or not we need a new head cook?”
Jacqueline quickly retrieved a dishtowel off the counter and snapped it like a whip, hitting Sammy mid-thigh and causing him to spill a little coffee as he flinched back and yelled “Ow!”
“Tell him he'd be doing me a favor,” she said. “Yes, maybe I'll just take Lucilla and Raquel and we'll open our own fancy dining in town. Then this whole outfit would be a bunch of starvin’ pilgrims!” Lucilla and Raquel laughed hysterically with a few whoops and snorts mixed in.
“Now you better not keep the man waitin’,” Jacqueline declared. “That cuckoo will sure enough be punctual come 6:30 … and so will supper.”
“Okay, I see we're done laughin’ for now.” He refilled his cup and headed for Homer's den.
The door was slightly ajar, and Sammy knocked lightly several times. “Come in,” Homer called. Sammy walked into the den, a cavernous room with a massive stone fireplace that reached through the highest vault of the ceiling and was flanked on both sides by bookcases containing the western classics along with books of all sorts. To his right was an ornate, wooden hand-painted globe of the earth, suspended at axis by a wrought iron frame. It sat next to a grouping of four leather chairs facing each other with a low oak table between them that featured a two-foot tall bronze of a running buffalo pursued by an Indian on horseback with his spear at the ready. Along the log walls were maps and various paintings, mostly western, but with two depicting New York and San Francisco skylines that belied the rest of the room and revealed a small measure of the owner's depth. Log cabinetry on the far wall displayed a gun case with an extensive collection of antique muskets and pistols and knives, and adjacent shelving held a maze of artifacts and keepsakes collected from travels that included five continents. Wall-mounted oil lamps ringed the room, throwing a pale ghostly light upon the colossal eight point bull elk head looming high on the wall behind Homer's desk. A bank of four windows on the far wall faced east. The glass was frosted at the corners and presented a picture of large white flakes blowing by horizontally that contrasted quite visibly against the dark bluish background of night.
“Looks like you got back just in time,” Homer said, motioning for Sammy to sit down. “It's flat gettin’ with it. Another hour and you'd have been hunting cover before you made it back.”
“Yes, sir. I'm glad I pulled in when I did. A night in Pico Caves or Scrub Hollow would have been a miserable prospect.” Sammy sat down opposite Homer, who was repacking a pipe. “Who knows what manner of varmint or beast I'd have been sharin’ either one of those with?”
“Might have been a good deal compared to hunkerin’ down under a tree in the open,” Homer offered as he struck a match and lit his pipe. He took a strong pull and blew out a billowing cloud that mixed with the scent of the burning pine. The aroma was pleasant and reminiscent to Sammy of the many evenings he had spent in the room, studying with Homer.
“It's mid January, and you've said you'll likely make the trip to Denver in late March or early April—just a few months from now.”
“Yes, sir,” Sammy replied.
“Well, Reuben and I have had a number of discussions about this whole circumstance of yours and we're in complete agreement about an offer we'd like to make you … and we feel like the time's right to tell you about it. Give you some time to think about it before you make your journey. Reuben's up in Truchas right now, but he wanted me to go ahead and have this conversation without him. The fact is, Sammy, we both think of you as a son. I know Lundy does, too, for that matter. You're family. You've more than pulled your weight here ever since you were a boy … and we're damn proud of the man you've become.”
Sammy straightened up a little in his chair, feeling his throat constrict slightly and his
Jacqueline quickly retrieved a dishtowel off the counter and snapped it like a whip, hitting Sammy mid-thigh and causing him to spill a little coffee as he flinched back and yelled “Ow!”
“Tell him he'd be doing me a favor,” she said. “Yes, maybe I'll just take Lucilla and Raquel and we'll open our own fancy dining in town. Then this whole outfit would be a bunch of starvin’ pilgrims!” Lucilla and Raquel laughed hysterically with a few whoops and snorts mixed in.
“Now you better not keep the man waitin’,” Jacqueline declared. “That cuckoo will sure enough be punctual come 6:30 … and so will supper.”
“Okay, I see we're done laughin’ for now.” He refilled his cup and headed for Homer's den.
The door was slightly ajar, and Sammy knocked lightly several times. “Come in,” Homer called. Sammy walked into the den, a cavernous room with a massive stone fireplace that reached through the highest vault of the ceiling and was flanked on both sides by bookcases containing the western classics along with books of all sorts. To his right was an ornate, wooden hand-painted globe of the earth, suspended at axis by a wrought iron frame. It sat next to a grouping of four leather chairs facing each other with a low oak table between them that featured a two-foot tall bronze of a running buffalo pursued by an Indian on horseback with his spear at the ready. Along the log walls were maps and various paintings, mostly western, but with two depicting New York and San Francisco skylines that belied the rest of the room and revealed a small measure of the owner's depth. Log cabinetry on the far wall displayed a gun case with an extensive collection of antique muskets and pistols and knives, and adjacent shelving held a maze of artifacts and keepsakes collected from travels that included five continents. Wall-mounted oil lamps ringed the room, throwing a pale ghostly light upon the colossal eight point bull elk head looming high on the wall behind Homer's desk. A bank of four windows on the far wall faced east. The glass was frosted at the corners and presented a picture of large white flakes blowing by horizontally that contrasted quite visibly against the dark bluish background of night.
“Looks like you got back just in time,” Homer said, motioning for Sammy to sit down. “It's flat gettin’ with it. Another hour and you'd have been hunting cover before you made it back.”
“Yes, sir. I'm glad I pulled in when I did. A night in Pico Caves or Scrub Hollow would have been a miserable prospect.” Sammy sat down opposite Homer, who was repacking a pipe. “Who knows what manner of varmint or beast I'd have been sharin’ either one of those with?”
“Might have been a good deal compared to hunkerin’ down under a tree in the open,” Homer offered as he struck a match and lit his pipe. He took a strong pull and blew out a billowing cloud that mixed with the scent of the burning pine. The aroma was pleasant and reminiscent to Sammy of the many evenings he had spent in the room, studying with Homer.
“It's mid January, and you've said you'll likely make the trip to Denver in late March or early April—just a few months from now.”
“Yes, sir,” Sammy replied.
“Well, Reuben and I have had a number of discussions about this whole circumstance of yours and we're in complete agreement about an offer we'd like to make you … and we feel like the time's right to tell you about it. Give you some time to think about it before you make your journey. Reuben's up in Truchas right now, but he wanted me to go ahead and have this conversation without him. The fact is, Sammy, we both think of you as a son. I know Lundy does, too, for that matter. You're family. You've more than pulled your weight here ever since you were a boy … and we're damn proud of the man you've become.”
Sammy straightened up a little in his chair, feeling his throat constrict slightly and his
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