Книга - Montana Standoff

Montana Standoff
Nadia Nichols


They're on opposite sides of the mountain…Her side: Molly Ferguson believes mining the mountain would be good for the community. She's thrilled that her firm has trusted her to present their client's plan to the citizens of Moose Horn, Montana. She plans to emphasize the much-needed jobs and prosperity the mine will bring to the area.His side: Steven Young Bear wants to save the mountain. He knows enough about Molly's client to be suspicious of the company's intentions. So he agrees to help the people of Moose Horn protect their heritage.Two strong-willed lawyers, two opposing opinions. Heated arguments…and heated feelings. The confrontation is only beginning….









“Steven Young Bear

is strictly off-limits…”


Molly pressed the portable phone to her ear as she spoke. “I don’t know what to do, Dani,” she said.

Her friend’s sigh was loud. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Dani said. “Call Steven up and tell him what’s going on. He’ll understand. He sounds like a really nice guy. Besides, Manning’s project may not take that much time.”

“Oh, Dani, the way I feel now, if it only took a week, that would be seven days too long.”

“Call him.”

“I can’t. If Steven wants to see me again, he’ll call me. I gave him every opening to do so. And if by some miracle he does I’ll tell him what Manning said and see how he reacts.”

But he won’t call, she thought to herself. Why would he? We’re standing on opposite sides of a tall fence that divides two very different worlds.


Dear Reader,

Montana is the kind of place that inspires a passionate following of people who seek to protect and preserve what remains of the wild beauty of the legendary American West. The Yellowstone ecosystem is very much a part of that passion, and Montana Standoff is based on real-life tales of people who have fought, and are fighting still, against the threatening power of Big Money and the government giveaway of our public lands. This story is about ordinary people who are making huge sacrifices and big differences to save the very best of our wild heritage for future generations to enjoy.

Steven Young Bear, the grassroots environmental lawyer who first appeared in Montana Dreaming and then in Buffalo Summer, believes that a strong enough conviction of the heart can not only move mountains, but save them, as well. His fight seems doomed from the outset, going up against a Goliath of an adversary—a huge, powerful multinational mining conglomerate with a lawyer named Molly Ferguson steering the way toward bottom-line corporate profits at the expense of everything Steven is struggling to protect.

If you think that one person can’t change the world, think again. Each and every one of us can make a difference.

Nadia Nichols




Montana Standoff

Nadia Nichols





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to all those ordinary people

who are out there fighting to make life better for our

grandchildren’s grandchildren. Thank you all.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


MOLLY FERGUSON’S AFTERNOON at the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein had been relatively uneventful until Tom Miller tapped on the door to her office, leaned his upper body against the frame and gave her a long and meaningful stare. The absence of his usual arrogant smirk put her immediately on guard.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Tom was an egotistical jerk, and Molly’s refusal to date him had made things awkward around the office. She’d been relieved to hear that Tom had just accepted a position in a California law firm and would be gone by the end of the month. Molly laid aside the brief she’d secretly been studying in the off chance she might one day be called upon to do something remotely important. “Certainly. What’s up?”

He approached her desk with a mysterious expression and a thick file folder in one hand. “We were hoping Brad would be in today, but he just phoned again to tell us he’s sicker than ever, and he only just remembered that there’s a public meeting he was supposed to attend tonight on behalf of one of the mining companies we represent. Brad said it was no big deal, just a courtesy to inform the local citizens about the proposed mine and all the benefits it will bring to their community.” Tom paused for effect and smiled. “Skelton was wondering if you could cover for him.”

Molly’s heart skipped a beat. Was she hearing him right? Was she actually being asked to do something other than file briefs? After eleven tedious months of being nothing more than Brad’s glorified secretary, was she finally going to do some real work? “Of course I’ll go,” she said, hoping she didn’t appear too eager. “What time, and where?”

“Seven in a place called Moose Horn, which, according to the latest census, has a year-round population of twenty-seven adults of voting age.” Tom held up the thick file. “You probably won’t have to say a word, but better study up, just in case. The meeting’s being held at the town office, which is about a two-hour drive south of here. You could hop a commuter flight, but that means you’d probably be stuck in Bozeman for the night.”

“I don’t mind driving, but that won’t give me much time to look over the file,” Molly said with a twinge of anxiety, her eyes measuring the thickness of the folder.

“You’ll do just fine.” Tom smiled his most charming smile. “Brad says you’re up to speed on all the legal issues that might be raised at a gathering like this. You shouldn’t have any problems. Moose Horn’s town office is also the fire and police station, and the town library is housed upstairs. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding it. It’s probably the only building for miles around. Look for a man named Ken Manning. He’s the company geologist and mine rep, and he’ll be giving the presentation and fielding most of the questions. We weren’t able to get hold of him to tell him you were replacing Brad, but like I said, it shouldn’t be any big deal.”

“Fine.” Molly reached for the file. “I’d better get started, then.”

Tom held it beyond her hand. “Sorry about ruining your Friday night. I’m sure you had some plans?”

“John was taking me to hear the Mountain Symphony Quartet at the Pavilion, but I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You’re still seeing that guy? Is it true that he’s been married three times already?”

Molly felt the heat rise into her face. “John’s a very nice man. The file, please?”

“Of course he is,” Tom said. “He’s a very nice man with three divorces under his belt. If you want my opinion, you should be thanking Brad for coming down with the flu and getting you out of that date. And there’s still time for you to discover how good a real man can be. I’ll be around for another week.”

“The file,” Molly repeated, and Tom tossed it on her desk with a smirk.

“You lose,” he said.

Molly frowned at Tom’s departing back. “I don’t think so,” she muttered under her breath, and then began scanning the first page. John wouldn’t be happy. He’d been looking forward to hearing the quartet play. It was almost four o’clock, and he’d no doubt be teaching a music class. She glanced at the phone. No point in putting it off. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate until she made the call. She picked up the receiver and dialed. His secretary answered on the first ring.

“John’s in the middle of a private lesson with a rather important client,” the snooty woman informed her. “Are you quite certain that you wish for me to disturb him?”

“Yes, please,” Molly said with as much haughty loftiness as she could inspire. “It’s actually really important.” She drummed her fingers on her desktop as she waited. And waited…

“Hello?” John’s voice was brusque.

“John, it’s Molly. Listen, something’s come up and I have to attend a town meeting in Moose Horn at seven tonight. I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our dinner, and as for the recital—”

“Moose Horn?”

“Yes. It’s a small town about a hundred miles south of here.”

There was a brief, chilly silence. “You know I’ve been planning this evening for quite some time. The violinist was a student of mine.”

“Yes, I do know, and I’m so sorry, but Brad’s sick and I’ve been asked to cover for him.”

“Tell them you can’t.”

Molly hesitated. “It’s my job, and besides, this is the first real assignment I’ve had. I need to—”

“I see,” he interrupted. “Well, my student is waiting for me.”

She flinched at the sound of the phone slamming down and gingerly replaced her own receiver. This wasn’t her first glimpse of John’s temper, but she decided then and there that it would be her last. She sighed, focused on the first page again and began to read. At five p.m. she replaced the papers neatly into the file folder and tucked it into her briefcase. Time to go. But the brief study she’d given the file hadn’t scratched the surface of the vast scope of this mining project. She only hoped the townsfolk wouldn’t notice her ignorance. The project ought to be a fairly easy sell. After all, how could anyone protest the creation of hundreds of good-paying jobs and a greatly increased tax base?

She took the elevator down to the lobby and exited the building. Her vehicle was parked in a reserved space, one of the few benefits that came with being the newest member of the firm. As always, she admired her sleek red sports car as she walked briskly toward it, leather briefcase in one hand, keys in the other. She deactivated the alarm and the door locks, and moments later was leaving Helena and heading to Moose Horn.

Molly had moved to Montana after she’d graduated Yale law school and passed the bar exams. Her family was from Boston, a mix of Scottish/Irish immigrants that included a few cops, a few priests and an assortment of outlandish and sometimes feuding clan members who kept life interesting even from so far away. She loved them dearly and missed them all very much, but enjoyed living in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. She felt like a pioneer of sorts, being both the first bona fide lawyer as well as the first Ferguson to head West. It gave her a legendary status within her family, one that she tried only halfheartedly to dispel on her trips home at Christmas and in June, for her mother’s birthday.

Helena was an okay town to live in. Tiny, compared to Boston, but it had all the necessary cultural endowments to keep from being considered…well, to keep from being a town like Moose Horn. Where on earth had they ever come up with that name? She sighed and slipped a CD into the player, cranked the volume and let the little red sports car hit cruising speed on Interstate 15.

STEVEN YOUNG BEAR SLIPPED away from the wedding reception at the Bozeman Grand Hotel with a feeling of relief. The party was still cranking along in high gear and no one noticed his early departure, certainly not the bride and groom, who were swaying in each other’s arms on the dance floor. He didn’t like weddings. He didn’t particularly enjoy dressing up, but his sister Pony had asked him to attend. “It would mean a lot to Ernie and Nana if you came.”

And so, he’d attended the wedding of Nana’s sister’s granddaughter Leona to that fancy-talking owner of Jolly John’s car dealership in Livingston. Jolly John Johnson was the grandson of Lane Johnson, the senator who had been instrumental in destroying half of the Crow tribe’s buffalo herd under the pretense of protecting the white man’s cattle from brucellosis. Unlike cattle, the buffalo had never been proven to carry brucellosis, but Johnson had ordered the slaughter just to hurt the tribe, and hurt them he had. Of course, that had been twenty years ago and Jolly John had had nothing to do with it. He’d been seven years old. But Steven remembered it vividly. Remembered the sounds of the rifles, the stink of the carcasses, the dark vultures clouding the skies.

