniffed loudly through his nose. “Well, don’t take too long. If my nose isn’t wrong, I think her fresh apple pie is just about ready.”
    Pearlie’s eyes opened wide and he whirled around and headed for the pitcher and washbasin in the corner, already rolling his sleeves up. He hadn’t had any of Sally’s wonderful home cooking for a long time and he could hardly wait.
    â€œCourse you’re gonna have to wait until you finish the fried chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans and fresh-baked rolls before she’s gonna let you have any of the pie,” Smoke added from the doorway.
    â€œFried chicken?” Cal asked, licking his lips over the thought.
    â€œAnd mashed potatoes and fresh green beans and oven-baked bread,” Pearlie finished, his eyes dreamy as if he were talking about a lovely woman who’d just asked him out.
    â€œOutta the way, Cal,” Pearlie called as he hurried toward the door, “’less you want’a get runned over.”

S EVEN
    Carl Jacoby carried Sarah’s luggage as she walked down Main Street until they came to a white clapboard building with a sign next to the front door that read ROGERS’ BOARDING HOUSE .
    Sarah knocked on the door, and a rotund woman wearing a white apron sprinkled with flour answered it. She was wiping her hands on a cup towel, and looked angry at being interrupted.
    â€œYes?” she asked, irritation in her voice.
    â€œHello,” Sarah said. “My name is Sarah Johnson. Mrs. Sally Jensen referred me to you. She said you rent rooms to young single ladies.”
    The woman in the doorway broke into a big smile, all traces of irritation vanishing immediately. “Well, howdy, Sarah,” she said, sticking out her hand. “My name is Melissa Rogers, but everyone calls me Mamma. Come on in.”
    Sarah took the hand, which seemed as big as a ham, and shook it as she entered the door.
    â€œYou can just put the luggage down here in the parlor, boy,” Mamma Rogers said to Carl Jacoby, who grimaced at the term “boy” but kept his mouth shut as he unloaded the suitcase and valise.
    Sarah stepped over to him and handed him a bit of change from her purse, as if she were tipping a stranger for carrying her bags for her. With her back to Mamma Rogers, she mouthed the words “I’ll see you later.”
    After Sarah had told Mrs. Rogers the same lie about her reasons for coming to Big Rock as she’d told Sally, Mamma showed her to a room on the second floor overlooking Main Street.
    â€œI’m sorry ‘bout this room, Sarah,” Mrs. Rogers said,