Montana Gift

by Debra Salonen

  "Home," Bailey murmured, her gaze on the iconic Montana skyline. The place from which she'd spent every waking day of high school crafting her escape. And when her big chance came--a scholarship at Fresno State, she'd nearly blown it. She'd let love undermine her resolve.

  A crackling voice on the plane's PA reminded her to return her seat back to the upright position. Her three hundred pound seatmate grappled with the armrest between them, somehow managing to kick her right foot in the process.

  Shards of white-hot daggers shot up her leg, making her cry out.

  "Sorry 'bout that."

  Sweat broke out across her lip. Her breathing went fast and shallow.

  She pictured Maureen, Bailey's favorite physical therapist and friend, coaching her through the pain. "Breathe, girlfriend. Big breath. Tell the pain to take a hike."

  Like I'll ever be hiking again.

  A sour taste in her mouth made her poke through her purse for a stick of gum. Anything to kill the craving for a pain pill.

  Bailey knew all about dependency. She'd spend her childhood making excuses for her mother's classic co-dependency on Bailey's father, who drank beer every day and polished off a fifth of Jack Daniels on weekends--a combination that made him dangerously unstable.

  Bailey's need for control most likely contributed to the accident that killed her husband and left her a cripple. A cripple with a potential drug problem. Not exactly the glorious return she'd imagined when she left Marietta.

  Once the majority of the other passengers were gone, Bailey stood, shouldering her small backpack--her only carry on. She'd paid extra to have her luggage go through baggage. Although her ankle throbbed like hell, she managed to walk the entire distance to the front of the plane without limping.

  She couldn't make the same claim by the time she reached baggage claim. The cluster of people pressed together around the conveyor belt was enough to make Bailey plop her butt on an open bench and fish out her phone.

  She'd told her mother not to make the drive from Marietta until Bailey's flight was on the ground. Bad weather in Denver had delayed her connection, and Bailey hadn't wanted to cause her mother any unnecessary stress. There will be enough of that once OC comes home from the hospital, she told herself.

  How would a physical disability change OC, she wondered? Or would it? She'd met several amputees at San Joaquin Valley Rehab. Doubles. Even one quad. Some navigated the new, uncharted waters with more grace than others, but not a single person pretended their lives would carry on without change. From what Mom told her, Dad was fervently, emphatically in denial.

  As OC is about anything that implies personal culpability.

  "Bailey?" a man's voice asked cutting into her thoughts.

  Bailey's chin shot up--and up farther. A tall man in a white Stetson, jeans, boots and blue short-sleeve cotton work shirt with the name Paul machine embroidered above the chest pocket stood a foot or so away.

  "It is you, isn't it?" His eyes, the color of a Montana summer sky, lit up. His tentative smile sent her heart galloping across the open prairie on the time-travel express. "Girl, you're skinny as a rail. Don't they feed you in California?" He made a face. "Oh, crap, don't tell me you're a vegan?"

  "Paul Zabrinski?"

  The last person she expected to see today. But when your luck sucked as bad as hers, anything was possible. "What are you doing here?"

  She tapped her forehead.

  "Dumb question. This is an airport. You're meeting someone. Hey, you look great. How long has it been?"

  Even dumber question. She knew exactly how long it had been. Life-changing drama had a way of leaving an indelible mark.

  She held out her hand, which felt stupid and forced, but she honestly didn't have the oomph to stand and hug him--which probably wasn't the right response, either, given their history.

  His smile dropped. He wasn't the boy she'd kissed till their lips were chapped. He'd added a couple of inches of height and twenty pounds that filled out his shoulders and gave his face more character. Cute? Not any more. Now, he was handsome. His blue eyes the stuff they wrote romance novels about.

  "Coming up on fifteen years in August. Hard to believe, huh? Did your mom tell you there's a new director of the Chamber of Commerce in Marietta? The fair's going to run for two weeks this year."

