Montana Standoff (20 page)

For a long moment everyone sat in stunned silence. “Two
million
dollars?” Amy said, the first to recover. “Oh, sure, I'll just write him a check. Not a problem.”

“That's what they've invested in the mine to date,” Steven said. “It's not an unreasonable amount, and it's
not an impossible task to raise that much money in six months, but it will take a helluva lot of campaigning. I haven't yet spoken to Dehaviland personally, and I wasn't going to tell you about this offer until I'd seen something in writing, but it's doubtful I'll be able to get in contact with him before the public hearing tomorrow night, and I think this matter might be brought up in front of the media. I didn't want you to be caught off guard.”

Another thoughtful silence fell upon the room as everyone digested this information, and then Amy said, “What do you think we should do?”

“Run with it, if the offer pans out,” he said. “It's the best option we could ever hope for. If we hold our ground and fight the permitting through environmental litigation, we might slow the process down a lot, but we'll probably lose in the end. Tomorrow night we'll have more media in one place than we probably ever will again. If Dehaviland's attorneys bring up the buyout option, we can announce that we're starting a campaign to raise the funds, emphasizing that any donations will be tax deductible, and that when purchased, the mining claims would become the property of the Madison Mountain Land Trust. I'll start setting up that trust tomorrow morning, first thing.

“And here's something else to think about. Because those claims are already patented, that means the property will become a private inholding in the national forest. It will encompass over five hundred acres, and a board of directors will need to be established to oversee the trust and to decide how to manage the land.”

“Manage it? What do you mean? The whole purpose
of our protesting the New Millennium mine was because we wanted to keep the mountain wild,” Amy said.

“I realize that, but a land trust needs a board of directors and some kind of plan. Let's wait and see what happens at the meeting tomorrow night before we talk about this any further.”

Steven drove home faster than was prudent, hoping beyond hope that Molly would have come back and been waiting for him, but the house was dark, his driveway empty, and a bleak, hollow emptiness filled him with her absence and became the full measure of his failure.

M
OLLY
'
S ANSWERING MACHINE
was flashing when she arrived home, and while she heated up a can of chicken-noodle soup she played it back. The first message was delivered in a stern, maternal voice: “This is your mother, who loves you. Call me. Your father and I are worried about you.” The second was along the same lines. “Hey, it's Dani. It's 7:00 p.m. Monday, where are you? I tried you yesterday, too. Have you eloped with your handsome counselor? Please call.” Molly laughed bitterly at the idea of she and Steven eloping. The third message was from Stradivarius John, professor of the violin. “Molly, I've been thinking about you. How about dinner this Saturday?” Fourth message: “Molly? Brad. Something's come up, something urgent. Call me as soon as possible, no matter how late. You have my cell-phone number.”

Molly carried the saucepan of hot soup to the sofa and set it on the coffee table. She mixed herself a drink and sat down. She felt completely numb. She should call her mother. She should touch base with Dani. She should find out the urgent stuff from Brad. Later. She'd call them all after she'd eaten. She took a sip of her drink and let her head tip back. What a long day this had
been, and from the sound of Brad's voice it wasn't over yet. What could have come up? Could it have anything to do with the public meeting tomorrow night?

Her thoughts drifted back to Steven, in spite of her resolve never to think about him again. Damn the man for being such a cynic. He was stubborn-headed and unswervable and he saw things one way: his own. She glanced at the phone. In spite of her anger with his obstinance, she wanted to call him so badly that her hand began to tremble. She lowered the glass and moaned aloud, “What would I say to him?”

A heavy knock at her door startled her. She wasn't feeling the least bit sociable, but she pushed wearily off the sofa and, carrying her drink, walked to the door and slid back the dead bolt. It never occurred to her to ask who it was, but as she swung the door inward a greater force pushed it hard against her and she staggered back with a cry of alarm, followed by a gasp of surprise. Ken Manning stood in her doorway. He appeared uncharacteristically disheveled and his eyes had a narrow glitter that put her instantly on guard. “Mr. Manning,” she said, gathering her startled wits. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” he replied, closing the door deliberately behind him, a sinister move that immediately caused Molly to retreat several steps but not before she caught a strong whiff of alcohol.

“It's late and I'm very tired. Can't this wait until morning?” Molly's initial surprise was rapidly being replaced by feelings of vulnerability and fear. Manning's eyes were hostile and his body language menacing.

“No, it can't,” he said. He was standing in the same spot but the impression he gave was that he was advanc
ing somehow, and Molly took another step back. Her level of anxiety had risen to the point where she no longer felt the pain in her muscles from that long and torturous horseback ride up Montana Mountain, but she tried to maintain a calm demeanor.

