Montana Gift
(Big Sky Mavericks Book 5)
Debra Salonen
Loner Llama Press
Contents
Copyright
Montana Gift
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
MONTANA COWGIRL - Prologue & Chapter 1
About the Author
Also by Debra Salonen
Start reading MONTANA MAVERICK for FREE
Copyright
Copyright © 2014, 2016 by Debra Salonen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Publisher’s Note: The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Art ©2014, 2016 Rogenna Brewer
Montana Gift
A short, sweet look back at a very special love story as told by a wonderful storyteller--Marietta Children’s Librarian, Louise Jenkins.
Dedication
To the authors who have made Marietta, Montana, a place that comes alive in the minds and hearts of readers. I consider myself very lucky to be part of this amazing experience at Tule Publishing.
Dear Reader
Dear Reader,
MONTANA GIFT came to life because so many readers were curious about Louise and OC Jenkins--parents of Bailey Jenkins, the heroine of my first Tule Publishing release, MONTANA COWGIRL.
Oscar “OC” Jenkins was not an easy character to like, and yet, I came to have great sympathy for him by the time Bailey's book ended. I knew there was a lot to this couple I didn't know. Luckily, Louise was eager to tell their story for the benefit of her new son-in-law, Paul Zabrinski, and his children, Chloe and Mark.
The Big Sky Mavericks series has grown beyond my first imaginings. The best part of continuity stories for me is giving the reader a peek into the lives of characters she may remember from previous books (like Paul and Bailey) and introducing characters in upcoming stories. Although this story is #5 in the series, chronologically it falls between Austen's book, MONTANA COWBOY, and his twin sister, Mia's, story, MONTANA DARLING. Meg's book--MONTANA MAVERICK wraps up the saga of the Zabrinski siblings. But never fear, there are new characters with stories of their own to tell and in the background you’ll be able to keep up with what’s happening in the Zabrinski family.
Welcome to my Marietta family.
Deb
1
Popcorn and pine.
Two distinct smells that had the power to transport Louise Jenkins back to the small farmhouse a few miles outside of Marietta, Montana, where she'd lived for nearly two decades. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see Oscar with six-year-old Bailey on his shoulders looping a string of popcorn and cranberries haphazardly across the branches of their freshly cut tree. For a few years, every Christmas was special. Their small family a universe of the perfect size, contentment and traditions as reliable as the arrival of Santa.
But not every holiday that followed was as special. When Bailey was in high school, the scent of whiskey overshadowed even the Yule log and pine candles Louise would light, determined to salvage a few happy memories for her beautiful teenage daughter.
Luckily, this Christmas was shaping up to be one of the best in recent memory. She smiled as she watched Oscar, her husband of nearly forty years, trying to out-string popcorn and cranberries in a race against their new son-in-law, Paul Zabrinski.
"You're putting too many cranberries in a row, Paul. They're heavier than the popcorn. They'll weigh down the limbs."
Paul laughed. "Yeah, I know. But cranberries are easier to poke with a needle than popcorn and I want to beat you."
In years past, Louise would have held her breath and waited for an OC temper tantrum. This time, Oscar threw back his head and chortled. "At least you're an honest cheat."
Louise caught Bailey's eye and they both made a face. Their men were acting like children and nothing could make Louise happier.
For the first Christmas in more years than she cared to count, Louise felt content. OC's recovery--both from alcoholism and his amputation--was nothing short of remarkable. And the positive improvements in his relationship with their daughter seemed based on mutual forgiveness and respect.
Bailey was newly wed to her first love, Paul Zabrinski, and the two were giddy with expectation as they prepared to welcome a baby in a few months. Life was spectacularly beautiful at the moment. And Louise had lived through enough bad times to be superstitious about rocking the boat.
So, when Bailey approached her at Thanksgiving with a request to help Chloe, the elder of Louise's new step-grandchildren, with a school project, Louise hadn't immediately jumped onboard.
"Chloe's class is supposed to interview parents and grandparents over the holidays and ask questions like they met, what was your first job, where did you live before you moved to Marietta...things like that.”
Louise would never forget her first job...because she was so bad at it.
"And, honestly, Mom, when she asked about how you and Dad met, I drew a blank. I know you grew up in Chicago and took the train Bozeman to teach school, but I don't think you ever told me how you and Dad met and fell in love." She touched her blossoming belly. "I want to be able to share your story with your new grandbaby someday.”
Louise had wrestled with the idea for three days before discussing it with Oscar. After all, any truthful telling of their life together would have to include some not-so flattering mention of the dark years, his addiction.
"I want you to do it, Luly," he’d said, after just a moment of hesitation. "The whole truth and nothing but the truth...as long as it isn't boring. We had plenty of good times, too. Remember?"
Remember? That she did.
