Montana Standoff (24 page)

Molly drew a deep breath. “I've resigned my position with Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein and accepted a job working for Dehaviland as an environmental consultant.”

Dani paused, sandwich halfway to her mouth. “You're kidding, right?”

“It's an unbelievable opportunity for me. I'll be traveling all over the world.”

Dani gave her a quizzical look. “Wow. I guess I was way off base. When you asked me to meet you for lunch, I assumed it was because you were going to tell me that Steven had popped the question.” She laid her sandwich back down on the plate. “I'm usually right on the money with these affairs of the heart. What happened?”

Molly's shoulders rose and fell around a dispirited shrug. “Dehaviland was generous enough to offer Steven a position, too, but he declined, so I guess that's it.”

“That's
it?
Don't give me that, Molly Ferguson. For a woman who's supposed to be all excited about landing the career opportunity of a lifetime, you're looking pretty miserable.”

“I'm not the least bit miserable,” Molly said.

“Right.” Dani sat back in her chair with a frown. “I watched the late news last night and read the paper this morning. Was it what Steven said at the public hearing?”

“He's completely unwilling to accept the fact that the mining industry can be beneficial in any way, shape, or form,” Molly said, wishing she felt as cool and logically detached as she sounded. Wishing she'd never met the man who'd made her heart ache so badly. “He's stub
born and set in his ways, and there's no way we'll ever see eye to eye on any of the important issues.”

“Don't forget that he's had years of negative experiences dealing with those big mining companies,” Dani reminded her. “Look, I'm glad you have such a good rapport with Dehaviland, but you have to admit that there's an excess of shady politics involved in any high-stakes money-making endeavor. Why is Dehaviland being so nice? Maybe he knows that two million dollars is too much money for a little group like Steven's to raise. Maybe he made that offer just to take the heat off Condor International and give the press something warm and fuzzy to write about, instead of illegal road building and rioting truck drivers.”

“Dehaviland is being so nice because he has a daughter that's forcing him to become environmentally responsible, and he has a fishing camp on the right river. I believe he's genuine in what he's trying to do.” Molly pushed her plate away. “But what I believe doesn't matter. It's pointless, don't you see?” she said, her throat squeezing up and her eyes burning. “Steven and I are so different there could never be anything real and lasting between us.”

Dani reached across the table to squeeze her friend's arm. “Of course there could be, Molly. There already is. Go see him. Talk to him. Don't leave him wondering and waiting and hoping. At the very least, have the decency to tell him goodbye.”

At Dani's words, Molly lost the last of her composure. “I can't,” she said, the bitter tears spilling over before she could hide her face in her hands. “I just can't.”

“Then maybe you'd better reconsider taking that job,” Dani said.

 

S
TEVEN SLEPT POORLY
, was drinking coffee long before the first light of dawn paled the sky to the east, and was on the road well before the sun rose over the Beartooth range. It was a Wednesday, a workday, but after the previous night of mayhem and sleeplessness, he deemed a day off was in order. Besides that, he hurt all over, though the worst of the pain was definitely localized in his heart. He headed east, toward the reservation. He brought the rifle with him, and wasn't surprised to find Luther Makes Elk sitting on the wall bench outside his shack, wrapped in his old wool peacoat, bare headed in spite of the cold.

“You should have gone on the vision quest, like I told you,” Luther said as Steven joined him on the bench, balancing the rifle across his knees.

“Maybe, but the meeting last night was important,” Steven said, the vibration of his voice causing an equal vibration of pain in his bruised chest. “Grandfather, I have some information about this rifle of yours.”

“I already told you about the rifle,” Luther said with an impatient wave of one hand. “And so. Maybe today you should climb Brave Heart. Maybe the spirits are ready to talk to you.”

“This weapon could be worth a great deal of money, as much as a million dollars. Maybe even more.”

Luther nodded, gazing out across the distance. “So you should sell it, if money is what you want. But go on your vision quest first.”