And now Jolly John, grandson of Indian-hater Lane Johnson, had married a full-blooded Crow. Life was full of such ironies.

Steven exited the building, surprised and gratified to see that the sun hadn’t yet set, and slung his tuxedo jacket over his shoulder as he walked to the parking lot and his dark green Wagoneer.

Moments later he was heading for home. His mood was melancholy. He was tired of weddings. There had been too many of late. An old friend earlier that spring. And the fall before that, Jessie and Guthrie’s. He doubted he would ever find the kind of happiness they had found, and the older he got, the less likely it seemed.

Fortunately, Pony had. Strange, how things had worked out for her. Steven would never have imagined his traditionalist sister marrying a white man, yet seeing her with Caleb McCutcheon for the past few months had made him realize how right they were for each other, and in less than a month, they, too, would be married. He was glad for Pony, even if it did mean he’d have to get dressed up in a tuxedo again. She deserved to have the kind of life that Caleb could offer her—the love and the happiness and the freedom from want.

All was truly as it should be. He repeated this mantra silently as he drove, but by the time he reached Gallatin Gateway and turned down the long drive that ended at the little cedar post-and-beam house, he was ready for some time alone to nurse his lonely heart. The last thing he wanted was company, but the first thing he saw as he approached the house was a strange vehicle parked in his drive, and two people, a man and a woman, sitting on his step.

They stood and watched quietly as he got out and shut the Wagoneer’s door. The woman was a girl, really, dressed in blue jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her boyishly short dark hair framing a thin face. The man was older, in his late forties, a lean back-woods type with thick glasses and serviceable work clothes.

“Wow,” the girl said as he approached. “I guess you were at a fancy party.”

“A wedding.” Steven stopped in front of them. “I assume there’s a reason you were sitting on my step. I’m StevenYoung Bear.” He reached out to shake their hands.

“Rob Brown,” the man said. “This is Amy Littlefield. We’re both from Moose Horn. I’m the first selectman there. We’ve been waiting here for three hours, hoping you’d get back in time.”

“In time for what?”

Brown glanced at his watch. “There’s a town meeting being held at seven tonight to discuss the proposed New Millennium mine on Madison Mountain. Are you familiar with that project?”

“Somewhat,” he hedged, guessing what was to come.

“We…that is, the citizens of Moose Horn…had hired Sam Blackmore to represent us at this meeting.”

“He’s a good attorney,” Steven nodded, thinking that they’d come to get his opinion on their choice of representation. “Experienced. He’ll steer you in the right direction.”

“Then, you haven’t heard?”

Steven recognized the undertones of darkness in those four words and felt the weariness within him deepen. The day had been long, and it wasn’t over yet. “I’ve been gone all afternoon.”

Brown shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Sam was killed this morning in a single-car crash. He was coming down the access road on Madison Mountain when he lost control of his vehicle.”

“Sam’s dead?”

Brown nodded. “Was he a good friend of yours?”

“I knew him.” Steven rubbed the back of his neck, stunned. He pictured Sam the way he’d last seen him, not three weeks ago, on the courthouse steps in Bozeman. Balding, overweight, kind brown eyes and a slow-spoken honesty that made people rethink their negative attitudes toward lawyers. They’d shaken hands and spoken briefly, then gone their separate ways. Sam had a wife and three grown children. “What caused the crash? Do the police know?”

“I don’t know. They were still investigating the scene when Amy and I went up on the mountain. We couldn’t get anywhere near the site.”

Steven dropped his hand, stared out across the valley. Wondered if Sam had felt any different when he got out of bed on the morning of his death. “Hard to believe.”

“He was so nice,” the girl said. “He really cared about what was happening. And now…”

“Condor International, the mining company that owns the New Millennium project, is sending their geologist to talk to us about the proposed mine,” Rob Brown explained. “It isn’t really an official meeting. It’s more of a courtesy on the part of the mining company, but we wanted to show them we meant business when we came out opposed to this mine. We thought the best way to do that was to hire a good lawyer. So we collected money, held bake sales and bottle drives, sold raffle tickets for a donated Hereford calf. We raised five hundred dollars and then we contacted Sam, who agreed to represent us.

“We gave him all our information. He went up on the mountain several times himself in the past four weeks to see what was happening. I paid him the retainer just this morning and I also gave him all the water samples we’d taken from the area streams. I believe all of it was with him when he crashed his car.”

“I see.” The great weariness mired Steven’s thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to go inside his peaceful little house and close the door. He wanted to tell these earnest people to go away and leave him alone. He wanted to hide away from the mean, ugly world. Sam Blackmore was dead. He’d died this morning, while Steven was readying himself for Leona’s wedding to a slick car salesman who had those hokey radio commercials….

“So you need someone to speak for you at this meeting that’s being held in…” he glanced at his watch “…a little less than an hour, but you have no money. I suppose you asked around and somehow found out that I was the lowest-paid attorney in the state of Montana, so you staked out my house.”

Brown fidgeted, his face flushing. “No. We called the Beartooth Alliance, the Greater Yellowstone Coalition and the Rocky Mountain Conservancy. They all recommended you highly. They said you were good, that you were a fighter.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I no longer handle active environmental litigation. My fighting days ended two years ago. And besides the fact that I’ve given up litigating, I have little knowledge of this particular proposal. I’m familiar with the mining company you spoke of, but—”

“Isn’t that enough for a start?” Amy asked. “Please, Mr. Young Bear. We’re desperate. I know the town of Moose Horn doesn’t matter to most of the people on this planet, but to us it’s a beautiful place. We live there and we love it, and we don’t want to see it destroyed by some greedy mining conglomerate.”

Steven shook his head. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

“But…”

“You’ll be late for your meeting if you don’t leave right away.”

Brown reached for Amy’s arm but she shrugged away from him, thin face determined, eyes fierce. “My mother left me her diamond engagement ring,” she said. “It’s two carats, pear cut. Blue. A beautiful stone. I’ve had it appraised and—”

“No,” Steven said.

“It’s worth a lot of money. I’ll sell it and you’ll have the fee you need. Name your price. Just please come to the meeting tonight. Please, Mr. Young Bear. This means so much to all of us. If you could only walk on that mountain, you’d understand the awful thing that’s about to happen to the entire area, and what it means—”

“Does it mean more than your mother’s engagement ring?”

“This fight is so much bigger than me,” she said without hesitation. “So much bigger than all of us.”

Steven felt his resolve beginning to crumble. Ever since Mary Pretty Shield’s death, he had deliberately avoided the fights, avoided the risks, avoided the pain of failure. He’d rolled down his shirt sleeves, buttoned his cuffs and toed all the proper political lines. But he would never forget her, or what she stood for. When Amy Littlefield spoke almost the exact same words that Mary had spoken nearly two and a half years ago, it was as if Mary were reaching out from the grave, trying to remind him of what was really important in life.

And there was this truth, too. It was his fate to back the underdogs. All of his life he would walk that path. He’d never be a rich attorney. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

“I’ll go to the meeting, but on one condition,” he relented. “You keep your mother’s engagement ring.”

Steven declined the offer of a lift to and from the meeting with Amy and Rob, preferring the privacy of his own vehicle, but he had rapidly fallen behind their Dodge sedan and given up trying to keep apace. He felt as though the entire world were rushing by him at breakneck speed, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere, everyone late for something…but what? What drove people to live their lives at such a frenzied pace? Where was the enjoyment in that?

He admired the alpenglow that backlit the mountain range to the west, highlighting those last clear streaks of gold and vermilion before dusk coaxed the stars to shine down out of the night sky, and wondered if the wedding reception was over, if Jolly John and Leona had left for the airport and their trip to Hawaii. Seemed like everyone wanted to honeymoon in Hawaii. If he ever got married, he’d opt for Alaska, maybe. He’d like to see the salmon run by the thousands up some wild, unspoiled river, camp in the shadow of Denali, float a raft down the Yukon…

He sighed and glanced at his watch. Ten minutes to seven. He was definitely going to be late.

MOLLY TOOK THE WRONG TURNOFF outside of Bozeman and was nearly in Deer Lodge before she realized her mistake. She pulled over and studied the road map intently, anxiously nibbling on one fingernail.

In less than an hour, she’d be officially launched as a real, practicing attorney, pacing studiously before the residents of Moose Horn, calmly and succinctly explaining the financial benefits and industrial intricacies of a world they knew nothing of. She’d be skillfully guiding them into a brighter, more financially secure future, and who knows? They might even name their new library after her.

Molly shook her head with a laugh. At this rate, she’d be doing well if she just found the town before the meeting was over. She tossed aside the road map and spun her car around, reversing her direction on a dime with a nickel to spare. She shifted, shifted again, and had the speedometer nudging sixty-five in mere seconds. Lovely little car to drive. It almost made this two-hour road trip fun. The window was down and the cool mountain wind whipped through the car. The road was made to order for her Mercedes, all curves and twists. She came around a tight corner and hit the brakes. A dark green Jeep Wagoneer blocked the road in front of her, traveling at a sedate speed that instantly caused her blood pressure to soar. She was already late for the first important assignment she’d ever had with Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, and now she was trapped behind some nursing-home escapee.

