Montana Standoff Page 6

  Molly paused, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. “You’re not serious.”

  “The militia can get pretty nasty.”

  She lowered the sandwich. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s wrong with logging a burned forest?”

  “It was in a designated wilderness area, and they wanted to build major logging roads to access the standing timber. A lot of the trees weren’t dead, and even if they were, fire is all part of the natural process. Big permanent logging roads aren’t.”

  “So you risked getting shot just to protect a bunch of scorched trees?”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. You have to pick your fights. I thought we might win that one.”

  Molly took a small bite of her sandwich and chewed, frowning. “So what happened?”

  “Money and politics happened. The logging industry won the vote, and the big roads went in. The trees are all gone now, and soil erosion is silting up the spawning grounds in the river. The same old story is being played out in other places, too. It’s hard to stand up to big industry.”

  “People need jobs.”

  “What kind of jobs will the loggers have when the last tree has been cut?”

  Molly saw the rift widening between them again. “You think the mining industry is a greedy monster, don’t you?”

  “I think we need to start treating this planet with greater respect, as if the future mattered.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  He drained the last of his soda and lowered the can. “Is this a loaded question?”

  “Not at all. I’m just curious.”

  “No children, never been married. You?”

  Molly shook her head. “But I understand how people feel about bringing jobs into a community. I understand the importance of putting food on the table when you have children to feed. A mine on Madison Mountain will bring a lot of good paying jobs into that depressed area. It will make life better.”

  “Better for whom? The people who live there now, who love the place just the way it is, or the people who would move there to get the good jobs? And how do you tell the people who live there now that their depressed lives are about to change for the better, when their lives are already just the way they want them to be?” He reached for the picnic basket and peered into it. “Did you bring anything for dessert?”

  Molly sighed. “No, sorry. We can stop for an ice cream on the way back. I know a great place just outside of Helena that has the best double-fudge chocolate-chip ice-cream cones on the planet.”

  STEVEN DROVE DOWN THE HIGHWAY toward Helena wondering how accurate his gas gauge was. He’d never redlined it before. He’d always paid attention to things like how much gas was in his vehicle before taking a long trip, but for some reason this time he’d spaced it out completely. The last thing he needed right now was to run out of fuel.

  “I’m sorry, Steven.” Molly was tucked beneath his sheepskin jacket, gazing out the side window. “It seems like I have to say that an awful lot when I’m around you.”

  “For what?” Steven said. She’d just finished telling him all about her family. Her mother and father. Her brothers. Her aunts and uncles and grandmothers and grandfathers, the place in Scotland where her ancestors were buried near the ruins of a crumbled castle, and the old Roman sword her great-great-grandfather had plowed up in his Irish potato field that her father still had. It was a colorful history, and he couldn’t imagine why she would be apologizing for it.

  “For being so argumentative. I practically forced you to take me to see that mine, show me something relevant to the New Millennium project, tell me important things, teach me what I need to know so I won’t make a fool out of myself again, and all I wanted to do was defend the mining industry because I happen to represent it. I’m sorry.”

  “My intention wasn’t to put you on the spot.”

  “I know that. And I really do want to go back and visit the reservation when we have more time.” She shifted, turning to face him. “I keep thinking about that guy that threatened to shoot you,” she said. “And the fact that Ken Manning might be associated with that group. And the fact that such groups even exist.”

  “I guess everyone needs a hobby,” Steven said. The engine faltered and a fist of anxiety clenched in his stomach. Just one more long uphill, one more mile…

  “I was threatened once, too,” she said as if recalling some long-buried memory. “Not quite as violent as your threat, but it was scary.”

  “Oh? Where?” Foot off the gas pedal now, coasting down the hill…

  “In high school, by three big, tough girls. They cornered me once after freshman gym class in the locker room and said I was a witch, told me they were going to cut all my hair off and light it on fire. My hair was a lot longer back then, and if anything it was even redder than it is now.”

  The Jeep felt like it was hitting invisible barriers as the carburetor began starving for fuel. He could see the gas-station logo up ahead. “What did you do?”

  “I told them if they gave me the scissors I’d cut it myself and they could do whatever they wanted with it. I didn’t care. So they gave me the scissors and I cut my hair really short. Things were progressing nicely but just when I was almost finished, I nicked my hand with the scissors and made it bleed. And although I’m a strong person, I have one awful weakness. I faint at the sight of my own blood. So down I went onto the bathroom floor, out like a light. Caused quite a commotion at school, but those girls never bothered me again.” She paused and frowned out the windshield. “Do you think we’ll make it to the gas station?”

  “I hope so. I don’t feel like pushing.” He lost the power steering when the engine died and had to wrench the wheel hard to guide the Jeep up to the gas pumps. Never again in a million years would he be this lucky. “What did your parents have to say about all that?” he asked as they coasted to a stop.