  He chuckled in a manly way that made the woman inside her--the woman Bailey thought died with Ross-- ache for a pair of strong arms around her. Even for a moment.

  She pushed the foolish, pointless yearning aside. Her husband had been dead for over a year, but the tender feelings between them had been gone even longer. "No. Mom didn't tell me. We've mostly talked about Dad. And the business." Which, apparently, is on the skids.

  Paul's sandy brows pulled together. "Tough break about your dad. I was putting the finishing touches the handicap ramp for his wheelchair this morning when Louise asked if I could meet your plane. She's afraid to leave him alone. I guess he's been pretty depressed lately." He looked toward the thinning crowd. "Which bags are yours? I'll grab them for you."

  The question sent a syringe of panic straight into her spine. She sat upright, clutching her backpack as if it held superpowers. She'd have jumped to her feet and raced back to the plane, demanding they let her in, if she could walk that far. "Did you say you're here to meet...me?"

  You hate me, she didn't add.

  "Your mom's been tutoring my daughter. She knew I was coming to Bozeman today to drop off the kids. Californians aren't the only ones who do carpooling, you know."

  "But...how come you're not at the hardware store? Mom said you're running it now."

  "The boss can take off when he wants. That's the only good part about being the boss, believe me."

  Although his tone seemed a bit less idealistic than it had in high school, she doubted he was giving up on Zabrinski's Big Z Hardware. He was too stubborn, for one thing. And he'd had tons of plans once he took over from his dad. "This place is going to be more than just a hardware store when I get done with it, Bailey. You're not the only one with dreams, you know."

  And, from what little news her mother had shared over the years, Zabrinski's Big Z had carved out a niche market that held its own when the big box stores moved into the area.

  She was glad he'd done well for himself. "That's very generous of you, Paul. Especially considering...our history."

  He removed his hat and leaned over in a mock bow. "I was seventeen and heart broke. Everything looks black and white when you're young. Funny how age and life puts things in perspective. In hindsight I'd say I overreacted with the whole curse thing," he added in a way that sounded rehearsed.

  Bailey rubbed the localized pulse of pain between her eyes. "Funny. I was just thinking your curse pretty much came true."

  "Oh, crap," he said. "When I heard about the accident. Your husband dying. Losing your stud horse. The thought crossed my mind that Grandma Hilda really did a number on you. But, Bailey, you have to know I never meant for anything horrible to happen to you. Not in a million years. I mean that."

  She wished his flustered apology meant something to her. It didn't. She knew who was to blame for the disaster her life had become, and it wasn't Paul Zabrinski.

  "I was kidding, Paul. Shit happens. Just ask OC. You didn't curse him, too, did you?"

  His look of horror made her smile.

  "I didn't think so."

  She blew out a breath, exhaustion making her a little light-headed. "I came back for Mom. She's going to need help once OC gets home, and I figured I could use the time to work on my online jewelry business." And figure out a new game plan...if she had one left.

  He pointed toward the luggage area. "Which suitcase is...?"

  He did a double take. "No. Let me guess. The two leopard print hay bales?"

  Her cheeks heated up. Ross used to give her grief about the amount of junk she lugged around on the road. "One of them is my...um...work." She needed to get in the habit of calling her jewelry making a busi
ness. Maureen had stressed the need to focus on what you can do, not on what you can't.

  I can't ride, rope, race barrels. I can make baubles for boots and hats and purses. Big whoop.

  "Your mom said you were designing western jewelry. Don't tell Chloe. She'll be bugging you for samples. We went round and round about her getting her ears pierced."

  Chloe? His daughter, she presumed. "My dad wouldn't let me get my ears pierced, either. So Marsha Biggins did the deed with a potato and her mother's needle when we were fifteen. Did you give in?"

  "Her mother did."

  His flat, resigned tone raised questions she didn't have any right to ask.

  "My ex is remarried and lives here in Bozeman. We share custody. All very civilized and the kids seem to be okay with the arrangement, but...it's not exactly what I had in mind, you know?"

