Montana Dreaming Read online

  Badger caught a flash of movement through the pines that flanked the creek. Yep, there he was. Snowshoes over his shoulder, striding along in what was left of the rotting snow. Paying careful attention where he put his feet because the going was slick. Not noticing Badger’s truck until he nearly stumbled over it. Badger bumped the horn with the palm of his hand, leaned out the window and spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Hey, mister, wanna ride?”

  Guthrie stopped and stood flat-footed, weaving slightly. He stared at Badger for a long blank moment and then recognition glimmered and he said, “She’s okay. Jessie’s okay. We found her.”

  “I know that, son. She’s bringing the dog to Doc Cooper’s place. She sent me here to pick you up.”

  Guthrie nodded. He looked worse than Jessie had. Hollow-eyed from lack of sleep and reeling with exhaustion. He and Jessie made a pair, that’s for certain. “I better go there, then,” he said. “Her arm needs tending, but she won’t see to herself until she’s seen to Blue. And even then she might just let it go.”

  He explained this very slowly and carefully, as if Badger hadn’t known Jessie Weaver all her life.

  “Son,” Badger said, “you might as well have something to eat first, before you pitch onto your face. You ain’t slept in a couple of days, nor eaten in that long, either, by the looks of you. C’mon. Crawl in the truck. Your sister cooks a mean breakfast, and she’s expectin’ you.”

  Didn’t matter that it was well past noon. Nossir, it didn’t. Badger was right. Steak, eggs, home fries and lots of strong black coffee would go down real fine. Real fine. Guthrie nodded. Rubbed his burning eyes. Rubbed the stubble over his jaw. Hadn’t shaved since leaving Valdez. Must look like a rough-cut lumberjack. Didn’t care one damn bit. Nodded again. “Okay,” he said.

  GUILT. Jessie crept into the sterile, high-tech room in the surgical wing and sat gingerly on the edge of a plastic chair drawn up beside McCutcheon’s hospital bed, completely overwhelmed by guilt. “I’m sorry about your ankle, Mr. McCutcheon,” she said. “This is all my fault, you lying here all stove up and Blue being hurt. It’s because I didn’t bring the mares down earlier. I should’ve known they’d sneak off that way when they saw me corralling the others. I should’ve brought them in first. Without Old Gray to help me…I should’ve known.”

  “You can’t take the credit for breaking my ankle,” McCutcheon said in a gruff voice. “I did that all by myself, with a little help from my snowshoes and a low-flying helicopter that scared the bejesus out of me. And by the way, there’s nothing worse than listening to a Catholic at confession.”

  “I’m not Catholic,” Jessie said, taken aback.

  “No? Well, you should’ve been. Anyhow, no one forced me to tramp off looking for you—I did that voluntarily. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “Mr. McCutcheon…”

  “Caleb. Call me Caleb. Please.”

  Jessie rose to her feet. “I can’t stay. Joe Nash, the helicopter pilot, is waiting for me. Blue’s all right. She’s been tended to and he’s keeping watch on her until I get back. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Suppertime. I can smell the food in the hallways.” She smiled faintly. She had gone past the point of hunger a long, long while ago. She was light-headed, giddy; she felt as if she could float away. The pain in her arm was the only thing that kept her grounded. That, and the enormous guilt that burdened her conscience. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call your wife?”

  “In Paris? No, thank you. My condition is hardly life threatening. I just have to get the ankle fixed. She doesn’t need to be wringing her hands at my bedside. Anyway, by the time she got here, I’d be gone. They’re releasing me as soon as the surgeon can put the bones back together. The doctor I require happens to be missing at the moment, but they’re searching for him now.”

  “I hope they find him soon,” Jessie said. “Mr. McCutcheon…”

  “Caleb.”

  “I just want you to know that I’ll be off the ranch by the date we agreed on, but I may have to come back to look for my mares. It shouldn’t take long for me to find them.”

  McCutcheon propped himself up on an elbow. “Listen to me. I want you to stay on. I want you to hire some good people to help you. I want you to manage that ranch the way you’ve always done. I want you to feel the way you’ve always felt—that it’s home. That it’s your home.”