She walked to the front hall closet and picked up the Marietta Library tote bag that held five small, smartly bound books, individually inscribed and wrapped. When she returned to the living room, she clapped her hands to be heard over the sound of Burl Ives' rendition of Frosty, the Snowman.
"There's a storm coming, people. We need to get started so you can make it over the pass safely."
Originally, Bailey and Paul had planned to share Christmas Eve dinner with Louise and OC, then drive the kids to Bozeman to their mother's and get a motel near the airport so they could fly to Paul's parents' winter home in Arizona.
As Paul and Bailey and the kids settled down on the couch and OC claimed his recliner, Bailey tried once more to get her parents to change their minds. "Are you sure you won't come, Dad? I hate the idea of you two being here alone."
Louise bit back a smile. She and Oscar had been alone at Christmas for years, when the grudge Bailey carried made it impossible for her forgive and forget. Getting a second chance at love had gone a long ways toward healing those old hurts.
Oscar shook his head. "No, thank you. That trip we made to Reno to see Jack is the last I plan to make in your plane, Paul. No offense, but my circulation still isn't one hundred percent." Unconsciously, he rubbed his knee above his amputated stump. "S
itting still for six or seven hours would probably kill me."
"We're truly content to stay home,” Louise added. “Believe it or not, your dad has agreed to go to midnight services with me on Christmas Eve...weather permitting."
Bailey blinked in surprise. Sotto voce she asked, "Does he know about the caroling?"
Louise looked at her husband and laughed. "He said he'd stay in the car, but I haven't given up hope that he might join us for a song or two. I think his voice is lot like Blake Shelton's."
Everybody had a question or comment to add to that declaration it seemed. Louise put a hand to her face so Oscar wouldn't see her grin, but the look he gave her said she'd pay later. In a good way. She trusted that, now.
She sat forward and cleared her throat. "I have a little something for everyone here." She held up the tote. "They're all the same, so you don't have to open yours now."
"What is it, Grandma?" Chloe asked.
Louise produced the unwrapped copy she'd purchased for her and Oscar. A proof copy, the company called it. "Because you asked, Chloe, I wrote down the story of Oscar's and my life together. I attended a meeting at the library of a group of aspiring authors and one offered to help anyone who wanted to try their hand at publishing their memoir. This is mine."
Bailey let out a squeal that turned every head in the room. "You did it. Oh, Mom, that's great. I'm so excited. What a gift.” She crossed the room to hug Louise. "It's so pretty. Thank you."
"You haven't read it, yet. You know what I think about judging a book by its cover."
But, in truth, Louise was very happy with this cover. Ryker Bensen, the young photographer Louise had befriended months ago, had helped her create a cover that came very close to conveying the hope and joy she'd felt when she married Oscar.
"Oh, wow, Grandma Louise. This makes you an author," Chloe exclaimed. "Will you read it to us? Like you do at the library. Please."
Story time at the Marietta Library had always been Louise's favorite part of her job. "A few pages while the soup simmers."
She settled back in the chair and opened the stiff cover. "A Forever Gift by Louise Jenkins."
She found her place and started to read:
"In 1974, at the ripe old age of 23, I pretty much thought I knew exactly how my life was going to turn out. I'd teach people who had better things to do with their time until I got fired and had to go home to Chicago to sponge off my folks. I'd graduated from college a year and a half earlier and taken a job in Bozeman, Montana, teaching adult education.
Why Bozeman? Montana sounded exciting, adventurous and romantic. Don't laugh. I'd been an avid reader all my life and I'd developed a secret passion for romance novels set in the American west--both historical and contemporary. Something about the independent spirit of the people in these stories appealed to me.
I took the teaching job because it paid enough to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, while allowing me the freedom to explore my new state on the weekends. So, the first thing I did when I got here was buy a used car. Then I visited all the neighboring towns, including Marietta.
I can't explain why, but something about the place called to me, so I returned often. On occasion, I'd catch a glimpse of a tall, good-looking man with black hair, a straight back and broad shoulders carrying an Army green canvas backpack that appeared to hold all his worldly possessions, including one extremely long fishing pole that waved like an antenna.
Backpacks were common in those days. This was the era of free love, Hippies, and Volkswagon Bugs with peace-sign paint jobs. I assumed he was an itinerant poet who fed himself by fishing from streams as he made his way across the country.
But then one evening in mid-December, I stopped at the Marietta Library.
Confession: I have always loved libraries. They were/are a haven for a mind like mine. They're both restful and stimulating. I can leave the library excited about some new possibility I discovered or I may amble home all mellow and chill.
She winked at Chloe because the word was one Louise had added for Chloe's sake. The word came up a lot when Chloe and Mark were arguing.
Books have allowed me to spend time in someone else's peaceful, interesting life when my life seemed anything but peaceful or interesting.
