Jackson Blackhawk Deep Woods Warrior Series 9 by Sam Lee Jackson

Author:Sam Lee Jackson [Jackson, Sam Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-22T22:00:00+00:00

38

I was warm and toasty and sound asleep when Helena Jean climbed out of bed and thrust a couple more logs on the embers. In the dim early morning light coming through the plexiglass window, I peeked at her. She wore cream-colored long johns, from neck to ankle. Oh, dagnabit!

She quietly dressed for the cold. After the pleated pants and heavy parka, she sat on her bed and laced up her boots. Quietly as possible, she filled the camp style coffee pot and set it on the coals to heat. She turned and looked at me. I had my eyes closed and waited until I heard the door latch open before I looked again. She silently went through the door and pulled the latch shut. The prudent thing was to get more rest. I had no idea what the day would have in store for me. I closed my eyes and immediately went back to sleep. When I opened them again it was brighter, but not as bright as mid-morning. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was eight o’clock. Arizona doesn’t do day-light saving time, so at certain times of the year it takes time to brighten up.

By now the coffee was hot and I poured a cup, then pulled on my winter clothes. I stepped outside with the coffee steaming. The compound wasn’t busy. I didn’t see Helena Jean anywhere. Two cookfires were going. The snowstorm had put down about four feet and everything looked clean and bright. To my right was a guy scraping a hide that was pinned to a round frame. He was young and fit. He had stripped out of his heavy coat to keep from sweating. Biceps bulged against his shirt. It seemed all the guys here had biceps.

He looked at me and said, “You’re new here, aren’t you.”

I nodded.

“You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?”

“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” I said.

He nodded. “Nobody does any more,” he said. “I love living up here, out of the clutches of so-called civilization and such, but no one has cigarettes. Guess I’m quitting whether I want to or not.”

I reached a hand across. “I’m Jackson,” I said.

“Jackson what?”

“Just Jackson.”

“Robert Bruce,” the young man said, taking my hand.

“Robert Bruce,” I repeated. “Not Bob or Bobby.”

“Only one person in the world is allowed to call me Bobby and you ain’t her.”

“Fine Scottish name. Robert the Bruce, one time king of Scotland. Direct descendant to Queen Elizabeth.”

“Hey, no kidding. That’s cool.” He started scrapping again. “Your head full of odds and ends like that?”

“Full of useless information. Like you could grow your own tobacco.”

He stopped scraping. “Here?”

“Well, maybe a little down the mountain, but it can be done. You have to be patient though. It can take up to three months for it to catch and mature.”

“Damn,” he said. Then “damn,” again. “I need to figure that out.”

Just then Helena Jean came walking up. “Good morning,” she said to Robert. She looked at me.

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