  “Nossir, I can’t do that. I appreciate the job offer, but I can’t stay.” She turned to go.

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. McCutcheon.”

  “Caleb!” he bellowed in protest.

  She shook her head and left him then; walked down the gleaming corridor, past the big food carts, past the nurses station, toward the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall. She got into an elevator and pushed the button. Down and down. The doors opened. Basement. Second door on the right off the elevator. She tapped. The door swung inward and Joe grinned at her. “Your little dog’s doing just fine. She’s awake and wagging her tail and she just told me she wants to go home. So what do you say?”

  Jessie entered the room, which was really nothing more than a large linen closet into which Blue had been wheeled on a gurney. The doctor who had owed Joe the big favor had come and gone, and had done an admirable job tending the injured dog. Blue was indeed awake, though very groggy. She thumped her tail at the sight of Jessie and tried to lick Jessie’s hand. “Hey, Blue,” Jessie said, her eyes stinging.

  “Thirty stitches, one pint of IV fluids and no broken bones. The doc called it a textbook case of a grizzly bear attack on a little cow dog.”

  “Thank you for arranging this, Joe.”

  “My pleasure. Now, if we can sneak her out of here without getting caught, I’ll fly you back to your ranch.”

  “It’s past five o’clock. You’re going to get in trouble.”

  Joe shrugged. “If I’m not in some kind of trouble, then I figure I’m doing something wrong. But don’t worry. Comstock called my boss and made things right.”

  Jessie didn’t have to think about the offer for long. She was rapidly losing her grip on everything. All she wanted was to get back home. Home? She sighed wearily, pushing away her bitter thoughts. “All right,” she said. “Thank you.”

  GUTHRIE SLOANE HAD SPENT a lot of time at the hospital in the weeks prior to the death of Jessie’s father. He stepped through the hospital doors and all the awful memories of watching that good man die flooded back. He would have turned tail and run, except that he had to find Jess and he figured she’d be here, right here, in the waiting room on the main floor.

  There were lots of people. But this afternoon there was no Jessie Weaver waiting anxiously for his arrival. It had taken him nearly two hours to get here after going to Cooper’s place, then making a bunch of phone calls, trying to figure out where she’d gone. When he learned that McCutcheon had just been admitted to the hospital he’d left a message there for Jess. Had she given up on him and left? Had she taken Blue somewhere to get treatment? Was she getting the cast on her arm seen to? Who would know?

  He approached the admitting desk, where a kindly woman told him that no, no one had left a message for him. Yes, she did have a message for a Jessie Weaver about meeting a Guthrie Sloane for a ride home, but no, a Jessie Weaver had not responded to the pages. And yes, a Caleb McCutcheon had been admitted that afternoon. Was Guthrie a family member?

  Guthrie nodded without hesitating. “My uncle.”

  The woman checked her computer screen. “He’s in room 210. Take the elevator just down the hall…” She leaned over her desk to point.

  “I know where it is,” Guthrie said, and thanked her.

  The surgical wing was quiet. “You say Caleb McCutcheon is your uncle?” The nurse at the desk tipped her head to one side and gazed quizzically up at him. “Why, Guthrie Sloane, I do believe you’re trying to pull the wool over me.”

  Guthr
ie felt his face heat up. “Well, he…”

  “You don’t remember me, do you? I went to school with you! Norma Campbell.”

  “Oh, sure! How are you, Norma?”

  “So what do you want with Caleb McCutcheon? Let me guess. It must have something to do with Jessie Weaver. She left here not twenty minutes ago. It seems that he was her uncle, too! Why, my goodness. Isn’t that a coincidence.”

  “Well, you see…”

  “Yes, I see,” Norma said. “Believe me, I see. I got the whole scoop from Jessie. C’mon. I’ll let him know you’re here. He was asleep a little while ago. I think he was trying to avoid eating his supper and I can’t say as I blame him.”

  “How is he?”