“Grandfather, the money from selling this rifle could make you a wealthy man. You could live in a real house with running water and electricity, and have a television,
and someone to cook your meals. You could eat Chinese food every night if you wanted.”

“I gave you that rifle,” Luther said, his ancient eyes softening on the beauty of the morning. “I don't need the white man's money like you do. You can use that old thing to prop your door open, like my father did, or sell it and buy a television, if you want to sit and get fat and lazy, like Charlie Three Dogs did. But go on the vision quest before you do. Are you still wearing the big medicine I gave you?”

Steven nodded. He tugged on the leather thong and showed Luther the new cloth pouch. “The leather pouch broke last night,” he said, “but the medicine inside is still good.”

“Medicine that strong will always be good. One day, I will tell you about those two coins, and that old rifle cartridge.” Luther's eyes narrowed on Steven's. “We should smoke the pipe before you go.” He pushed off the bench and moved slowly, his joints stiff with arthritis, into the shack, reemerging with the pipe and the foil sack of tobacco. “There is one thing I want, if you sell the rifle,” he said, settling back on the bench and unwrapping the pipe. He laid it across his knees and opened the tobacco pouch. “I want a dark suit, like the ones you wear to work.”

Steven studied Luther's face for some sign of humor, but the old man was intent on packing the bowl of the pipe with tobacco. “Grandfather, why would you want a suit?”

“Because,” Luther said. “Your Red Hair will want me to dress fancy for her wedding. She's that way.”

 

S
TEVEN DIDN
'
T WANT TO GO
on a vision quest, but neither did he want to dishonor Luther Makes Elk, and so
he smoked the pipe with the old man and departed Luther's shack still in possession of an extremely valuable rifle that he didn't know what to do with. Luther Makes Elk had to be one of the poorest Indians on the rez, but his poverty was measured by the white man's yardstick, a measure that was wrong in so many ways. Luther had told him to go on a vision quest, and so he would do Luther's bidding. He would climb
Cante Tinza,
Brave Heart Mountain, and wait there until he learned what he needed to learn, and maybe then the path before him would be clear.

From Luther's shack it was an hour's drive to the parking area that led to the trailhead, and from there it was another two hours of steady climbing to reach the summit. He carried Luther's sacred bundle in a borrowed backpack, along with his heavy parka, two liters of water and a bottle of aspirin that was stashed in the Jeep, half of which he had already consumed. He also carried the rifle, because he didn't dare leave it behind, though the weight of the weapon cost him dearly on the climb. His chest burned with every breath he took, until he half expected fire to pour forth, dragon-like, from his flaming lungs. He reached the summit before noon and shrugged off the pack, taking a long appreciative moment to drink in the high beauty that surrounded him. The wind pushed against him and hissed through the stunted growth that clung to crevices in the rock.

It was cold, but there was a sheltered spot in the lee of a granite outcropping where he could spend the night and greet the dawn. He placed his stakes there as best he could in the shallow, flinty soil, the strips of red cloth flagging in the chill wind. He made sure to place them
correctly, in the four directions, to mark the boundaries of his vision quest, but he knew the spirits would not speak to him. These things took time and patience, and he had already lost his focus.

He was thinking not of the sacredness of the place or the spirituality of his purpose for being there, but of the red-haired woman who had taken such a strong hold of his heart. He wondered if she thought of him at all, or if Dehaviland had already swept her into his own powerful, corporate world. Perhaps she was flying back to Texas with him in his Learjet even as he sat on this lonesome mountaintop. Accepting Dehaviland's job offer had been the smart thing for her to do, but a part of him, a big part, hoped she would change her mind and decide to stay here in Montana.

Steven laid the rifle down, burdened by a weariness that had nothing to do with the steep climb. He knew Molly wouldn't stay. She'd leave just to prove to him that Dehaviland was the man who could change the world for the better. She'd leave because she was angry and hurt, thinking he'd made a fool of her at the public meeting. She'd leave because that job offer had been the opportunity of a lifetime, and he'd never see her again.