Another corner approached, and then a brief straightaway beckoned with no oncoming traffic. She downshifted, accelerated and flew past the sluggish Jeep like it was standing still. On the next brief straightaway she pegged seventy and U2 was blaring from the speakers when something struck her cheek just below her left eye. The car swerved as she hit the brakes, slapping wildly as an insect fell into her lap. Her brief, panicked glance identified the insect as a honeybee even as she felt the car leave the road. The Mercedes slid sideways and nosed over into a ditch, throwing her against the seat belt as the car came to an abrupt stop in a thick cloud of dust.

Molly sat for a moment, dazed, then scrabbled to release her seat belt and jump from the car, brushing her hands over her clothes to make sure the bee was gone. She felt her cheek swelling where the bee had stung her. Tires crunched on gravel and she turned, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes. A vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder. The driver of that irritatingly slow Wagoneer she’d just passed emerged, walked around the front of his vehicle and approached the edge of the ditch.

“Are you all right?”

The man had a deep voice, and he was dressed to kill in a tuxedo. His hair was the glossy black of a raven’s wing and he had calm, dark eyes and a handsome face. He was certainly not ready for a nursing home, in spite of the way he drove. He was decades away from a nursing home. Eons.

Molly raised a hand to her cheek. “I’m fine,” she said as he started down the embankment toward her. “A bee stung me and I went off the road. I’m not sure if I can get my car out,” she said as he drew near. She took a step and stumbled into the side of her car even as he reached a firm hand to steady her. Her knees were wobbly and she was sure he could feel the trembling that was beginning to take over her body.

“Easy. Your car looks okay, but it’ll need to be winched out of this ditch. I could pull it out with my Jeep, but I’d need to pick up a good tow rope. You sure you’re all right?”

“Fine,” she repeated. “But I have to attend a meeting in Moose Horn. I was already late when this happened, and now—” She stopped speaking when her voice broke.

“I’ll give you a lift,” he said. “I’m on my way to the same meeting. We can get your car out of the ditch afterward.”

Molly hesitated. She had never before accepted a ride from a stranger, but she trusted her instincts, and they were telling that this man was safe. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Glad to help. I’m Steven Young Bear, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

“Molly Ferguson,” she said, liking his warm, firm grip. “Thank you again, Mr. Young Bear. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped.”

THE DRIVE TO MOOSE HORN took fifteen minutes. Steven’s passenger sat quietly beside him, reassuring him every time he asked if she was all right. Sporadic conversation centered on getting her car out of the ditch after the meeting. It would be dark. They’d need to either call a tow truck or see if one of the townsfolk had a rope or chain heavy enough to use. “Yes, all right,” she murmured repeatedly in response to his one-sided dialogue, nodding her agreement to his plans. She seemed distracted. He noted that her face was very pale and her hands were trembling in her lap, but attributed that to the adrenaline pumped into her system after skidding off the road. He hoped she wasn’t going into shock. It was a miracle she hadn’t been killed, driving that fast when she left the road. He hoped she’d learned that rural roads and excessive speed were a bad combination.

It would have been impossible to miss the town of Moose Horn, since the road ended at the one and only public building. A cluster of cars and trucks crowded the small gravel lot. Steven parked, got out, went around the vehicle and helped her out. Her hand was ice cold.

“Thank you, Mr. Young Bear,” she said, gripping her briefcase. “I was supposed to meet someone named Ken Manning. He should be here, though I don’t know what he looks like, and I’m not sure he knows I’m coming, so he probably won’t be looking for me….” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the building.

“I know who Ken Manning is,” Steven said, wishing he’d never agreed to come tonight. The very mention of that man’s name set his stomach churning. “I’ll hook you up with him, but first I really think you should get checked out. I’ll ask if there’s an EMT present. Usually in a remote place like this, one or two of the townspeople are trained to handle medical emergencies, and—”

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Young Bear,” she interrupted, her voice strengthening, becoming firm. “I wouldn’t classify a bee sting as a medical emergency. Really, I’m fine.” She lifted her briefcase and took two wobbly steps before coming to an uncertain halt. Steven took her briefcase out of her hand and encircled her waist with his arm. “Thank you,” she said humbly as he guided her into the building.

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, taken aback by the unexpected surge of protectiveness he felt for a woman he’d only known for the past five miles and twenty minutes. By the time they reached the town office, she was walking unassisted. She paused to take her briefcase from him, smooth her clothing and give him a wan but reassuring smile before entering the room.

The whole town was there. There were chairs, but only enough for half. Rob Brown sat up at the front of the room behind a big desk. Next to him sat Ken Manning, the geologist from the mining company and there was an empty seat to his left. All conversation stopped as Steven led Molly past the crowd at the rear, through the maze of occupied seats at the front, and pulled out the empty chair while Manning stared with obvious dismay, both at Molly and Steven.

“Ken Manning, Molly Ferguson,” Steven said when she was seated, giving a brief nod to Manning. “Ms. Ferguson was just involved in an accident. Her car went off the road.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. “Mr. Manning, I’m Molly Ferguson and I’m here on behalf of Brad Little. He was taken ill at the last moment and couldn’t make it. He sends his regrets.”

Manning scowled, obviously taken aback by the young woman’s appearance and her announcement that she was replacing Brad. “I don’t recall Brad ever mentioning you,” he said, staring briefly at her swollen cheek. He glanced up at Steven. “There seem to be a lot of lawyers going off the road all of a sudden. I heard about Sam Blackmore’s accident. I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

“You supposed correctly.” Manning hadn’t changed a bit. Same cold eyes, same tight, thin face, same predatory expression. The memories of their past encounters were still vivid enough to rankle. Steven had a sudden fleeting vision of Mary Pretty Shield’s naive smile, and the pain was like a knife reopening a freshly healed wound. Steven glanced questioningly at Molly, who gave him another reassuring smile. He shrugged and then retreated toward the rear of the room, aware of the curious stares that followed him. It wasn’t every day a full-blooded Crow Indian came to a town meeting dressed in a black tuxedo. It was enough to get a rise out of the sleepiest of attendees, and none of them appeared to be the least bit tired.

There was a big land map pinned to the wall on one side of the room. A blackboard spanned the other and big angry words had been boldly scrawled and underlined in white chalk across the top.

We won’t be shafted by New Millennium Mining!

“Thanks for coming,” someone murmured behind him, and he glanced around to see Amy Littlefield. “You were so late we were afraid you might have had a change of heart.”

“The woman I came in with was just in an automobile accident. Her car went off the road about five miles from here and I was next on the scene. Does Moose Horn have an emergency medical technician?”

Amy shook her head. “Hank Fisher was the best, but he drowned in a boating accident last year. She’ll have to go into Bozeman. Is she seriously hurt?”

Steven glanced to the front. “She says she’s okay. I suppose I could take her after the meeting. What’s happened so far?”

“That guy from the mine, Ken Manning, talked about the project, pointed it out on the map and showed us some pictures of how the inside of a mountain looks and how they go about mining the ore, and then just about everyone here said something against the mine. The woman you came in with—who is she anyway?”

“She’s the temporary legal rep for New Millennium mine.”

“Oh,” Amy said, visibly dismayed. “Well, I guess we should have expected that they’d have their own lawyer.”

Rob Brown stood and adjusted his thick glasses. “All right. I guess we’ve made our position here in Moose Horn pretty clear. We’ve heard what Mr. Manning had to say about how great this project will be for all of us, but we happen to like things the way they are. We don’t want the top of Madison Mountain taken off and carted out of here in big trucks, and we don’t want cyanide leaching into our streams and rivers. We don’t want our town invaded by construction workers and miners, and we intend to fight tooth and nail to keep these things from happening.”

There was resounding applause from the twenty-six other people in the room. When the commotion died, Molly Ferguson spoke quietly to Ken Manning for a moment, and then, at his reluctant nod, she got to her feet. Moving to the wall where the map hung, she stared for a moment, a frown furrowing her brow. At length, she turned to face the population of Moose Horn. She cleared her throat—a small, vulnerable sound in the expectant silence.

“Hello. My name is Molly Ferguson and I’m an attorney with the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, which is representing this mining project,” she began in a surprisingly professional and well-modulated voice that provided stark contrast to her somewhat disheveled appearance. “I apologize for being late, but my car went off the road about five miles from here. I wasn’t here to listen to your comments, but Mr. Manning just attempted to summarize them for me. Your reservations regarding this project are completely understandable. It’s only natural that you wouldn’t want to see the rural character of your town changed or your way of life threatened, but please consider the benefits that would be realized.

“The Sourdough Mining Company stands on firm ground, and has since it was founded in 1877. An estimated one to two hundred million dollars worth of copper and iron ore is hidden within that mountain. This project would employ over one hundred and fifty people for ten to fifteen years,” she continued, apparently not seeing the confused glances being exchanged by members of the town, nor hearing the undercurrent of voices, one of which muttered, right next to Steven, “Sourdough Mining Company? What the hell’s she talking about?” and oblivious to Ken Manning, who had risen half out of his seat behind her wearing an expression that Steven could only describe as ominous.

“These are jobs that would pay employees a decent, livable wage. We’re not talking about criminals and hoodlums invading your town. We’re talking about honest, hardworking men and women, people like yourselves, who certainly deserve the chance to live a good life.

“And let me emphasize that your fears of pollution are completely unfounded. All of the mine’s waste products will be stored in a special reservoir and capped with rock and cement when the project is completed. There will be absolutely no leachate to contaminate your rivers and streams. Engineers have been designing these special reservoirs to protect places like your watershed. It’s state-of-the-art technology and absolutely safe.

