Montana Standoff (8 page)

“Did he say anything to you about why he was going up on Madison Mountain? Was he meeting someone there?”

“No. That is, I don't know. Sam would never deliberately withhold things from me, but we were both so busy that sometimes…” Her voice halted around a surge of grief. “I'm sorry,” she managed to whisper.

“Mrs. Blackmore, if you should find any of the missing items at his office, or see a five-hundred-dollar deposit on a bank statement, or remember something he said that might be pertinent, or if you need anything, any legal advice, anything at all, ever, please call me. Day or night. I'm in the phone book.”

“Yes. I will,” she choked out. “And thank you, Mr. Young Bear. Thank you for caring. His memorial service is being held this Wednesday.”

“Yes. I saw the notice in the newspaper. I'll be there.” Steven hung up the phone and dropped his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. Talking with Sam's wife, and her gentle, grief-filled voice, had left him feeling worse than ever about Blackmore's untimely death. Maybe the sheriff was right. Maybe Sam had just been driving
too fast. But the murder of Mary Pretty Shield had made a cynic out of him…and Ken Manning was a dark and powerful common denominator.

 

M
OLLY WAS SITTING
at her desk, miles in arrears of researching upcoming litigation for fellow attorneys lucky enough to actively practice law, and at the moment, not really caring. Her eyes were riveted on the computer screen and her finger was on the mouse, scrolling down and down, reading about the Mountain Militia that Steven Young Bear had told her about. She was learning all about a group of people who took themselves way too seriously, and took the constitutional right to keep and bear arms to a whole new level that was radical to the extreme. When her phone rang, she was relieved to tear her eyes away from an entity she wished she'd never discovered.

She reached to pick it up. “Ferguson.”

“Ms. Ferguson, this is Ken Manning. I was hoping I'd catch you in your office.”

Molly's heart skipped several major beats. There was no way he could possibly know what she'd been doing. She cleared her throat and closed the computer screen, as if he might somehow catch a glimpse of it through the phone line.

“Hello, Mr. Manning. What can I do for you?”

“Brad gave me your note when we met at the club this afternoon,” he said in a smooth, professional voice. “He's asked me to consider allowing him to keep you as his assistant in researching and presenting New Millennium Mining's proposal to the people of Moose Horn. He feels it's an important process for you to learn.”

Molly could think of nothing remotely intelligent to say in response, and after a brief pause Manning continued.

“I agreed, on the condition that you act as his assistant and nothing more. In any public forum or interview with the press, he would be the one to speak on behalf of New Millennium. Are you following me?”

“I understand, Mr. Manning,” Molly said, feeling that passionate Irish heat sweep up into her face.

“You should know that I only agreed because Brad insisted you're the best intern he's ever had.”

“That's kind of him to say so,” Molly replied, glad that Manning couldn't see her expression.

“Brad doesn't feel there'll be any problems with the permitting, in spite of the opposition from the townspeople.”

“I'm sure he's right. Twenty-seven people can't possibly stop an eight-hundred-million-dollar project.”

“No, but with the proper guidance they could slow things down considerably and cost us a lot of money. Steven Young Bear is a formidable opponent, and he's caused a lot of trouble for us over the years. Which brings up a certain contingency,” Manning continued in that smooth, polished voice. “I would expect you to avoid any personal contact with him until this permitting process is wrapped up.”

Molly's hand tightened on the receiver. “Mr. Manning, I can assure you that my professionalism is beyond reproach and I would never discuss New Millennium's business outside of this office.”

“I'm not questioning your professionalism, I'm laying down the ground rules. Young Bear is connected with the radical environmentalist movement in these
parts. They're an anti-industrial, pro-environment group who believe that God is nature and nature cannot be defiled at any cost. These people would halt progress and sacrifice civilization to protect a tree. They choose land over people, mountains over people, and wildlife over people. I prefer that any attorney representing my interests not conduct personal relationships with radicals like that. I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from. Just being seen with him in public would paint you with the same brush.”

Molly recalled Steven's comments about starving the grandchildren to feed the children, about fighting a proposal to build logging roads into a designated wilderness area, about voluntarily handcuffing himself to a redwood tree to keep it from being cut. He was definitely pro-environment, but she would hardly consider him a dangerous radical. “If you consider Young Bear to be a serious threat, then these radicals, as you refer to them, must make sense to someone.”

“Both the Environmental Protection Agency and Bureau of Land Management used to be staffed by spineless puppets, and Young Bear knew how to pull all their strings. He'd use any legislation he could to throw up roadblocks.

“Fortunately, the current administration's holding strong against that kind of environmental arm twisting, but make no mistake, Young Bear's the most dangerous adversary we have. If he had to choose between saving an ancient redwood tree or saving your life, he'd choose the tree because to him that tree represents God, whereas you?” Manning's voice roughened with emotion as he concluded, “You're just a goddamned human.”

 

T
HAT EVENING
Molly lay on her living-room sofa, portable phone pressed to her ear. “I don't know what to do, Dani,” she said. “A part of me wants to call Ken Manning back and tell him he and his New Millennium mine can go to hell, but assisting Brad with the permitting process is the most important project I could be involved with right now, and it's the only way for me to save face after that disastrous Moose Horn town meeting.”

“Did Manning actually say you weren't to see Steven? Did he out-and-out forbid it?”

“He made it very clear that if I decide to work as Brad's assistant there can be no contact with Steven on a personal level.”

“Do you
want
contact with him on a personal level? I mean, you haven't said a thing about him since last Saturday. The two of you spent the entire day together, and you haven't mentioned a word about it. I know that as your best friend in the whole world it's probably none of my business, but what happened?”