His desperate love for her had driven him to this mountaintop to kindle a tiny fire, burn the sweetgrass and sage smudge that Luther Makes Elk had given him, and purge the fever of wanting her from his blood. But it was his equally desperate belief in that same love that, two hours later, made him pull up the four stakes with the red strips of cloth flagging in the wind and pack them away. He shouldered his pack, picked up the rifle
and, in the strong golden sunlight of the September afternoon, began his rapid descent of
Cante Tinza.

It was foolish, he knew, but if the rest of his life must be spent apart from that wildly beautiful woman, then he must see her one last time, if only to say goodbye.

M
OLLY LEFT THE DELI
after not eating any of her lunch and pointed her little red Mercedes south, spending the early hours of the afternoon driving across the vast Montana landscape as if gradually emerging from a thick fog and seeing everything clearly for the very first time. She drove straight through Bozeman, past the turnoff to Gallatin Gateway, and the road to Steven's place. She knew he wouldn't be home. He'd be at his office, hard at work trying to raise two million dollars in a mere six months. She turned around and headed back toward Bozeman, intending to stop at his office, but instead took the highway back to Helena. She just couldn't do it. She could say goodbye to all of Montana, but she couldn't bring herself to say goodbye to Steven Young Bear.

Her cell phone rang, and she answered it. “Ferguson.”

“Molly? Dehaviland here. I just this moment arrived in my office and listened to my messages. One of them was from a Sheriff Walker. Have you talked to Young Bear today?”

“No. Why?”

“Ken Manning paid him a visit last night. Apparently Manning's been arrested for attempted murder, in addition to his other charges. Young Bear's okay, but I
thought you'd want to know. I've been trying to reach him at home and at his office, but he's not answering.”

As Dehaviland spoke, Molly felt waves of shocked disbelief tingling through her. Heart hammering, she pulled over to the side of the highway, struggling to catch her breath. “He's okay? Steven's all right? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Sheriff Walker was there when it happened.”

“What did Manning do?”

“Waited in the shrubs beside his house and took a shot at him after he got out of his Jeep, but apparently the bullet hit something Young Bear was wearing around his neck.”

“Oh, dear God,” Molly said, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel. She felt very close to passing out. Her mind raced. She thought of Luther's owl. The stew. The pouch with the powerful medicine. Her dream. Steven…

“He's okay,” Dehaviland repeated emphatically. “The sheriff made sure he was checked out by the EMTs.”

“How did Sheriff Walker know that Manning was going to try to kill Steven?”

“He had a hunch, same as I did. I called the state police last night just after I left you at the airport hotel. Manning was so worked up and on edge when he was at my cabin earlier I thought Young Bear should have police protection until Manning was brought in for questioning. They told me that Manning's vehicle had been spotted headed for Gallatin Gateway and they'd already put two and two together, with a little prompting from Walker. Apparently the sheriff heard the radio transmissions and drove to Young Bear's place on his own.”

Molly closed her eyes and drew several deep breaths. Her stomach was doing flip-flops and a cold sweat filmed her brow. She sat like that long enough for Dehaviland to say, “Molly?”

“Thank you for protecting Steven,” she said, her voice sounding faint and faraway. “And thank you for calling me. I didn't know about any of this. I'm on my way to see him right now, and Mr. Dehaviland, about that job offer… I know I told you last night that I accepted, but—”

“Say no more,” Dehaviland said. “The job will always be here for you, if you want it. And when you see Young Bear, tell him I said he's a lucky man, in more ways than one.”

Molly hardly remembered the drive to Steven's place, only the bitter disappointment that when she arrived at his house, his Jeep wasn't there. She called his office number and got his answering machine. She called his cell phone and got his answering service. She called the Bow and Arrow and got Caleb McCutcheon, who told her in a nonstop enthusiastic diatribe about the estimated value of Luther Makes Elk's rifle, believing that's why she'd called. When she could get a word in she informed McCutcheon about Ken Manning's attempt on Steven's life.