“The increased tax base this mine generates would allow you to build your own elementary school, house your library in its own building, update your firehouse and your town hall. Businesses would move in to help support the larger population. A gas station, grocery and hardware stores. Moose Horn might actually become a place on the map.”

“It already is!” a woman called out.

“Well, no offense intended, but I couldn’t find it on mine,” Molly said.

“That’s no surprise,” a man guffawed. “You don’t even know what mining company you’re supposed to be representing!” The citizens of Moose Horn burst into derisive laughter as Molly Ferguson’s face flushed crimson. She turned toward Manning with a stricken expression, but he had slumped back into his seat, dropped his face into his hands and was shaking his head slowly back and forth. Steven moved quickly to the front of the room and the laughter instantly died.

“Good evening,” he said in the resulting hush. “My name is Steven Young Bear, and I’m an environmental attorney. I’d like to say a few things if I may. First and foremost, I was deeply saddened to hear that Sam Blackmore was killed earlier today in an accident on Madison Mountain. I’ve known him for many years, and I was asked to come here this evening to speak on his behalf. There was no time to prepare, so I must ask you to please bear with me.

“Ms. Ferguson has stated that up to one to two hundred million dollars worth of copper and iron ore would be hauled out of here by the Sourdough Mining Company, but unless Ken Manning has changed horses in midstream, I believe we’re talking about a different mine and a different mining company here. Ken is currently the chief geologist for New Millennium Mining Company, a subsidiary of the Texas-based conglomerate, Condor International. If what I’ve read in the newspapers is correct, what they propose to do here is remove the entire top of Madison Mountain and take out between six to eight hundred million dollars in silver and gold.

“I don’t know that much about this particular project, but I’m familiar with some of their other mines, and I don’t doubt those figures. They’ve mined a lot of ore out of a lot of mountains in this country. They’ve left a lot of messes, too. Big, state-of-the-art industrial-mining messes. In Colorado they’ve left a mess with an estimated cleanup cost of two hundred million dollars after taking one hundred and twenty million in metals out of the land, and a cyanide leak in one of their state-of-the-art reservoirs killed every living organism in a seventeen-mile stretch of the Arrowsink River.

“In New Mexico this very same company filed another claim on public lands and took thirty million out in metals, during which time leaking acid wiped out the entire fishery in the Rogue River. The cleanup cost at this abandoned mine is expected to run close to three hundred million dollars and may become a Superfund site, paid for by our federal tax dollars. That’s money out of your pocket and mine.

“Their Soldier Mountain Mine right here in Montana is contaminating the drinking water and causing high cancer rates among the Sioux on the Rocky Ridge Reservation.

“You folks are right to question the wisdom of situating an open pit mine in the middle of a beautiful wilderness area. Madison Mountain deserves better than to be sacrificed to the corporate bank. As a nation we need to speak as one voice to force our government to overhaul the archaic mining laws that allow such plundering of our public lands. We need to start now, today, right here, with twenty-seven voices. It may not seem like much, but it’s a beginning. We have a big job to do,” he concluded, “and we had better get to it.” He returned to the rear of the room to a deafening burst of applause.

Manning rose from his seat as if to offer a rebuttal but the first selectman beat him to the punch. “The next town meeting to continue discussing this proposal is scheduled for September tenth,” Brown said. “I hope that Mr. Manning and his attorney will be able to attend. This is the beginning of a process that is new to all of us, and I hope, too, that Mr. Young Bear can guide us through it. Thank you all for coming and for voicing your opinions.”

The meeting broke up and there was a slow shuffle of people out the door. Steven looked around for Molly, but she was standing beside Ken Manning, her face very still and pale as Manning addressed her. He could only imagine what Manning was saying. Rob Brown and Amy Littlefield approached with a score of other people in tow. “So what do we do now?” Brown asked.

“You can start by putting some emergency zoning into place. New Millennium will be looking to house over three hundred contractors in the immediate area. Zone your town to prohibit temporary cluster housing, rapid growth and sprawl. Zone the hell out of it. You say the water samples were destroyed?”

“They were in Sam Blackmore’s car,” Brown said, “and his car was totaled. It was hauled to a place called Maffick’s Salvage in Jefferson. Maybe the samples survived, but…”

“I’ll check with the local police,” Steven said. “But if they didn’t, you’ll need to take fresh samples from every year-round or intermittent creek or seep that would be impacted by this mine, and the samples need to be kept in a safe place. They’re the most important evidence you’ll ever have against this company. And then you need to start making noise. A lot of noise. The more people who know about this, the better. The more press releases that get into the newspapers, the better. Invite heavy-hitting journalists here to tour the site.

“We need to get the Yellowstone Coalition on the bandwagon, along with the Rocky Mountain Conservancy and the Beartooth Alliance. They can all help your cause. I’ll do what I can to get the ball rolling on that end. Every phone call can make a difference. If you can do a mailing, do it. Start a petition drive. Get signatures, names and addresses of all voters who oppose the mine.”

“We have no money,” Brown stated bluntly. “We all work, but our jobs barely put food on the table.”

“Money is what a campaign like this needs,” Steven said. “You need to find backing. Environmentally friendly businesses, sportsmen and women who hunt and fish this area. Neighboring communities, the tourism industry, the tourists themselves. Anyone who wouldn’t want to see this wilderness destroyed and would kick in dollars to protect it. A big coup would be to get a national group like the Sierra Club or the Nature Conservancy on board. I’ll make some phone calls to them, too.”

“Will you come to the next meeting?” Amy Littlefield asked.

Steven hesitated. He glanced back to Manning, who was stabbing his finger in Molly Ferguson’s face, then looked back at the ring of faces surrounding him. Thought about Mary Pretty Shield and the last time he’d ever seen her, the way she’d smiled over her shoulder at him as she walked out his office door. After her death, he vowed he’d never fight these fights again, yet it was her memory that had brought him to Moose Horn. How could he abandon these people now?

“I’ll be there.” He paused again. “A campaign like this takes over your life,” he cautioned. “Going up against a giant like New Millennium Mining will become the longest, nastiest fight you’ve ever gotten into. The litigation could drag on for years, and I’ll tell you this right now. The odds are against you.”

“We have to try.” Brown looked around at the ring of hopeful faces as they nodded their assent. “We have to.”




CHAPTER TWO


MOLLY STOOD OUTSIDE the door of the town hall building, hugging herself against the cold and shivering in spite of her resolve to appear stoic, as the people filtered slowly from the building. Ken Manning had just blasted her with both barrels, not that she could blame him. She’d failed her first official assignment for the law firm quite miserably. “That was quite a circus act, Ms. Ferguson,” he’d stated bluntly as the meeting adjourned.

“I’m sorry.” It was all she could think to say.

Manning had frowned. “Quite frankly, I’m sorry, too. It’s a disgrace when a multibillion dollar corporation like Condor International is handed legal representation of your caliber, especially from a firm that’s done plenty of profitable business with us in the past and should know better.”

“Mr. Manning, really, I’m so sorry. I was informed about this meeting an hour before I had to drive down here. An associate somehow gave me the wrong file to study, and—”

“So I noticed,” he’d said. “Sourdough Mining?”

“I…I’m not exactly sure where the company is based out of, but they mine copper and iron ore and—”

“I also noticed that you arrived here with the opposition’s attorney. Is that another one of your questionable strategies?”

Molly had struggled to maintain her calm. “As I explained earlier, my car went off the road five miles from Moose Horn. Mr. Young Bear was kind enough to stop and offer me assistance. I accepted his offer of a ride. As a matter of fact my car’s still in the ditch…”

“How very unfortunate for you,” Manning said, as he pulled on his overcoat. “You made a mockery of my project at this meeting, and you can be sure that I’ll be calling Jarrod Skelton first thing Monday morning and letting him know what I thought about your performance.”

Without another word he’d turned and left her standing behind the desk, her left cheek throbbing and her job in very dire straits. Finding the door was a matter of following the cold draft that wafted in from outside. There she stood, shivering, searching her pockets for a tissue and praying that Steven Young Bear hadn’t left yet, because she was pretty sure none of Moose Horn’s decidedly hostile citizens were going to offer her a two-hour courtesy ride to Helena.

“You think you’re going to win, don’t you?” Molly turned to see a gray-haired woman flanked by a male companion. “You think you’re going to tear our beautiful mountain apart.”

Molly flinched at the aggressiveness in the older woman’s voice. “Well, I…”

“Excuse me, please, ma’am.” Steven Young Bear appeared beside her. “This woman was recently involved in a car accident and needs immediate medical attention. I’m sure you’ll allow me to see that she gets it.” His hand on her elbow gently but firmly propelled her past the blur of faces and into the darkness. Moments later they were leaving the town of Moose Horn, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

For a while they drove in silence, and then Molly said a heartfelt and humble, “Thank you for rescuing me once again. That was without a doubt the most humiliating experience of my life. When you walked up and began to speak…” Her voice faltered and she gazed at the tunnel of road illuminated by the Jeep’s headlights. “I wish I could have just disappeared.”

“I’m sorry. My intention wasn’t to make a fool out of you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Molly said. “I did that all by myself. A colleague of mine was supposed to cover this meeting but he got sick at the last minute. Another colleague asked me to go in his place and gave me the wrong file to study. This was my first real assignment, my first chance to prove myself to the firm, and I sure as hell dropped the ball.” Molly drew a deep breath and tried not to let the tears that were stinging in her eyes get the best of her. This wasn’t the end of the world, or the end of her career as a lawyer. She would explain to Skelton what had happened, and he’d understand, give her another chance.