  Molly smiled. “My mother cried and my father was so mad he called the school and threatened a lawsuit. My brothers made fun of me, like they always did, but in the end, I survived.”

  “You have beautiful hair. Those girls were just jealous.” Steven got out and filled the Jeep’s tank. Then, when they were back on the highway just south of Fort Benton, he said, “Forgive me for asking, but with a weakness like fainting at the sight of your own blood, how did you ever manage to survive growing up in a family with all those brothers?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I was unconscious throughout most of my early childhood years.”

  He laughed. “You’ll have to tell me where this famous ice-cream place of yours is.”

  “It’s just before we reach Helena.” They sat in silence for a while with just the whine of tires on the highway in the background. Molly shifted in her seat, facing him again. “What does your girlfriend think about what you do?”

  Steven switched on the headlights. “No girlfriend. Makes things a lot easier.”

  “I suppose it would, especially if you’re getting death threats from a radical right-wing militia group.”

  “That was over two years ago. What about you?”

  “My death threats were all in high school.”

  “I mean, your boyfriend.”

  She stretched her legs and sat up a little straighter. “No serious boyfriend. I was too busy going to college and law school and passing the bar exams and trying to impress the law firm that finally hired me on. No time for matters of the heart.”

  “Must get kind of lonely from time to time.”

  “Sometimes,” Molly admitted. “But mostly I’ve been too preoccupied to notice.” She shifted in the seat again and he felt her eyes studying him. “Of course, that could all change in a moment’s notice,” she said. “We never know when we’re going to meet that special someone that tips us right over the edge.”

  “I guess not,” Steven said. She was so young, so naive, so painfully innocent. Still believing in that dream, still waiting for true love to tip her over the edge. But no
boyfriend? That surprised him, given her natural beauty and lively personality, though he did understand about the rigors of law school. He’d spent all his time immersed in textbooks, struggling to make passing grades. Dating had been the farthest thing from his mind. He glanced at her briefly before focusing his attention back on the road. Her features were soft in the dusky light, her eyes dark, mysterious hollows in the milky paleness of her face.

  “Whenever I see an old couple strolling along, holding hands, I know that someday I want to have a relationship like that,” she said, looking out the side window. “I want to be holding my husband’s hand when I’m eighty years old, and still thinking of him as my lover and my best friend.” She was quiet for a few moments and then he felt her eyes on him again. “I learned a lot today, Steven,” she said softly. “Thank you for your patience with me.”

  WHEN STEVEN PULLED UP in front of Molly’s apartment building, her heart rate accelerated with anxiety. Their time together was rapidly running out and in spite of her attempts to reach a deeper level of communication with him, he had remained impersonally friendly. She felt vulnerable and foolish for confiding her feelings about true love, yet in spite of Steven’s maddening reticence, she found him very easy to talk to. She only wished he would reveal a little more of himself, and show a lot more interest in her. But unless he suddenly opened up in a big hurry, it seemed their nonexistent relationship was about to come to an abrupt end.

  “Would you like to come in?” she said, a clumsy shyness nearly overwhelming her ability to speak. “I owe you a meal, and I’m a great cook, especially if you like boiled cabbage. You could admire my original Remington print while I prepare you an authentic Irish supper.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to take a rain check,” Steven responded. “It’s getting late, and tomorrow’s a working day for the both of us.” He climbed out of the Jeep, opened her door, and took her hand to help her out, something no man had ever done before and he’d already done twice. He walked her up the flight of stairs and when she fumbled with the key, fingers trembling with nervousness, he took it from her, opened the door, and handed it back without a word.

  She hesitated in the doorway, desperately trying to think of a way to keep this from being a forever goodbye. Was it possible that love at first sight could happen to one person, while the other remained indifferent? Was it possible that Steven didn’t feel any of that special chemistry that flowed between them at all? “Thank you for the ice-cream cone.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Another painful pause. “If I can’t convince you to come inside with promises of boiled cabbage and Remington prints, I guess this is good night, Steven Young Bear.” She hoped on the one hand that she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, and on the other that he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her breathless.

  “Good night, Molly Ferguson,” he said as he turned away.

  “Wait,” she said, taking an involuntary step after him and damning herself even as she did. “Aren’t you going to ask what my thoughts are about New Millennium Mining after today’s field trip?”

  He paused, glancing back. “I know what they are.”

  “But…” She floundered in another wave of shyness. “Aren’t you going to try to change my mind?”

  His eyes were impossible to read. “No,” he said.

  She clutched her keys tightly, sharp metal biting into her palm. “So, that’s it? You drive me to this open pit mine, show me how ugly it is, tell me that it’s killing a lot of people, and then you bring me back here and say good night. No closing arguments?”

  “No closing arguments.”

  She took a step back, thrown completely off balance by his candor. “Well, okay, then, counselor. Thank you again for everything, and good night.”

  “Good night, Molly.”