  He didn't wait for her answer, instead walking to the carousel to wait for her bags to complete another revolution.

  Thanks to the concussion she suffered in the accident her short-term memory impeded her ability to recall what she had for breakfast, but a crystal clear memory from one of hers and Paul's conversations appeared in her head as if it were engraved on her heart. "I want what my parents have, Bailey. They fell in love in the sixth grade. We won't have that, but I know you're the one for me. My soul mate."

  Hearing a seventeen-year old kid speak with such conviction had scared her. Bailey felt barely formed at the time, open to becoming the person she was meant to be, not ready to settle into someone else's preconceived idea of who she should be. "We talked about this, Paul. I've been honest about my dreams since we first started dating. College. Pro Rodeo. A breeding program and a ranch. Where? I don't have a clue."

  The fact that Paul's vision of marriage was so far removed from her frame of reference proved all the more reason why they had no chance of making a life together. At the time she believed marriage was a prison, with an abusive jailor holding the key. She'd promised herself never to make the same mistakes her mother did.

  Funny thing. Promises were a lot like dreams--only as good as the person making them.

  Somehow, without intending to, when she married Ross she'd returned to her roots: codependency, spousal abuse, passive-aggressive behavior...with the bonus gift: unfaithfulness.

  She'd broken the heart of the cutest, sweetest boy she'd ever known and look what she had to show for it--nothing. Not a damn thing. She was back home in Montana. Broken. Defeated.

  She watched Paul grab both suitcases before they could make another revolution. Her jaw went slack watching his muscles flex beneath his shirt as he lifted them effortlessly. The Paul Zabrinski she'd known in high school had been a skinny little boy compared to this man. Back then, she'd been the athlete. Now, she could barely walk without limping.

  She got up when he started toward her. How did he keep himself in such great shape, she wondered. Maybe, someone in Marietta had opened a gym. She hoped so. Her ankle was getting stronger every day, but her recovery wasn't a hundred percent yet.

  "Where are you parked?"

  "Just across the street. Your mom gave me her Handicap Parking thingee to hang in the window of my truck. She told me your leg was still jacked up. I half-expected to see you on crutches."

  Bailey lugged one strap of her backpack across her shoulder and reached around for the other. Paul dropped the bags and hurried to help.

  She hated being dependent on anyone, but sometimes even the simplest things stopped her in her tracks. He guided her hand through the strap and settled the bag on her shoulders.

  His fingers felt warm and capable. And this touch left an impression she swore sank all the way through her skin to the bone.

  "Thank you," she said, trying not show how flustered he made her. She headed toward the exit. Slow and steady. One foot in front of the other as Maureen always preached.

  The only way she'd survive her return to purgatory.

  Paul opened the passenger door for Bailey before hoisting her oversize bags to the bed of the pickup. The luggage fees must have cost a bundle, he thought. Marietta gossip had Bailey making out like a bandit thanks to a big insurance settlement. He tried not to listen, but that would mean breaking a habit of the lifetime--living, breathing and devouring all things Bailey. He'd never tried drugs but was pretty sure going cold turkey from heroin would be easier.

  "I'll get the air on for you in a minute."

  Black truck. Gray interior. A late spring day with a cloudless sky and temperatures soaring to the low seventies. "Do you need help getting in? I should have brought the Expedition. Sorry."

  "I think I can do it." He could tell by the determined set of her shoulders she planned to figure out a way to climb into the cab unassisted--even if she screwed up her ankle doing so.

  "Oh, hell, no."

  He placed his palms square against her waist, his fingers framing her lower ribs, and lifted. Her weight--or lack of it--shocked him. Is this what California does to people? Shrinks them? Like those horrible dancing raisins?

  He had to lean in to place her on the seat--just as he would have a child. This brought his face close enough to smell the scent he would forever associate with summer nights and kissing under the stars. He didn't know the name of her perfume--or even if it was a bottled scent--only that it was Bailey Jenkins. His first love. The one he never got over, if Jen was to be believed.