But what if he didn’t?

“I think you should get checked out at the hospital in Bozeman,” Steven said. “Just to make sure you’re all right.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m fine. The only thing that was seriously hurt tonight was my ego.”

He said nothing to this, just drove on, while Molly slipped off her shoes, massaged her aching feet and wondered how she would ever save face after such a disastrous performance. The Jeep slowed and pulled over onto the shoulder, nosing downward just enough to illuminate the ditch. She stared at her car and felt a deepening sense of despair. “You’re lucky you weren’t seriously hurt,” he said, startling her out of her morose reverie. “Well, it’s pitch dark, I don’t have a tow rope, and you shouldn’t be driving even if I could pull your car out of the ditch.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“It’s way past suppertime,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat and worry about your car tomorrow.”

She hesitated. “That sounds nice, Mr. Young Bear, and you’re right, I’m starving. But I’m sure you’ll understand why I really don’t want to be seen in public. If you could just drop me off at the hotel by the airport in Bozeman, I’ll order up room service tonight and have my car towed out of the ditch in the morning.”

“You’re forgetting one small matter,” Steven said. “The bee that stung you left its stinger in your cheek.”

Molly raised her fingertips to touch the spot gingerly. “How do you know?”

“I saw it,” he said, and pulled back out onto the road.

STEVENYOUNG BEAR TOOK HER to his house in Gallatin Gateway. She sat on a sofa in the living room while he mixed her a gin and tonic. He refused all offers of help and so Molly allowed herself to be tended to by a man she hardly knew. She felt so inexplicably comfortable in Steven’s presence that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be curled up here on his sofa. He came out of the kitchen and pressed a cold glass in her hand. She sipped. Beefeater. Schweppes. Big slice of lime. Delicious.

“Thank you,” she said, but he was already gone. She heard noises behind her in the kitchen. Pans rattling. The sudden poofing sound of a gas burner being lit on a cookstove. Not only was he disconcertingly handsome, but she was finding that there was far more to him than met the eye. He came back into the living room and set a plate down on the coffee table. “Appetizers,” he said. She picked up a thin sesame-seed cracker and nibbled. Tried a piece of sharp cheddar. Sat back and closed her eyes, wondering if all this was real or just a dream. Moments later, she heard the snap and crackle of a fire in the fireplace, smelled the fragrant tang of wood smoke and sighed with something very close to contentment. She was far happier curled up on this sofa than she would have been listening to a Stradivarius violin. She heard Steven enter the room and sat up. He was holding a small basin and a pair of tweezers.

“Hold still,” he said, as he set the basin down and bent over her. “I’m going to remove the stinger and dab this poultice of baking soda and water on your cheek. It should help with the swelling.”

She held obediently still for his first aid. “Thank you,” she repeated when he had finished. He didn’t reply, but went back to the kitchen. Soon she could smell intriguing aromas. He returned and laid another log on the fire, then disappeared back into the kitchen and made more domestic noises. She thought it was extraordinary that a man she hardly knew was cooking supper for her, especially under the circumstances. She took another sip of her drink and touched her fingertips to the poultice that Young Bear had applied to her swollen cheek. He was right. It already felt better.

“I hope you like shrimp curry,” Steven said, coming from the kitchen with a plate of food and setting it onto the coffee table in front of her.

“Never had it,” Molly admitted. “I’m a corned-beef-and-cabbage kind of a girl, but it smells wonderful.” She set her drink down, picked up the fork he’d laid beside the plate, and in a matter of minutes had cleaned it of the last grain of rice.

“More?” he said.

She sat back with a flush of embarrassment at how quickly she’d devoured the meal. “No, thank you. That was delicious and once again I can’t thank you enough.” She hesitated. “Forgive me, but I have to ask. Do you always wear a tuxedo when you go to public hearings?”

“Only when they’re important,” he said.

Molly laughed. “I have only one more favor to ask. Could you please call me a taxi to take me into Bozeman?”

He picked up her plate and took it into the kitchen. “You’re welcome to stay in the guest room,” he said over the sound of running water. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Most law offices are closed, but the auto parts store will be open and we can pick up a tow rope. My Jeep should pull your car right out of that ditch.”

Molly sat up, gripping her gin and tonic and wondering if she’d heard him right. “That’s way too much to ask,” she finally managed to say. “I’ll just take a taxi to the airport hotel. You’ve done more than enough as it is.” She rose to bring her glass into the kitchen but he beat her to it, appearing in front of her, taking it out of her hand, and replacing it with a plate.

“Finish off the rest of the curry so I can wash the pan, and I’ll fix you another drink,” he said, as if offering her a fair trade.

Molly sat back down, plate resting on her knees. She should insist that he call her a taxi, but the combined lure of the cheerful fire in the fireplace, the peaceful ambience of the house, and the company of this extraordinary man won out. “Thank you, Mr. Young Bear.”

“Steven,” he corrected. “And you’re welcome.”



STEVEN POURED HIMSELF another cup of coffee, dropped back into his chair and bent over the text he was studying. He took a taste of the strong black brew, read for a little while and then glanced up at the kitchen clock. Nine a.m., and not a peep from the guest room. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or concerned. Perhaps she was a late sleeper, or maybe she was allergic to bee stings and during the night had slipped into an irreversible coma. He walked into the living room, where he paused for a long moment outside the guestroom door, listening. Nothing. He gave a light tap. No response.

“Molly?”

Silence answered him and his anxiety deepened.

The door opened smoothly when he turned the knob. She was lying on her back with the covers drawn up to her chin, fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, and red hair hiding the pillow beneath its fiery cascade. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly. He closed the door, satisfied that she was alive but wondering how to wake her. He had work to do. He wanted to get her situated in her own world again so that he could concentrate on formulating a battle plan to fight this New Millennium Mining proposal.

In the kitchen he lit the propane burner and put the cast-iron pan over it to heat. Within moments, thick slabs of smokehouse bacon were beginning to sizzle. The sweet hickory aroma mingled with the sharp, rich fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee. Surely the smells of breakfast cooking would rouse her from slumber land.

In the meantime, he’d keep studying.



MOLLY WAS IN ATHENS, standing among tall, bone-white pillars. A long gown of the finest silk whispered in the breeze off the Aegean Sea and brushed against her long, slender legs. Her magnificent hair was long and thick, the deepest chestnut, just as she’d always wanted. His was a shade of ebony that shamed the night and his eyes were dark, as they were in life. He lifted a powerful, beautifully muscled arm, beckoning her to the top of a mountain where men swarmed like ants carrying rocks out of a shaft and running to the bottom. Thousands of rocks being carried by thousands of men, all of them running, running….

“They’re stealing our soul,” he said in his deep, masculine voice. “They’re killing our mountain.”

Her mother was calling her to breakfast. “Molly? Time to get up. Rise and shine, lass, you’re burning daylight.”

Molly’s eyes flew open. She stared up at the blur of white ceiling, moved her head toward the rectangle of light in the unfamiliar room. Her momentary disorientation was quickly replaced by the pleasant memories of the night before. She relaxed and stretched beneath the covers. It was so quiet here, and so gloriously peaceful. The smell of bacon tantalized, and her stomach growled in response. She pushed the covers off and sat up, reaching automatically to try and subdue her wild hair. Hopeless.

She stood and went into the bathroom, stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked almost normal. The swelling had gone down overnight, but there was no mistaking where she’d been stung. She sighed with relief and glanced down at the vanity. Steven had left her a brand-new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. She brushed her teeth, washed the baking soda poultice off her cheek, and was drying her face on a hand towel when she heard a knock.

She padded barefoot across the room and opened the door. Nothing. The knock came again and she realized that there was someone at the front door. She waited a moment for Steven to answer it, but apparently the loud spatter of frying bacon had drowned it out. Still holding the hand towel, Molly crossed the room, slid back the dead bolt, and opened the front door. Sunlight spilled over her bare legs but the chill air negated any warmth. She blinked with surprise as a very pretty young woman with eyes and hair as black as Steven’s stared back at her.

“Yes?” Molly said. “Can I help you?”

PONY YOUNG BEAR was struck speechless by the sight of the woman who stood in her brother’s doorway, dressed in what she had to assume was one of Steven’s white shirts…and apparently little else. The young woman’s hair was a shoulder-length flaming mass of curls that took on a life all their own. Her left cheek was red and slightly swollen, and she was holding a hand towel as if she’d just come from the bathroom.

“I… I’m here to see Steven,” Pony managed to say, wondering if the poor woman was a victim of domestic violence. Steven was always rescuing people from less fortunate circumstances.

“Oh.” The woman lifted one hand in a futile attempt to corral her hair. “He’s cooking breakfast. I’ll tell him you’re here. And you are…?”

“His sister.”

“Oh! Well, please, come in….”

“Pony?” She heard Steven’s voice as he appeared in the entryway, holding a spatula. “You’re just in time for breakfast,” he said, his expression betraying nothing. “This is Molly Ferguson. Molly, my sister, Pony.” Pony shook hands with the redhead, whose grip was surprisingly firm.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Molly said. “And now if the two of you will please excuse me…”

Pony noticed how Steven watched the young woman walk across the living room. Then he turned back to her with a faint grin. “Nice legs, huh?” he said.