  She leaned over the stairwell and watched him walk down the stairs. He was a powerful, graceful man. Completely confident and self-possessed. She yearned for him to stop and look up at her with a parting promise that he’d call her again very soon, but he didn’t. “I had a really good time today,” she said, but she spoke the words very softly, breathed them, really, and if he heard them, he made no response.

  BACK IN HIS VEHICLE, pulling away from the curb, Steven grappled with a bewildering tangle of emotions he’d never felt before. What was it about Molly Ferguson that grabbed him and wouldn’t let go? She wasn’t the sort of person that he should be the least bit attracted to. She didn’t share or even understand his feelings about protecting the environment. To him the word gold brought images of cyanide heap-leaching pits and poisoned waterways, whereas Molly heard the word gold and thought jewelry. There was absolutely nothing about her that should appeal to him…and yet he had very nearly taken her up on that offer of an Irish supper.

  Was he that lonely and desperate that he would try to put the moves on a fellow attorney who had asked him as a courtesy to show her what the New Millennium mine on Madison Mountain would look like? She was a young and inexperienced intern just trying to understand the issues, and he had very nearly taken advantage of her. Dangerous stuff, especially when they were both involved in what could become a nasty bit of litigation between mining and environmental concerns. A definite conflict of interest.

  The drive to Bozeman was filled with a silence so oppressive that Steven turned on the radio, and while the nonstop cacophony bombarded him, he wondered what Molly was cooking and which of Remington’s prints she had on her apartment wall, but most of all he kept wondering what it would have been like to kiss her.

  He had wanted to. Back at the picnic spot when he smoothed that stray lock of hair behind her ear, he had wanted to kiss her. Standing outside her apartment door, saying good-night to her just a few moments ago, he had wanted to kiss her. Perhaps now was the time in his life that he needed to go to the mountain on another vision quest. Perhaps now he needed to fast and suffer several long, cold sleepless nights in order to drive the heat of this red-haired white woman from his blood.

  Or maybe all he needed was a little time to regain his equilibrium. If Manning had his way, Molly would be removed from any association with the New Millennium mine project and Steven would never see her again. They certainly didn’t live in the same town or travel in the same social circles. This strange, wild fever she’d ignited in him would slowly subside. All he needed was a little time….

  He reached his house in Gallatin Gateway by nine-thirty. He was hungry and looked in the refrigerator for something quick and easy. There was a fair assortment of things he liked, but his eye was arrested by a small green cabbage in one of the vegetable drawers. He used cabbage frequently as an ingredient in salads and stir-fries, but he’d never regarded it as the main course. He pulled it out and hefted it. Minutes later it was quartered and boiling in a covered pot, and the kitchen filled with the strong, steamy smells of what he assumed was a classic Irish meal.

  He ate at the kitchen table with the ever-present law books laid out around him. He first tried seasoning a cabbage wedge with salt, pepper and butter. Then he retrieved a bottle of French dressing and doused another wedge and tried it. Italian on the third. Plain vinegar on the fourth with a glass of red wine. He ate the entire cabbage.

  Without a doubt, it was the worst meal he’d ever voluntarily consumed.

  He took this as a sign, and instead of taking the memories of a wild redhead to his bed, he took one of his books and studied until well past midnight…but his dreams betrayed him in the early hours of the new day.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MOLLY WAS CALLED on the carpet first thing on Monday morning by Mr. Skelton, one of the firm’s three senior partners. She tried not to be intimidated by the fact that he was wealthy, successful and one of the most eminently respected members in a law firm she had barely managed to hire into. She stood before him in his office, determined to be professional. “As I’ve already explained, Mr. Skelton, it was an extremely unfortunate set of circums
tances,” she said. “I was asked just three hours prior to that public meeting if I could temporarily replace Brad as New Millennium’s legal representative, and I studied the file up until I had to leave for the meeting. Unfortunately, it just so happens that Tom Miller gave me the wrong file.”

  “Ken Manning is demanding a written apology,” Jarrod Skelton said in his stern yet patronizing way, pushing out of his dark green leather chair. “Molly, surely you can understand the position I’m in.” Skelton had gained weight recently, and his vest strained to hold its own against his pampered paunch. He tugged at it self-consciously as he rounded his desk. “Don’t take this personally. You understand that we have to appease him. New Millennium is a subsidiary of Condor International, and they’ve been one of our biggest clients for several years. It’s an extremely important and profitable account for us.”

  “I’m fully aware of that,” Molly said, “but I can’t help but take this personally. This was the first real project I’ve been entrusted with since I was hired, and I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted to prove my worth to you. The car accident was unavoidable, but I can’t explain why Tom would give me the wrong file to study. Sourdough Mine and New Millennium are pretty far apart in the file cabinet. Have you asked him about that?”

  “I just came from his office. He explained that a clerk must have misfiled the papers in the wrong folder, and he never thought to check the file’s contents before giving it to you.”