  “Oh, he’ll be fine. His ankle’s pretty badly broken. He broke it in the same place it was broken before by a baseball. My dad was a big White Sox fan and he was watching on TV when it happened! Imagine that. Caleb McCutcheon was the star pitcher for the White Sox, and that busted ankle pretty much ended his career. My dad still swears that the batter hit him on purpose. We’ve scheduled him for surgery first thing in the morning. He’ll be out of here by early afternoon tomorrow once we get everything straightened out.” She poked her head into McCutcheon’s room. “Mr. McCutcheon? You have another visitor, if you feel up to it,” she said cheerfully. “Guthrie Sloane.”

  “Good,” Guthrie heard him say. “Send him in.”

  McCutcheon was sitting up in the hospital bed, looking thoroughly disgruntled, his injured leg immobilized in a traction sling. He grinned up at Guthrie. “This is a hell of a note!” he said. “Come on in. Feel like some supper? I haven’t touched mine and they only just delivered it. It’s some kind of green-and-yellow pasta explosion with a side of canned peas.”

  Guthrie shook his head. “I’ll pass. I just stopped in to check on you.”

  “Yeah. They gave me some pills for the pain. I feel great, but I’d rather be anyplace except here. You’re looking for Jessie, aren’t you?”

  Guthrie felt the heat come into his face. Was he so transparent?

  “She left about half an hour ago. Joe Nash was waiting for her. He arranged medical treatment for her dog—I’m not sure where—but I have a sneaking suspicion that the doctor who was supposed to be fixing my ankle this afternoon was taking care of a cow dog named Blue who’d been clawed up by a grizzly. Anyhow, she said the dog was fine.”

  “That’s good,” Guthrie said, relieved. “Blue’s a great dog and Jessie’s real fond of her.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and studied the toes of his boots.

  “I offered her a job,” McCutcheon said.

  “Sir?” Guthrie glanced up questioningly.

  “Managing the ranch. Told her she could stay right where she was and hire the people she needed to help run it right.”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Guthrie said. “She’s too damn proud.”

  McCutcheon nodded thoughtfully. “I had hoped she’d change her mind and take me up on the offer. She loves the place and she’d take good care of it. All I want is for the ranch to stay the way it is. I’ve got no big plans. I’d like to set up housekeeping in that old cabin, hang some paintings on the walls, roll out that Navajo rug I’ve been holding on to all these years and maybe get myself a bombproof horse to ride. That’s all.” He sighed in frustration. “I never thought buying a piece of land would be such an ordeal, but it seems I’ve also acquired her entire past—generations of family history—and all her dreams for the future, as well. I’ve been lying here thinking that maybe I ought to donate the whole shebang to the Conservancy just so I can quit feeling guilty.”

  Guthrie regarded the older man with a grudging smile. “Or maybe you ought to set up housekeeping in that old cabin by the river. Sounds to me like she sold the place to the right man. She’ll always have her family history and her memories, and if I know Jess, she’ll find new dreams. She’s a survivor.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and extended one toward the man on the bed. “Anyways, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCutcheon,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand. “I’m glad everything’s going to be okay. I’d best be heading back. Maybe I’ll find Jess walking along the highway, carrying that dog in her arms. Knowing Jessie, that wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”

  He was nearly out the door when McCutcheon called his name. He stopped and turned. “What about you? Would you be interested in the job if she doesn’t want it?”

  Guthrie stared. “You mean, running the ranch?”

  “You have your own place, I realize, but I’d pay you a good salary.”

  “Well, I…”

  “And who knows? Maybe you could convince her to hire on and help you out.”

  “Jess?” Guthrie shook his head. “Mister, you got a lot to learn about that girl.”

  WITH THE BELL JETRANGER flying at 132 miles an hour, it took Joe thirty minutes to drop off Comstock at his vehicle on the outskirts of Katy Junction and return Jessie Weaver to the historic Weaver ranch. He carried the groggy dog into the ranch house for her and laid it gently on a blanket behind the woodstove. “There,” he said, straightening. “Home safe.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Joe,” Jessie said, trailing him wearily into the kitchen. “Could I fix you a cup of coffee?”

  Joe glanced around at the sparsely furnished room. “Got to get that chopper back before my luck runs out. Another time, maybe.” He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder. “That bear I saw,” he said. “I bet it’s the same one that’s been pestering this area for the past five years. Biggest damn grizzly I’ve ever seen.”