“Steven, why didn’t you bring her with you to Leona’s wedding?”

“Because I only just met her last night.”

“Oh.” Once again she was struck speechless.

Steven drew her inside and closed the door behind her. “So. What brings you to my humble abode?” he asked as he returned to the kitchen to turn the bacon.

She trailed after him, noticing the drink glasses on the coffee table in the living room. She looked at her brother. “I just wanted to tell you that you looked really handsome in that tuxedo.”

“You told me that yesterday.”

“I wanted to ask you if you could wear the same thing on my wedding day.”

“You already asked me, and I told you I would.”

Pony sighed. “All right. I was worried about you. You were so quiet, and you left the reception so early.”

“We’re talking about Jolly John Johnson’s wedding reception. At least I went, didn’t I? And I’m always quiet, remember?”

“Yes, but yesterday was different.” Pony sat on a stool at the counter and teased her brother with a smile. “Today, though, I can see that you’re doing okay.”

“Yeah. I went to a bar and picked up a woman. I did good, huh?” He grinned over his shoulder. Steven lifted the bacon out of the pan and laid it on a paper towel. “How many eggs do you want?”

“I can’t stay. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

Steven drained the bacon fat from the pan. “You’re not. She got stung in the face by a bee yesterday and drove her car into a ditch. I offered to give her a ride home from the public meeting in Moose Horn which, by the way, we both attended. As it turns out, she’s the New Millennium Mining Company’s legal rep and she lives in Helena. You see? No hanky-panky going on.” He gave her a long significant stare and then repeated, “How many eggs?”

“One. So, she’s the high-priced attorney representing the corporate giant, and no doubt you’re representing the penniless environmentalists.”

“Some things just never change. Over easy, or sunnyside up?”

“Over easy.” Pony rested her elbow on the counter and her chin in the palm of her hand. She gazed speculatively at her brother. “And so. She spent the night?”

“It was late by the time the meeting adjourned. We were both hungry and she needed some first aid. Today we’ll pull her car out of the ditch and she’ll be on her way. Story over.”

Pony smiled as she slid off the stool. “Chapter one is over,” she corrected. “I’ll make the toast.”

MOLLY’S CAR WAS OUT of the ditch by eleven. The day was a beautiful blue-and-gold celebration of September, and though Molly was a city girl, she found the mountainous terrain compelling. She was almost disappointed when Steven’s Jeep pulled the Mercedes onto the roadway so easily, and she almost hoped he’d find something wrong with it, some reason why she couldn’t possibly drive back to Helena.

“She’s as sound as a dollar,” he said, levering himself out from beneath the vehicle where he visually checked the oil pan and the undercarriage. “These German cars are built like tanks.” He stood, dusted off his hands, and gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “You shouldn’t have any trouble driving home.”

Molly rummaged in her purse and peeled out a hundred dollars in an assortment of crumpled bills. “For food, first aid, and lodging,” she said, extending the offering. “I can’t thank you enough for all you did.”

“I don’t want your money,” Steven said.

“Please,” she pleaded. “If you don’t take it, I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling guilty for taking advantage of your incredible kindness.”

“I helped you out because I wanted to,” Steven said. “The only thing you should feel remotely guilty about is trying to sell the citizens of Moose Horn on a project like New Millennium Mining.”

Molly felt the sting of his words and replaced the money in her purse. Her chin lifted. “You see things a little differently than I do, Steven, but there’s nothing wrong with giving fair representation.”

“How long have you been working with mining companies?”

Molly’s chin crept higher and she felt her cheeks flush. “Eleven months.”

“Ah,” he said, as if her answer had effectively ended the conversation. He turned toward his Jeep.

“Listen, I know how you feel about New Millennium,” Molly said, “but technology really has made great strides. Responsible mining companies have learned from past projects how to better protect the environment. Times have changed.”

He glanced back. “Mining companies don’t give a damn about the environment or the resident human population, and they’re powerful enough to break all the laws and get away with it. The profits far outweigh the cost of a good conscience or the fines levied against them.”

“It’s not like that,” Molly protested.

“Isn’t it? You have a lot to learn. Maybe you should take a look at one of Condor International’s mines that’s currently operational to know that some things will never change. The Soldier Mountain uranium mine would be a good example of their ethics.”

“Where’s that?” she said, embarrassed once again by her ignorance.

“Just east of the Rocky Ridge Reservation on federal lands.”

“Show me.”

“It’s a long drive.”

“You said I have a lot to learn. I’d better get started, hadn’t I? When can we go?” Molly knew she was being blatantly forward, but she also knew she wanted to see this man again, very much, and he wasn’t trying to make that happen. No doubt he thought she was as incompetent as the rest of them did. Well, she wasn’t, and somehow she had to create the chance to prove that to him.

“You should see the pit on a weekday, while they’re working it.”

“All right. How about this Wednesday?”

Steven hesitated. “You don’t really need me along. Your credentials will get you through the gate.”

“Yes, that’s true. I could go alone, or I could ask Brad to take me. Brad’s already shown me two sites and both were very interesting. He pointed out what he wanted me to see, told me what he wanted me to know. If you really want me to understand this issue from your point of view, you need to do the same. I really want to see both sides of this coin, Steven. It’s important to me, and it should be equally important to you. Thursday?”

“I don’t know,” he hedged. “I’ll have to see what’s on the books.”

“Tomorrow, then…?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You wouldn’t get the full effect.”

“I have an incredible imagination.”

He hesitated again, obviously reluctant to commit.

“If we leave here by 9:00 a.m., we should be in good shape, time-wise. I’ll pack the lunch, buy the gas, and drive.” She tossed her purse onto the passenger’s seat and climbed into the Mercedes. “I live at 244 Prospect Street, apartment four. Brick building, second-floor walk-up,” she said, turning the key in the ignition. The engine purred smoothly to life. Steven stood watching her, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, wearing the same inscrutable expression. She eased out on the clutch and the Mercedes moved forward. “Thanks again for everything, counselor,” she said, hoping he’d respond with something like, “See you tomorrow.”

But he didn’t. He just stood in silence and watched her drive away.

THAT AFTERNOON, as soon as she arrived back in Helena, Molly arranged to meet her best friend at their favorite café. Though the wait wasn’t long, she’d already shredded four paper cocktail napkins into confetti before she spotted Dani breezing through the door. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said as her friend dropped into a chair across from her.

“No problem at all. I happen to be starving, I didn’t eat breakfast this morning, so this works out well for me. What’s up?” She leaned forward suddenly, eyes widening. “My God, what happened to your face? Did John hit you?”

“If you’re referring to my cheek, it’s just a bee sting. Waiter? Another mai tai cocktail, please.”

“They don’t serve mai tais here,” Dani said with an exasperated shake of her head. “Are you all right? When did you get stung?”

“Yes, I’m fine, and they serve mai tais here now. I just taught the bartender how to make one, and it’s delicious.” Molly glanced around to make sure no one was listening and lowered her voice. “Dani, I need to ask you a big favor.”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “From the telltale glow, I have a feeling this favor has something to do with a man, but if the man is Stradivarius John, the answer is no.”

Molly was startled that her agenda was so obvious. “This isn’t about John.”

“Good. Who, then?”

“I met someone last night, at a public hearing,” Molly said.

Dani shrugged out of her blazer and draped it over the back of her chair. “Was this before or after the bee sting?”

“Almost simultaneously.”

“What’s the favor?”

“Could you please lend me your emerald earrings?”

Dani laughed and looked around for the waiter. “Hurry with that drink.”

“This is serious, Dani. With any luck, I’ll be spending the day with Steven tomorrow and I want to look especially nice, so any advice you have on what I should wear would be most appreciated. Fashion is definitely my failing.”

“Yes, I know that, but you’ve never taken my advice before, especially regarding fashion.”

“I always listen to what you have to say.”

Dani nodded her thanks to the waiter who delivered her drink. “No, you don’t. I advised you not to date John, remember? He was just one month divorced from his third victim when he asked you out.”

“Well, yes, you did warn me,” Molly admitted, beginning on another cocktail napkin, “but he seemed nice, and it’s not like there was anything serious between us. We went out once in a while, that’s all. It was better than eating dinner out alone, and I wasn’t looking for anything more serious than that. At least, not until yesterday.”

“Okay, so John’s history. That’s a relief. You got stung by a bee and met an incredible man at the same moment, and you’re thinking you may have just experienced love at first sight. Am I right?” Dani’s voice was as cynical as her expression.

Molly sat back in her chair, exasperated. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Are you going to tell me the whole story from the beginning?”

Molly did, speaking bluntly and not sparing herself in the least. “So you see,” she concluded, “I had no idea that Steven was the attorney representing the citizens of Moose Horn, and I made a complete idiot of myself in front of him…and in front of everyone else, too, for that matter.”

“Moose Horn?” Dani raised her drink for a taste and grimaced. “Uck. What on earth did you tell the bartender to put in this concoction?”

“Skelton will probably fire me after this.”

“It isn’t your fault that Tom gave you the wrong file. What a rotten thing for him to do! I warned you about that guy, too, remember?” As Dani spoke, she held her glass up to the light to study the contents. “He used to work with the Downing firm, but they dismissed him after several clerks complained of sexual harassment.”

“He’s asked me out a couple of times,” Molly admitted. “I think giving me the wrong file was his way of getting back at me for not saying yes.”

“Slimy creep,” Dani said, trying another sip, making another face. “He’s the one who should be fired.”

“Actually, he’s being transferred, but I really don’t want to talk about Tom.”