“I told you that it wasn't a date. And nothing happened.”

“Baloney,” Dani said. “I may not be in the room with you, but I know you. You have pathos and heartache written all over you. Tell me everything, or I'll never let you borrow my emerald earrings for that first dinner date.”

“Nothing happened,” Molly repeated. “He showed me the open pit mine, and it was ugly, which was about what I expected. Afterwards, we found a place to eat our picnic lunch. We stopped for an ice-cream cone at that little stand north of town, and then he brought me home.”

“That sounds nice. Then what?”

“He walked me to my door, like a true gentleman, whereupon I asked him in for an Irish supper.”

“Surely not,” Dani protested. “I thought you said you
liked
this guy.”

“Like him?” Molly knew the word
like
didn't begin to describe her feelings. She could still feel the warm tingling where his fingers had brushed her ear. “I don't think I've felt this way about anyone before. Not that it matters. He declined the invitation. And it's just as well that the night ended that way. Steven's strictly off-limits until this New Millennium project is pushed through.”

Dani's sigh was loud in Molly's ear. “Oh, for heaven's sake. Call him up and tell him what's going on. I'm sure he knows how political things can get. He sounds like a really nice guy and I'm sure he'll understand. Besides, the permitting process might not take that much time.”

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

“
Call
him.”

“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 have to tell him what Manning said and see how he reacts to that. But he won't call. Why should he? We're standing on opposite sides of a tall fence that divides two very different worlds.”

 

S
TEVEN STACKED
the supper dishes in the sink and reflected on how long the day had been, how drawn out and stressful and how unprofitable. He had neglected his other paying obligations and given all of his energies to
a cause that promised no monetary compensation whatsoever. Wealth would elude him as long as he continued down this path, but wealth had never been his motivation. He had a nice house, one he'd helped build himself, but he'd nickel-and-dimed it, and he'd be paying down the mortgage until he was an old man. His Jeep was an extravagance he sometimes regretted when the monthly payments came due, but the reality of it was that he needed dependable transportation in a county that dished out six months of nasty winter weather. He was getting by, but it was a constant struggle.

Attorneys like Molly Ferguson lived on a different level. They breezed through their days confident and secure. They shopped with impunity and drove fast, fancy cars. And yet…what made her so different? What was it about her that had tangled his thoughts so? Why did he glance at the phone and wish it would ring because she had decided she missed him and needed to hear his voice?

Steven squirted a generous dollop of dish soap into the sink and ran hot water over the dishes. Better to let them soak for a while. Lasagna was a messy cleanup job. He turned off the tap, paced to the living room and then back into the kitchen to stand near the phone. He dug in his jeans for his wallet and pulled her business card from it. Stared at her name and the numbers listed beneath it, home, cell and office. She had beautiful red hair, intelligent hazel eyes and freckles that she tried futilely to conceal. She worked for a law firm that represented mining companies desecrating the natural world for short-term material gains. She was without a doubt the most compellingly beautiful yet hopelessly incompatible woman he could ever imagine himself pairing up with.

He picked up the wall phone in the kitchen and dialed her home number.

 

M
OLLY SET THE CORDLESS PHONE
aside after speaking with Dani. Her mood was no better, in spite of Dani's efforts to cheer her. The world was definitely a dark and dreary place. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, released it. Deep breathing was supposed to be very therapeutic. She'd recently read that most people never drew a deep breath. They spent their entire lives shallow breathing, thereby considerably stunting their oxygen exchange capabilities, which correspondingly lowered their mean intelligence level. Or something like that. She drew a deep, even breath and held it until her lungs began to burn….

The phone rang beside her, startling the breath from her lungs, and Molly glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine o'clock. It was probably her mother, who always called right about this time. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, so Molly had told her that whenever counting sheep didn't work, she'd bore her into dreamland with one of her long-winded, one-sided and oh-so-boring conversations about day-to-day life as a first-year attorney. Molly reached for the phone. It would be good to talk to her mother, who somehow always managed to brighten the darkest of her days. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl who thought she could change the world by becoming a lawyer,” she began by rote.

“Molly?” a deep and familiar voice said. Definitely not her mother.

Molly's eyes shot open and she sat up with an audible exhalation of air. She spun around and dropped her
feet to the floor with a thump, hoping he hadn't heard that loud and undignified gasp.

“Oh, hello, Steven.” Spoken in a cool, aloof and perfectly professional. She couldn't let him guess how desperately glad she was that he called. “I thought you were my mother. She always calls at this time of night.”

“And you tell her a bedtime story?”

She closed her eyes, savoring the sound of his voice, which held an undercurrent of humor. “Something like that. What's up?”

“Did you happen to see the Sunday paper? There was a brief article about New Millennium and their proposed project on Madison Mountain.”

“Really?” Molly was surprised. “No, I didn't, and nobody at the office mentioned it. Pro or con?”

“Neutral. Just states the facts. Are you still working for Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein?”

“Yes. And Manning's agreed to give me one more chance as Brad's very silent and mostly invisible assistant.” She hesitated for a moment. “He doesn't like you very much, Steven. In fact, he regards you as a radical environmentalist.”

He laughed. “No doubt he warned you that if we shared a ride again, or even spoke on the phone, he would consider it an act of treason on your part.”

Molly closed her eyes and felt the sharp pain knife through her heart. “He said I could have no personal contact with you as long as I was representing his interests.”

“That sounds like Manning.”

“This permitting process probably won't take long,” Molly said, but the words had an empty ring.

“Permitting processes can take years, especially
when they're challenged. When it's over, maybe you could show me how you manage to boil a cabbage so it's edible,” he said.