Dreaming Of A Western Christmas. Carol Arens

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       Chapter One

      Fort Hall, 1868

      Smoke? Smoke was the last thing he wanted to see. The very last thing. The puff of black dust rose higher, and Brand’s heart sank. What now? A Sioux raid on a wagon train? A pine tree struck by lightning exploding into flames and starting a fire?

      He reined in the black gelding and sat studying the sky. Hell’s bells, another puff of smoke. Dead west. Not the direction he was riding this morning. Not the direction he wanted on any crisp December morning, not after the telegram about Marcy.

      Back in Oregon his sister had loaded her pockets with rocks and waded into Lake Coulter. What Brand didn’t know was why. Why would his sweet, beautiful little sister take her own life? Maybe he’d never know why. But he sure as hell didn’t want to head west, back to Oregon. Made his gut shrivel just to think about it.

      Another puff of smoke climbed into the cloudless blue sky and he groaned aloud. What the...? Those were smoke signals! And he knew exactly where they were coming from.

      He leaned out of the saddle to spit onto the hard brown earth of eastern Idaho and reined the black around.

      * * *

      Fort Hall looked just as run-down and dingy as it had a year ago. He rode in past the bored-looking sentry and headed straight for the sutler’s squat stucco building. As he tied up his mount, two disheveled cavalry soldiers clumped down the wooden steps. One snapped a salute.

      “Major.”

      Brand gritted his teeth. He’d mustered out a year ago and now served as Colonel Clarke’s scout, but every so often someone forgot he no longer needed to salute him. He tramped up the rickety board steps, his rowels chinging in the hot, still air, and pushed through the open door.

      “Jase?”

      A bearded older man with intelligent blue eyes looked up from the cash register. “’Bout time,” he growled. “I hoped you might see my smoke. Somebody said you’d been spotted hereabouts. Where ya come from?”

      “Oregon. What’s up?”

      Jase grinned, revealing a jaw full of yellow teeth. “Seen my signal, huh? Didn’t think ya’d ferget how we done it in the old days, but ya never know, do ya? You might be gone back east. Or dead. Or—”