  “I guess it could be,” Jessie said.

  “Bears that kill livestock can be taken care of,” he suggested diplomatically.

  “That bear was just being a bear. He belongs to this land more than you or I. Anyway, we don’t even know that it killed the horse. That mare could have died of half a hundred other causes. Leave it be, Joe. I’m not for holding a grudge against a grizzly.”

  Joe shrugged. “It’s your horse and your dog.”

  Strange woman, he thought, walking back out to the chopper. Every now and then he’d think about seducing her—not only was she beautiful, but she was an heiress, as well. But he was juggling too many other warm and willing women as it was.

  Then, too, there was always Guthrie Sloane to consider. He’d hate to get into a tangle with him, and while it was rumored that Jessie and Guthrie had parted ways a while back, Guthrie plainly wore his heart on his sleeve. He probably wouldn’t take kindly to anyone who paid too much attention to Jessie Weaver.

  Joe climbed back into the chopper and strapped himself in. She came out onto the porch to wave him off, and he gave her a little salute as he lifted the chopper off the ground. Jessie Weaver might not be his type, but she had grit, and he admired that a great deal, especially in a beautiful woman.

  JESSIE WATCHED the chopper disappear and then went back inside and lit the lamp against the gathering darkness. She set it on the kitchen table and lowered herself slowly into a chair. The room was still warm, thanks to the fire Badger had made in the cookstove. The few handfuls of tinder and kindling had ignited quickly, and she’d put on the coffeepot to heat. Her legs ached from all the walking, her arm throbbed unbearably and she was completely exhausted. But it was enough that the room was warm and her beloved dog was all right.

  For now she just needed to sit here, lean forward, lay her head on her arm, close her eyes… Lord, it felt so good just to close her eyes….

  DARK AGAIN. Guthrie felt as though he’d driven down enough dark highways to last him a lifetime. That final mile of muddy ranch road was the longest and darkest mile of all, and he was relieved to see lamplight glowing through the kitchen window as he pulled to a stop and cut the truck’s ignition. He climbed the porch steps on legs that ached with weariness and knocked on the kitchen door. Knocked again. After the third knock, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. He saw her immediately, asleep at
the kitchen table.

  The stove was going and steam plumed from the coffeepot, but there was no coffee in it yet. The can was on the counter. He picked it up, opened it and shook enough Colombian roast into the coffeepot to make a respectable cowboy brew. Fed a few more sticks into the firebox. Took two mugs out of the cupboard and set them on the table. Bent over Blue and stroked the top of her head very, very gently. “Hey, old girl, how’re you making it?” he said to the dog, who thumped her tail in groggy recognition.

  He sat down across from Jessie at the kitchen table, leaned his weight on his elbows and studied her. In sleep she looked as innocent as a child, and in many ways she still was. How could she possibly look so beautiful after what she’d been through? So angelic, so delicate, so fragile, so vulnerable, when she was without a doubt one of the toughest people on the face of the planet? How would he get over being in love with her? All summer long he’d battled with his feelings and was no closer to a cure. The pain of losing her still twisted him up inside. Just being this close…

  The smell of boiling coffee permeated the room. Her long dark eyelashes fluttered on her cheek. She drew a deep breath and her eyes opened. She stared blankly at the glowing oil lamp. Then she shifted her gaze and spotted him sitting there, watching her. Sleep abruptly abandoned her. She lifted her head up off her arm and regarded him as warily as a startled deer.

  “I went to Doc Cooper’s place to pick you up,” he said. She didn’t reply, just sat up slowly and raised her hand to brush her hair back from her forehead. “When you weren’t there, I drove to the hospital, and when you weren’t there, I came back here to make sure you’d gotten home okay,” Guthrie said. He pushed out of his chair and poured two cups of strong coffee, then placed one in front of her. “I saw McCutcheon at the hospital,” he said, returning to his chair. “They’re operating on his ankle tomorrow morning.” Guthrie raised his cup, blew across the surface of the strong black brew, lowered it again. Too hot yet. “Your cast is falling apart,” he said. “I expect you got it wet last night. Don’t know why they didn’t fix it for you while you were at the hospital. Are they all blind?”