“No, of course not. You want to talk about the wonderful man you met last night. Steven. Continue. You made an idiot of yourself, and then what happened?” Dani looked around again and waved to the waiter. “I’ll have my usual,” she called across the small room. “The avocado, vegetable and sprouts wrap, no mayo.” The waiter waved back, acknowledging the order from across the small room.

“He rescued me from the hostile citizens after the meeting and gave me a ride to his place…”

“Hold on. Do I really need to hear how he had his way with you on your first unofficial date?”

“…because my car was stuck in a very deep ditch, which I drove into after being stung by the bee, and it was late, so he thought it would be better to pull it out in the morning, after…”

“After he seduced you,” Dani finished.

“He fixed me a drink, fed me dinner, let me sleep in his guest room, cooked me a delicious breakfast in the morning, and pulled my car out of the ditch. He wouldn’t even take gas money from me. I thought all the knights in shining armor died in King Arthur’s time, but I was so wrong.”

“Hmmmm.” Dani frowned. “This sounds serious. And you’re spending the day with him tomorrow?”

“Well, maybe. It’s not exactly a date. More like a professional courtesy. He might take me to see what an open pit mine looks like.”

“Wow, sounds romantic. When will you know if this professional courtesy is a happening thing?”

“If he hasn’t arrived at my apartment by 9:00 a.m., I guess it isn’t. But I want to look nice just in case he does, especially after how I looked yesterday.”

Dani drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “So let me get this straight. You want to wear my emerald earrings to tour an open pit mine with a man who already sounds like he’s afraid to commit?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so, Molly. ‘Nice’ doesn’t include a pair of two-thousand-dollar gems going on a ‘maybe’ date that’s more like a professional courtesy. Besides, it isn’t a woman’s jewelry that catch a man’s eye.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Molly gestured with frustration. “Look at you. The way you dress, the way you do your hair, the way you walk. Everything about you is naturally perfect. You’re the outdoorsy Julia Ormond of the estate-planning world. You’d look glamorous in a sweatshirt and blue jeans. I’m not that blessed.” She leaned forward intently. “Look, I know I’m acting a little bit out of character, but this is important. I’m twenty-six years old and I’ve never felt this way before. I may never again meet another man that makes me feel this way.”

Dani gave her a bemused look. “Okay. I’ll help you coordinate an appropriate wardrobe for possibly viewing an open pit mine, but we’ll save the emerald earrings for your first definite dinner date. Deal?”

Molly sighed with relief. “Deal.”

STEVEN SAT at the kitchen table gazing down at the open page of an environmental law handbook but he wasn’t concentrating on the text. He was thinking about the handful of people in Moose Horn who had the nerve to stand up to a multinational conglomerate and say “No!” loud and clear, knowing they’d probably be bulldozed into the next century. He was thinking about money. It took lots of money to wage a successful campaign, and money was always hard to come by. He would make a series of calls first thing Monday morning and get things going on the financial front, but it would be tough because the times themselves were tough, and purse strings were drawn pretty tight in an uncertain economy.

He was thinking that in the morning he would have to drive to Helena to pick up Molly and take her to view one of New Millennium’s mines. He turned the page of the textbook and wondered why the idea of spending the day with Molly Ferguson didn’t bother him. It should. It wasn’t as if he’d volunteered his time to further her education. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to go on the trip. He should be thinking about ways to get out of it.

But he wasn’t. He was thinking that it would be good to see her again, though he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why. He shook his head and sighed and tried to focus on the page, but all he was seeing was Molly Ferguson, remembering the bravado that didn’t quite mask her shyness…and the glory of her beautiful red hair.




CHAPTER THREE


BY NINE MINUTES past nine o’clock the following morning, Molly’s morale had hit an all-time low. StevenYoung Bear wasn’t coming. She’d known all along that he wouldn’t. And why should he? He had no obligation whatsoever to help her out any more than he already had. She’d made a fool of herself yesterday, putting him on the spot, pressuring him that way, and now she was paying the price. Not only was she probably going to lose her job because of her poor performance at the Moose Horn town meeting, but she’d messed up any chance she might have had to further her acquaintance with StevenYoung Bear. She’d asked him to do something he obviously hadn’t wanted to do: chaperone her on a field trip to an open pit mine. If she’d asked him to dinner, he might have said yes. It would have been a far more diplomatic move, since, after all, she owed him one. She could have offered him a good, old-fashioned Irish corned-beef-and-cabbage feast.

Instead, she’d behaved just like one of those brassy, forward women her mother so disapproved of. Twenty-six-year-old Molly Ferguson, lonely and desperate, had flung herself at a man who had ever so politely tried to brush her off. She had humiliated herself by allowing her impulsive emotions to get in the way of reason and logic.

She paced the confines of her apartment, thinking about all the awful dates she’d been on since her father had reluctantly allowed her to go out with boys at sixteen. She’d said yes to every invitation to go see a movie, not because she liked the boy but because her father was so overprotective. But the truth was, most of the time she’d secretly wished she were ensconced in her room reading a good book. Then later, when she was all grown up and in college, she’d gladly spent all of her time in the dorm, studying. Studying was a good excuse not to suffer through another boring date. She’d given up on dating until John had pestered her into a routine of having dinner with him on weekends he was free… and even those dates with John sometimes had her thinking about the current book she was reading, or the files she was working on in the office.

Not John’s fault, really. She’d been totally focused on attaining her law degree ever since she could verbalize what she wanted to do with her life, and after getting her degree she’d been totally focused on becoming as competent a lawyer as she could. But moments after meeting Steven Young Bear, her law degree and her career were suddenly no longer enough to sustain her. She’d known Steven for less than a day and already she wanted more out of life than going to work every day, spending long hours at the office, and coming home to an empty apartment.

Much more.

Molly marched to the kitchen, ignoring the packed picnic basket that silently mocked her on the counter. She’d clean the apartment. Lord knows it could use it. She’d start by washing the windows, her most dreaded of all chores. She reached for a roll of paper towels, retrieved the glass cleaner from beneath the kitchen sink, and snapped on a pair of yellow latex gloves. She was halfway through the third window when a firm knock at the door startled her. She paused and smoothed her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Who is it?”

“Steven Young Bear.”

Molly crossed rapidly to the door, snapping the dead bolt back and releasing the security chain. She opened the door wide, still clutching the spray bottle of window cleaner and the crumpled wad of paper towels in her yellow-gloved hands. He was here, standing right in front of her, within arm’s reach. She had to look up to meet his eyes. Handsome and rugged in blue jeans, flannel shirt, sheepskin jacket. She fought to catch her breath and steady her racing heart. Miracle of miracles, Steven Young Bear had actually come.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said in that deep, masculine voice. “I misjudged my driving time.”

“Oh, you’re not late at all.” Flushed with embarrassment, she stripped off the gloves and motioned him in. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes, thanks. We should get on the road right away. It’s a long haul.”

“Of course. I’ll just grab my jacket….” She snatched the picnic basket off the counter, feeling awkward and shy. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Minutes later they were heading north toward Havre. Steven was driving, though she’d tried to persuade him to let her take her car. “No, thanks. Government studies have proved that red sports cars are involved in more accidents than any others,” he said, deadpan, thus ending any further conversation about who would drive. She sat meekly in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, gazing out the window and reminding herself that she was a grown woman, not a giddy high-school girl with a crush on the captain of the football team. Remember, you’re Molly Ferguson, corporate lawyer at least for another day, and this isn’t exactly a date, she told herself firmly.

“You must hike,” Steven said suddenly, and she glanced over at him, startled. “Those hiking boots of yours look like they’ve traveled up and down some pretty serious mountains,” he said, eyes fixed on the road.

“Yes, they sure have.” She peered down at them, flexing her ankles back and forth and silently thanking Dani.

“What’s your favorite climb around here?”

“Actually, I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “What about you?”

“I’ve only climbed one mountain around here. Cante Tinza. Brave Heart Mountain. I went there on a vision quest and stayed up there for three days.”

She shifted in her seat, glad to change the subject. “What’s a vision quest?”

“It’s a ritual period of solitary fasting in a sacred place that puts you alone before the Great Mystery, ready to make contact with the Higher Power and become one with the universe.”

“That sounds like pretty serious stuff. Did you make the proper connections?”

He shook his head. “I got really cold and tired, and on the fourth day it began to rain and sleet, so I walked back down the mountain and went home. I guess the spirits didn’t want to talk to me.”

Molly studied his expression, searching unsuccessfully for the humor she heard in his voice. She looked out the window again and sighed. “I have a confession to make. These are my ex-roommate’s shoes. Dani hikes and climbs all the time, she’s a regular mountain goat, and when I told her we were going to look at a mountain, she took it upon herself to dress me appropriately for the occasion.”

“You look very nice.”

“Dani’s my fashion consultant. She’s descended of old French nobility and knows about such things, but I’m the daughter of an Irish laborer and a Scottish dreamer, neither of whom paid the slightest attention to what was in vogue. They were too busy trying to raise a bunch of wild kids.” She heard his laugh for the very first time. It was a deep, sexy laugh that made her feel more like a giddy high-school girl than a corporate lawyer.

Molly stretched her legs out, flexed her ankles again in their stiff leather hiking boots. She longed to sit closer to him and trace the powerful curve of his shoulder with her fingers, breathe the intoxicatingly masculine scent of him. She’d never felt this way around John, or any other man, for that matter. It was with great effort that she forced herself to look out the windshield and not at Steven. “I think I’d like to climb a mountain some day,” she said, watching the scenery flash by. “Just to see what the view’s like from the top.”