McCutcheon swore softly. “I'll tell Pony. You might want to check out Luther's place. Steven might have gone there to tell him about that rifle. When you catch up with him have him call Pony. She'll be worried sick.”

Molly gassed her car up in Livingston and headed for Luther Makes Elk's shack, hoping that McCutcheon was right and Steven would be there, and if he wasn't, that Luther could tell her where he was.

 

I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON
when Steven returned the rifle to Luther. At first he thought his adopted grandfather was napping on the wall bench outside of his shack, chin tucked to his chest and hat tipped over his eyes, but at his approach the old man made a small gesture with one gnarled hand, and Steven joined him. After a while Luther roused, studied him for a few moments from beneath the hat brim, and said, “I may be near the end of my days, but I still remember how it felt to be young. I remember that kind of pain.”

“I came back to tell you that I'm not selling the rifle,” Steven said. “I'm leaving it here with you, where it belongs.”

“The spirits didn't tell you to do that,” Luther said. “They chased you off the mountain because you went looking for something that wasn't there. Keep the rifle. I gave it to you because you needed it.”

“Grandfather, I've had enough of guns and violence. If you don't want to keep the gun yourself, give it to the tribal elders and let them decide what to do with it. A million dollars could do a lot for the people on the rez. They could set up a scholarship fund and send a lot of kids to college.”

“To learn the white man's ways?”

“To learn how to survive in today's world, and make life better for the rest of the tribe. And I'll buy you a fancy suit like the ones I wear to work, but you won't be wearing it at Red Hair's wedding. She's taken a job in a far place, and chances are I won't be seeing much of her.”

“Your Red Hair's not so far away as you think,” Luther said. “I think maybe you'll see her again, probably soon.”

Steven leaned against Luther's shack. He ached all over, physically and spiritually, and felt beyond all hope. “Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder if all the struggle makes any difference at all.”

“The white man struggles all the time and does little that matters, but what you do makes a difference,” Luther said. After a brief pause he added, “Does Red Hair drive fast?”

“Too fast.”

“And so. I think maybe you'll see her even sooner than I thought.” Luther was squinting at a ribbon of dust being thrown into the golden September air by a rapidly approaching vehicle on the reservation road. It was a small vehicle, sporty, and the sudden thump in Steven's chest made him wince with pain. Was the car truly red, or was that just the reflection of the setting sun? He pushed to his feet, fixing his eyes on the approaching dust cloud and struggling to catch his breath. Dare he hope?

“I remember how it felt to be young,” he heard Luther Makes Elk repeat, “and I think maybe you better get me that fancy suit, pretty quick.”

 

M
OLLY SPOTTED
S
TEVEN
'
S
J
EEP
parked in front of Luther's shack and felt an overwhelming surge of relief. Dry tears stung and her throat squeezed up as she braked hard, parked and got out, her eyes riveted on the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood beside Luther Makes Elk. For the life of her she couldn't move, couldn't speak. Steven walked toward her, halting an arm's reach
away. He studied her in a cautious silence that Molly found unbearable.

“Dehaviland called me this afternoon and told me what happened last night, about what Manning did,” she finally managed to say, the words tumbling out. “I went to your house as soon as I could, and when you weren't there I called your office, and when you weren't there, I came here….” She choked back a strangled sob and raised her hand to her mouth, overwhelmed with emotion.

He took another step, reached out and cupped the side of her face as she spoke. His hand was large and strong. She leaned her cheek against its warmth, closed her eyes briefly, and drew a shuddering breath.

“I'm glad you did,” he said.

She covered his hand with her own, not caring that he felt the trembling in hers. “Are you all right?”

“Manning's bullet hit the pouch Luther gave me. I wasn't hurt, and Manning's in jail where he belongs. He's no threat to you now, and that's all that matters to me.” His thumb caressed her cheek as he spoke, and for the first time she thought she could read the expression in the dark eyes that quietly searched her own.