“Mr. Manning, I think you should leave immediately. We'll discuss this some other time.”

“I've worked for Condor International for fifteen years,” he said. “Fifteen years of loyal service, and I'll be damned if I let some two-bit woman lawyer ruin my reputation and cost me my job.” He took just one step as he spoke these words, but it was enough.

“Get out,” Molly said. She lifted her drink as if to fling it at him and half of it spilled down her arm, as icy as the blood that ran through her veins. “I'm warning you. Leave now, or you'll force me to call the police.”

“You're no threat to me,” he continued, taking another menacing step. “No more of a threat than that other flame of Young Bear's. I have connections in high places….”

Molly flung the glass at him but he dodged it easily, and, if anything, her action made things worse. He lunged toward her and she jumped back, bumping into the coffee table. In a flash she whirled, picked up the saucepan of hot soup, and flung it in his face. This time she didn't miss, and while he wiped at his eyes with a bellow of pain and outrage, she flew past him, wrenched open the door and dashed into the hallway. She heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and came face-to-face with a wide-eyed Dani at the top of the stairwell.

“Hurry!” she said, grabbing her friend's hand and jerking her around to follow. “He's right behind me!”

Dani didn't hesitate and when they reached the entry door to the apartments they were both running. They ran straight to Dani's car and jumped in. Dani wasted no time pulling away from the curb.

“Saints preserve me,” Molly said, slumping back in her seat and raising her hands to the sides of her face. “I can't believe what just happened.”

“Are you all right? What
did
just happen?
Who
was right behind us? And where on earth have you been for the past two days?”

“Ken Manning just showed up at my apartment. He'd been drinking, and he was behaving in a threatening way, and…” Molly wrapped her arms around herself to try and stop her teeth from chattering as the adrenaline worked through her. “And so I threw my drink at him, followed it with a pot of hot soup, and that's when you came on the scene.”

Dani was visibly shocked. “My God, Molly. Why was he there? What did he say? Do you think he was trying to
rape
you?”

Molly shook her head emphatically. “No. He was very angry. He wanted to hurt me, and I think it has something to do with his job. Could I borrow your phone?”

Dani reached in her coat pocket and handed it to her. Molly was so rattled it took her several minutes to remember Brad's cell-phone number. He answered on the second ring. “Molly,” he said when he recognized her voice. “Listen, Manning was fired today by Dehaviland himself, and I think Skelton might have inadvertently implied that you were behind it. I just wanted to warn you because Manning was pretty damn ugly when he
showed up at the office this afternoon. He made quite a scene.”

“I can believe that,” Molly replied. “He just made quite a scene at my apartment.”

“He went to your place? Are you all right?” Dweeb that he was, Brad did sound genuinely concerned.

“Yes. He was drunk and threatening, and when he wouldn't leave, I left at a dead run. Could you do me a favor? Call the police and have them check my place out?”

“I'll do that right now. Where are you?”

“With a friend who made a very timely appearance. I'm definitely not going back there tonight. I'll see you at the office tomorrow.”

Molly folded the little phone up and handed it back to Dani. “Thanks.” She slumped back in the seat and drew a deep, albeit shaky breath. “Look at me. I'm barefoot, half-dressed, and didn't even get to eat my supper.”

“Yeah,” Dani said. “That Ken Manning is definitely lacking in manners.”

 

D
ANI TOOK HER TO THE HOUSE
she and her boyfriend shared five miles outside of town. It was a rambling old place with a big, friendly kitchen and two golden retrievers whose quiet, devoted affections were just what Molly needed. That, and a strong drink, and a bowl of vegetarian chili heated in the microwave. Dani's boyfriend, Jack Richards, was out of town. He was an airline pilot and was gone most of the time, or so it seemed to Molly, but he and Dani had been together for two years and seemed to have a good relationship.

While Molly ate, she filled Dani in on the past weekend, the party at the Bow and Arrow and her horseback
ride, which already seemed like another lifetime ago. Then she told her about her extraordinary lunch with Gregory Dehaviland, her subsequent reinstatement to active duty at Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, and her falling out with Steven. “And you know all about Ken Manning and the pot of hot noodle soup,” she concluded, finishing her drink.

“Wow,” Dani said. “No wonder you weren't answering your phone. You're a busy lady. So now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you and Steven.”

“Weren't you listening? It's over between us.”

Dani fixed her with a long-suffering expression. “Right,” she said, leaning forward to retrieve Molly's empty glass. “I'm going to fix you another drink, you're going to sit here and relax with it, and you're also going to promise me before you creep off to bed that you'll stay right here until this whole mess blows over. I don't want you living all alone in that apartment. My God, Molly, drunk or no, there's no excuse for Manning's behavior. You could have been hurt. You're staying here with us, no arguments.”