If you're wondering, I hadn't considered a career in library management at the time because my parents insisted I become a teacher since teaching was a job that would allow me to be self-sufficient.
That night was special because school was out for the holiday break. I couldn't afford to go back home to Chicago for Christmas. My new friends were busy with their families. I was completely, utterly alone. And I admit, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. I decided to treat myself to a stack of books, which I intended to read over the coming two weeks of vacation.
I parked in the mostly empty parking lot, dashed through the bitter cold, and nearly slipped on a patch of ice on the library steps. A man I hadn't noticed seemed to materialize out of thin air to catch my elbow and help me stumble drunkenly to dry ground. I realized instantly the man was my poet/wanderer/Hippie/peacenik. (In hindsight, he could just as easily have been a murderer/rapist/madman.)
"Thank you, kind sir."
She looked at them and repeated the line she'd crossed out then added back into the text three times. "Yes, I said those exact words like the true dork I was."
Everyone laughed. Louise ignored the blush she felt blossom in her cheeks. Did anybody even use that word anymore? Did all authors feel like idiots when they read their words aloud?
She shook off the thoughts and continued.
"Where'd you come from?" I asked, breathless and shaking like a wet puppy.
"Saw you running. Knew you wouldn't see the black ice. Told the old b...witch inside about it, but she ignored me."
The idea that a public servant would purposely put patrons at risk upset me to no end, but before I could march inside and give the woman a piece of my mind, my hero said, "She doesn't listen to vagrants, but she might listen to you."
Then he tipped an imaginary hat (he was wearing a thick, Army-surplus type of stocking cap with ear flaps), which led me to jump to my second foolish conclusion. "Are you a Vet? Were you in Vietnam? Could I buy you a cup of coffee?"
My dears, let me assure you I'm not an impulsive person. I think long and hard about important decisions, but this gesture felt right...noble, even. The guy saved me from a broken limb or a concussion at worst, a bruised butt-slash-ego at best. Even with a heavy coat, he looked thin. In the yellowish light from the library fixtures, I could almost picture him barely surviving an Agent Orange overspray in 'Nam.
He didn't jump at my offer. He seemed embarrassed. I took that as male pride and pleaded. "I owe you a cup of coffee at the very least. The last thing I could afford was to spend Christmas in the hospital with a broken arm. Please."
He thought a moment then said, 'Why not?'"
Louise glanced around. She still had their interest--even the children. "Have you ever heard of Agent Orange or Vietnam?" she asked Chloe, who'd settled at Louise's feet rather than return to the couch.
"Vietnam is a country. We had a lady come and show us slides from a trip she took there. She said it was once a place of war."
Louise lightly touched Chloe's pretty blond head. "Very good. The war was taking place...or just winding down, I think, when I met your grandpa."
Mark looked at OC. "Did you fight in the war, Gramps?"
Gramps was OC's choice of nickname. He said Grandpa made him feel old. Louise saw him smile every time one of the children called him that. She didn't know why.
"Nope. I did not. I was too dumb."
Chloe's eyes went wide and she looked at her father, as if OC had cussed. "Grandpa, we don't use that word. It's not polite. Some people just don't know as much as other people. That doesn't make them dumb."
OC roared. "I wish you'd been my teacher when I was in school, Chloe. One time, Miss Etta Hanson made me stand at the blackboard
and write two-plus-two-equals-four one hundred times. She told the class that even a dummy like Oscar Jenkins could learn his sums if he practiced long enough."
Chloe's eyes filled with tears and she jumped to her feet and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "You're not dumb, Gramps. She was just mean."
OC looked at Louise, who was dabbing the tears from her eyes, too. He comforted the little girl and made a place for her on his lap. He cleared his throat gruffly and said, "Go on, Luly. Read some more."
Louise took a big breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. Here goes."
"The strong, silent type, I decided. My father was the silent type, too. Easy to overlook if you weren't careful. This man, however, was impossible to miss. He gathered up his belongings from a protected spot near the building. (I learned later he'd found a way to jimmy the door and would sneak into the basement of the library at night to sleep near the furnace.)
I gave him a ride to the coffee shop.
Yes, this bold action came from a woman who prided herself on never picking up a hitchhiker. The truth is I didn't feel the least bit threatened by this stranger. At this point, I couldn't guess his age. Thirty? Forty? Older? His manners came across as old school, courtly even. "Thank you, ma'am. Yes, ma'am."
I felt ancient and not terribly attractive.
Once inside the cafe, I ordered a coffee and a basket of French fries without even looking at the menu. My hero studied the small, laminated menu for two or three minutes without saying a word.
"Me, too," he told the waitress when she came back for our orders.
Only a few people were in the place. I didn't know anyone, but everyone present seemed to know my hero. They called him 'OC.' I couldn't decide if that was his nickname or some sort of insult. Nobody seemed overly friendly. He wasn't well-liked, in other words.
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