“Luther said there was strong medicine in that pouch, but how could it have stopped a bullet?”

Steven loosed the thong from his neck and upended the contents of the pouch into his palm. Molly touched the two old coins, warm from the heat of his body, and felt ice water flood through her veins as she laid them one on top of the other in her palm and studied how the bullet had struck them dead center. “What were the odds of Manning's bullet hitting these coins?”

“You'll have to ask Luther that, but I think he'd tell
you they were pretty good.” Steven returned the coins to the pouch and looped the thong around his neck.

“Dehaviland wanted me to tell you that you were a lucky man,” Molly said.

“I know. I owe half that luck to Luther, and the other half to him.”

“I resigned my job with the firm this morning,” she said, aching deep down inside. “I came here to say goodbye.”

“I know,” he repeated.

“Last night, I was so hurt and angry with you that the only thing that mattered to me was proving that you were wrong about Dehaviland and Condor International,” she said.

“I'm sorry that I ever made you feel that way.”

Molly shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Today, all day, I've been wondering what would happen to us if I took this position with Dehaviland. At first I tried to convince myself that I didn't care, that our relationship was over, but then…” Molly stopped before her voice could break.

“Molly…”

“No, wait,” she said, no longer caring that her voice betrayed the depth of her emotions. “Let me finish. Today, after driving around aimlessly for hours, I realized that as good as I felt about Dehaviland's job offer, it couldn't begin to compare with the way you've made me feel in the short time we've known each other. What we've shared together has made me realize that being with you is far more important than accepting the most prestigious position in the most powerful company on the entire planet.”

Steven's eyes held hers. “Dehaviland sees something
in you that I saw from the very beginning. Think about what you could accomplish working for him.”

Molly touched her fingertips to his mouth to hush him. “I already have, and I've made my decision. Besides, we both know that it was
you
Dehaviland was really angling for. You're the one with all the know-how and experience he needs, not some inexperienced attorney fresh out of law school. And…and I was hoping you might want some help raising two million dollars.”

“I've never refused an offer of help.” His hand closed over hers, warm and strong.

“Caleb told me about the rifle. You're already halfway there.”

Steven shook his head. “I'm not selling Luther's rifle. You might think it sounds crazy, but that old gun is part of our history, and if anyone benefits from selling it, the tribe should.”

“I don't think that's crazy at all,” Molly said. “I love you even more for feeling that way. We'll raise that two million before the March deadline.”

“With your help, we'll probably beat Dehaviland's deadline by a good three months.”

“I'll help you in any way I can. I could help you at your office the way I helped Brad. I could learn so much working with you, Steven. Maybe one day I'll really be capable of the kind of position Dehaviland offered me.”

“My law practice isn't exactly lucrative,” he cautioned.

“I don't care.”

“Molly, you're used to so much more than I could ever offer.”

She reached up and shushed him again. “I love you, Steven Young Bear, and I don't ever want to say good
bye to you again. I can only hope you feel the same way about me, but even if you don't…” Steven drew her into his arms and kissed her into silence, kissed her until no doubt remained as to how he felt, kissed her until she was breathless in his arms. Molly knew her feet were on the ground but she felt as if she were floating, ascending to a level of joy that surely no other woman on earth had ever experienced. “So, when do I start?”

“Right after we climb Brave Heart Mountain,” Steven replied. “But in the meantime, there's one other important matter I could use your help with.”

“You name it.”

Steven brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “Luther wanted me to buy him a suit, and I could use some help picking it out.”

Molly glanced over her shoulder to where the old man sat dozing on the wall bench, seemingly oblivious to the moment. “What on earth does he want a suit for?”

“He told me you'd want him to wear one at your wedding.”

Molly wondered if her feet would ever touch ground again as she gazed into the eyes of the man she loved. “He's right,” she said. “Luther would look very handsome in a suit. Come on.” She reached for his hand. “Let's go find out exactly what he wants. And who knows? If we're lucky, maybe he'll tell us how many children we're going to have, and what color their hair will be.”