 

S
TEVEN
dialed Molly's home phone at six Tuesday morning. He knew the hour was well beyond the boundaries of proper etiquette, but each minute that passed only increased his agony after a long and sleepless night. When she didn't answer, his anxiety grew. He called her again five minutes later. Still no answer. He made coffee, rang her number every five minutes but each time her answering machined picked up, and he felt a growing sense of unease. She'd left in such a distraught state
the night before. Had she made it home safely, or was her little red Mercedes piled into another ditch somewhere between Bozeman and Helena?

He barely tasted the coffee, was hardly aware of getting dressed, and didn't even think about breakfast. Called her again at seven. At five past. By seven-thirty he'd given up all hope and was in his Jeep, heading for Helena. She lived on one of those high-end streets, in a fancy brick walk-up that in a year or two would probably have a doorman. Two hours later he was halfway up the entry stairs when a young policeman leaned over the stairwell and said, “Hold on. You live here?”

The sight of the uniform triggered an intense panic in Steven. He rounded the top of the stairs, plowed past the startled officer, and burst into Molly's apartment with a feeling like he'd never experienced before. “Molly?” he called out, as if she would materialize before him, alive and well, when every fiber of his being twisted in silent anguish that something terrible had happened to her, and that he could have so easily prevented it by not going to that damn meeting.

“Steven?” Her voice speaking his name was like sweet music, and he whirled toward the sound. There she was, alive and well, emerging from her bedroom. “It's all right, Officer, he's a friend of mine.” She was pulling a shoe on her foot and holding a hairbrush in one hand. Her face was pale and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. “I'm late for work,” she explained, casting him a guarded glance. “The police are just finishing up.”

Steven stared, his heart hammering. “Finishing up what?”

“Someone broke into my apartment last night.” Molly's eyes dropped and a faint blush colored her cheeks. She laid the hairbrush down on the kitchen counter and began to braid her hair with trembling fingers. With a nod she indicated the three uniformed officers. “They're just making sure they get the story straight from me. So tell me, Young Bear. Did your emergency zoning meeting go well last night? And what brings you to Helena this fine Montana morning?”

Her coolness set him back on his heels; that, and the fact that the police were eyeing him with wary suspicion. “I came when you didn't answer your phone this morning,” he said. “I was worried about you.”

She neatly bound the end of her braid and her eyes remained downcast. “Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine.” She turned to one of the officers. “You'll lock up when you leave?” Satisfied with his nod, she picked up her purse and briefcase and walked to the door. Steven followed.

“Who broke into your apartment?” he asked as she started down the stairs.

“I'm just an attorney, not an investigator. Ask the police,” she responded, not bothering to look back.

“Molly.” His plea for her to stop fell on deaf ears. “Molly, dammit, talk to me.”

She paused and glanced over her shoulder with obvious reluctance. Her eyes mirrored an ocean of unspoken hurt. “Why?” she said. “What do you and I have to say to each other, Young Bear?”

Steven didn't care if half the police in Helena overheard. He spoke his mind, and he spoke from the heart. “I love you, Molly Ferguson. I trust you and I believe
in you, and when I call you up at six in the morning to make sure you're okay, I want you to answer the phone. That's what I have to say to you.”

She dropped her eyes again but not before he caught a glimpse of the tears that flooded them. “Oh, Steven,” she said in a voice choked with emotion. “Why couldn't you have told me that last night?” And without another word or so much as a backward glance, she continued down the stairwell, slamming the most painful of emotional doors in his face.

 

W
HEN
M
OLLY REACHED HER OFFICE
, the first thing she saw were the long-stemmed roses on her desk, twelve red and four each of pink, yellow and white. “They were delivered right after you left yesterday afternoon,” the secretary said with a wistful smile. “Aren't they beautiful?”

Molly waited until she was alone to read the card that accompanied them.

 

You were right.

I should have eaten some of Luther Makes

Elk's owl stew.

It might have given me wisdom.

Steven.

 

“Oh, Steven,” she murmured, remembering the stricken expression in his eyes as she turned her back on him and left him standing at the top of the stairwell not half an hour earlier. “We're both stubborn and stupid. We both should have eaten some of your grandfather's stew.”

If only there were some way to reach him, to call him and tell him she was sorry, but he wouldn't be back in Bozeman until later that morning. She wouldn't see him until the public meeting tonight, and then they'd be in opposite camps, each fighting for a different cause.