THEY REACHED THE MINE east of the Rocky Ridge Reservation at a little after 1:00 p.m. The name of the mine was displayed on a large sign at the base of the gated road. “Soldier Mountain Mine,” Molly said, drawing her knees up on the Wagoneer’s bench seat. “How do you suppose it came by that name?”

“Supposedly, a cavalry detail on a routine patrol was wiped out near here by the Sioux back in the 1870s. The story goes that a few of them escaped to high ground and made a stand there. Since this was the only high ground around, I guess that explains it.”

“Did any of the soldiers survive?”

“Not according to history.”

“Hmmm. Well, unless the guard opens the gate for us, it looks like we’re in for a long and sneaky walk.”

“There’s no guard at the lower gate,” Steven said, putting the Jeep into park. He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Wait here.”

Steven picked the lock on the gate in minutes, and he closed it behind them after driving the Jeep through. When he climbed back behind the wheel, Molly studied his impassive features. “So, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve, Young Bear? And how did you know there wouldn’t be anyone in that guard house?”

“I’ve been here before on a Sunday. The Sioux on Rocky Ridge wanted to shut this mine down, and I was one of the people who tried to help them do it. It’s polluting their drinking water and making them sick.”

Molly frowned. “But if it’s really doing that, why is it still in operation?”

Steven shifted into low gear. “Because the people drinking the water and getting sick are Indians.” He drove slowly up the gravel road, not wanting to kick up dust and tell the whole world they were there. When he was almost to the very top, he cut the engine and they sat in silence while the ever-present wind rocked the heavy vehicle. They were hidden from the upper guard house and parked on the very edge of what to Molly appeared to be a huge, funnel-shaped crater with roads carved into the sides, spiraling around and down toward an unseen bottom far below. The magnitude of the drop-off gave her a frightening sense of vertigo, even while sitting within the safe confines of the Jeep.

“Ugly, isn’t it,” Steven stated. “This is what’s left of a mountain, the highest point in fifty miles. Now it’s a big poisonous hole in the ground.” A dust devil swept across the bleak landscape in front of them and spiraled out over the pit, losing energy and vanishing in an amorphous puff of reddish soil. “This open pit mine is the same kind of operation your client plans for Madison Mountain.”

Molly had never seen an open pit mine of this magnitude before. She gazed down into the crater. “Perhaps we just have to accept the fact that sometimes what’s necessary to advance civilization isn’t necessarily beautiful,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he mildly agreed. “But the cancer rates on this reservation are thirty times the national average. The drinking water is so bad that mine officials won’t touch it. They buy their water. They have it hauled in by the truckload because they have the money to do that.”

Steven was staring out the windshield with a calm expression on his face. Molly clasped her hands in her lap and struggled for a logical rebuttal, but she had no idea what to say. She felt the rift between their worlds widen until the wind that rocked the Jeep seemed to blow its lonesome chill through her soul. “This mine employs a lot of people from the reservation,” she pointed out. “They don’t have to work here, they choose to. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Sure,” he nodded. “That tells me that they’re desperate enough to poison their grandchildren in order to feed their children.”

“Maybe you’re wrong,” she said. “Maybe it’s not the mine that’s polluting the water….”

He turned his head. His dark eyes were inscrutable. “I could take you to the reservation and introduce you to some families who live there, who drink from the river. We can take samples of the water back and have them analyzed. There are government maps that show the movement of ground and surface water from the mine into the river. I’ll show them to you and you can draw your own conclusions. You can even drink some of the water if you like. It’s free. The tribe doesn’t charge for it.”

Molly felt an uncomfortable warmth rise in her face. She dropped her eyes. “That would be interesting, but we really don’t have the time to go there today.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” Steven said.

“We could plan another visit,” Molly said, her face burning. She sat through an awkward silence, struggling to find a way beyond it. “Look, Steven, I’m fully aware that there’s a lot I don’t know yet, but I’m willing to learn. That’s why I’m here with you today.”

Steven started the Jeep and let the engine idle for a few moments before putting it into gear. “Let’s find a prettier place than this to eat our lunch,” he said.

The place they found wasn’t all that pretty, but it was protected from the chill winds that swept out of the northwest, and the Milk River ran past it. The hollow he chose on the riverbank cupped the afternoon sunlight. She carried the basket of food to the place where he had spread his jacket for her to sit. “You’ll be cold,” she protested.

“Not here. Sit.”

She sat, opened the basket, and began taking out the lunch she had packed for them.

“I hope you like deviled ham.” She held out the sandwich and their hands touched as he took it from her. His fingers were warm and hers tingled where her hand had met his. “I didn’t have much in the cupboard. Chips, pickles, two cans of cola.” She glanced up, unnerved by his closeness and by the steadiness of his gaze. She adjusted her sunglasses. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry.” He sat cross-legged on the dry grass and looked out across the river while he unwrapped his sandwich. Unseen on the highway above them, vehicles hurtled past with high-pitched whines. “We’re sitting in the middle of the Lewis and Clark Trail,” he said.

“Really? Wow.” She looked around, seeing nothing extraordinary. “So how did you happen to get involved in environmental litigation? Did you always want to be an attorney?”

“The only burning ambition I had while growing up was to get off the reservation. As soon as I graduated high school, that’s what I did. I headed west, worked odd jobs when I ran out of money, and ended up pumping gas in a little town north of Seattle. Lots of logging trucks gassed up there. Big trucks carrying big trees, so big that sometimes only one log would fit on the truck. One day after work I caught a ride on a logging truck heading back into the woods. I wanted to see what those trees looked like before they were cut down.”

Molly held her sandwich in her lap. “Were they redwoods?”

Steven nodded. “I stood at the base of one and listened to the roar of the wind blowing through the crown some two hundred feet above me and all of a sudden I saw things differently. I saw the stumps, what was left of the old-growth forest. Trees, forests thousands of years old, wiped out just like that. A little later I ran into a bunch of tree huggers staging a demonstration and volunteered to handcuff myself in a human chain around one of those trees to keep it from being cut. Needless to say, we were all thrown in jail, and while there I decided maybe it was time for me to do something more meaningful with my life than pump gas into logging trucks. So I went back to school, majored in environmental science, went to law school, and here I am.”

“Here you are,” Molly agreed. “Still fighting for the trees and the mountains.” She studied him for a moment. “Tell me about your family.”

“I have three younger brothers who live with their families on the res. Until this past spring, Pony was teaching at a reservation school just outside Fort Smith. Then she took a summer job working for Caleb McCutcheon at his ranch outside of Katy Junction, managing his buffalo herd. It sounds storybook, but the long and short of it is, they fell in love. They’re getting married in another month and starting a special school right on the ranch for troubled kids.”

“I think that’s wonderful. Your sister seems like a very special person. Those kids are lucky to have her. What about your parents?”

“Both dead. My father was a steelworker. He fell off a scaffolding while on a job in New York City. We were still pretty young when it happened. My mother never recovered from his death. She died two years later and we kids were parceled out to relatives. My old aunt Nana took all us boys, and Pony was raised by our grandmother, who taught her the old ways.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Molly said. “I can’t imagine not growing up with mine. In fact, I can’t imagine ever being without them, even when I’m in my nineties.” She paused in the act of peeling the plastic wrap from her sandwich. “Tell me about Ken Manning. Obviously the two of you are acquainted.”

Steven took a bite of his sandwich and watched a flock of birds skim across the surface of the river. He popped the top of his soda can and chased the sandwich down with a big swallow. “I’ve known him for several years now. We’ve crossed swords on more than a few occasions. He’s wealthy and high powered, and has strong connections with the Mountain Militia.”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “Oh? What’s that?”

“An organized citizen’s group that holds regular meetings to discuss things like local politics, government at the federal level, and semiautomatic assault weapons. They have close ties with the National Federal Lands Conference and the Wise Use Movement, both borderline right-wing antienvironmental lobbies funded by oil and mining interests.”

“Well, the odds are I’ll never sit next to him again at any public hearings after my last performance, and anyway, my client’s lifestyle is none of my business. I’m merely representing his company’s interests.” She narrowed her eyes. “Semiautomatic assault weapons? Dare I ask what connection they have to local and federal government?”

He glanced at her long enough for her heart rate to accelerate, then took a bite of the sandwich, chewed with a contemplative expression. “Good sandwich.” Took another bite and washed it down with soda, then set down his soda can and leaned toward her. His strong fingers swept a curl of her hair back behind her left ear. He was so close that she could smell the scent of his skin, and the brush of his fingers against her ear made her catch her breath around a fluttering drum of heartbeats. She suddenly hoped beyond hope that he would kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat back and regarded her with those calm dark eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since that very beautiful curl escaped from your very beautiful braid,” he said.

She laughed shakily, her heart hammering. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get when it comes to controlling my hair.”

“As far as the militia is concerned, guns and politics sort of go together out here. Some folks still regard this as the Wild West. I was threatened once after speaking at a public hearing against the proposed logging of a wilderness area that had been burned in a forest fire. The proposal hinged on an upcoming house vote for managing public lands, so naturally everyone in the environmental camp was fighting to swing the house in favor of protecting the wilderness. I happened to be spearheading the environmentalists. This big guy with buzz-cut hair got right in my face and told me if they couldn’t beat me at the ballot box, they’d beat me with a bullet.”

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.





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