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in response to a red sunrise. And this sunrise certainly qualified as red.
    Hannah got her bowls from the pantry and headed for the garden. She soon abandoned her effort to calculate how much she needed for two batches of tomato juice and simply picked what was there. The ripe tomatoes were going to be wasted if she didn’t.
    Halfway down the row, the tomatoes suddenly ceased. Puzzled, she moved on and found a tomato here and there but not nearly as many as there should be. Her suspicions roused, she found evidence in the moistened ground right there where she stood—bear prints with the distinct claw marks in front and wider indentations on the sides and back.
    A shiver ran up Hannah’s back. The bear had been right here! Its huge furry body had lumbered down this row of tomatoes, sampling them as it went.
    She gathered courage to check further down the row, all the time wondering if the bear was still around. The protection of the log cabin seemed far away. She held panic at bay, though, figuring grizzlies had enough sense not to come out in the daylight.
    The tomatoes reappeared a few plants down, and Hannah finished filling the bowl. She decided she had enough to can and returned to the front yard, where she set up the strainer and began to work.
    It was a messy job. The tomato juice splashed on her apron no matter how carefully she worked. Still, she continued to mash the tomatoes through the strainer, adding salt from memory to the mixture.
    When the jars were filled, she carefully set them in the cooker. She tightened the lid and slid the cooker onto the hot part of the stove. With skepticism she eyed the gauge, which seemed to be working, and then stepped out of the kitchen while the cooker heated up. Glancing in every few minutes, she watched the pressure rise to eleven pounds. She then quickly slid the cooker off the hot area.
    For the next fifteen minutes, she made quick trips back and forth between the kitchen door and the stove, rushing in and out to make sure the pressure stayed at eleven pounds. Finally, with a deep sigh of relief, she moved the cooker completely off the heat. The point of danger over, Hannah stayed in the kitchen. When the pressure had gone down completely, she undid the top with a gentle pop, and a small cloud of steam rose.
    While the cans cooled on the kitchen table, she repeated the process and still had tomatoes left. Hannah wanted to quit now but decided instead to press on. She figured Jake would understand if they had only leftover casserole for supper.
    When he got home, Jake found her happy with her accomplishments. Rows of red tomato juice jars lined the kitchen counter behind her. Every so often a jar lid would pop softly as it sealed. Soon the whole batch would be sealed and ready to store.
    “Our winter stash,” she told Jake as she let her joy wash away her weariness.
    “You must have canned all day,” he said, obviously impressed. “Why didn’t you take a break from yesterday?”
    “I think it might rain tomorrow. I didn’t want to be searching for wet tomatoes in the mud.”
    “It will rain,” Jake said, surprised. “The boss said so. But how did you know?”
    “The sunrise was red.”
    “I guess it was,” he said. “I didn’t notice. We’re not even going to work tomorrow. That’s how certain Mr. Wesley is.”
    “So what will you do tomorrow, then?”
    “Maybe I can talk to the game warden about the bear.”
    “Good news.” Hannah gave him a smile and a quick kiss. “Mr. Brunson stopped by this morning. He was going to talk to the warden today. He took a picture of what the bear did to his hog and wanted to show it to the warden.”
    “That is good news,” Jake said as he sat down at the kitchen table. Knowing he’d want supper soon, she gave him another kiss, pulled the wrapper off the leftover casserole, and then opened the oven door.
    “Hope you’re happy with leftovers.”
    “That’s fine,” he said, grinning. “A man could almost live on