  No. He refused to believe that.

  Although his fingers lingered momentarily, Paul forced himself to step back and walk to the bed of the truck. He kept his mind on what needed to be done--no chitter chatter. A coping mechanism that came in handy when you were the youngest in a family of boisterous, opinionated people.

  He loved his family--and missed them now that everyone had scattered. Austen to Helena, Meg to Missoula, Mia still in Cheyenne. His folks still summered here and Mia's two kids came for a month, but once Halloween was over, his parents joined other snowbirds in New Mexico.

  Normally, while in Marietta, Dad helped every day at the store, which was not without challenges. But his parents were staying with Mia at the moment. His poor sister was in treatment for breast cancer and going through a divorce. Talk about bad luck.

  Paul shoved the giant suitcases into the bed of the truck and closed the tailgate. When he got in, the first thing he did was hit the AC, but Bailey reached for the power button in the door. "Could we open the windows instead?"

  Paul was positive he'd never heard those words from his ex-wife's mouth. Not evva, as Chloe liked to say. "What about your hair?"

  She wiggled a colorful scrunchy adorned with shimmering silver and brass beads--what he'd assumed was a bracelet--from her wrist and whipped the dark brown locks into a messy pony.

  "I've missed the air in Montana."

  Is fresh air the only thing you missed?

  Paul knew he wasn't on that list. Not given the way they'd ended things.

  But he meant every word of his apology. He'd learned a lot about human nature from managing Big Z's. He could see why he'd been drawn to her--she was unattainable--an ideal he could never have. And that hadn't changed. He'd agreed to pick her up as a favor to Louise --and, maybe, to satisfy an old curiosity. That was all.

  As he turned to look over his shoulder to back out of the parking space, his hand accidentally brushed her shoulder. The touch did some kind of crazy loop faster than if he'd stuck a wet finger on a live wire. When he started to apologize, he noticed her color--or lack of it.

  "Are you feeling okay? You don't look too hot."

  She turned her chin his way, one perfect light brown brow lifted in a pure Bailey gesture that stopped his heart mid-beat. "Always a smooth talker, weren't you, Paulie?"

  A nickname he hadn't heard in fifteen years. Why it should hurt even the tiniest bit baffled him.

  Luckily, she didn't give him time to dwell on his crazy out-of-line thoughts. Her smile flattened and she dropped her chin to her chest. In a voice that reminded him of Chloe, she said
, "I need a pain pill. Can't take on an empty stomach. But I can make it home."

  Or not. He'd been a dad long enough to spot the signs of hunger. A simple fix. Even if it meant spending a few more minutes with her.

  No problem. He dealt with strangers every day. Troublesome, needy, frustrated, hardware-challenged adults who taxed his patience beyond measure. All these years in retail were simply training to prepare me for handling Bailey Jenkins. Who knew?

  He paid the parking fee, ignoring Bailey's outstretched hand with a five-dollar bill in it. Once they were on the road, he tapped the digital dashboard to turn on the satellite radio. His favorite "station" devoted to Indie Singer/Songwriters filled the cab, easing the need to make polite conversation.

  Jason Isbell's Traveling Alone, a song Paul had decided was written specifically for this time in his life, came on.

  Paul hummed the melody. He never pictured himself as a divorced, single dad, running a business alone. Never.

  As he headed toward the highway, he glanced at his passenger. Eyes closed. Asleep? Exhausted?

  Depleted. That was how she appeared to him. And he felt absolutely no satisfaction in seeing how far short of her triumph she'd fallen.

  If anything, he felt guilty for wishing her ill in the first place. But a seventeen-year-old boy's hurt pride knows no boundary. He remembered writing a stack of letters. Hurtful. Bitter. Hateful. Thank god I never mailed them.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the local pizza chain he thought a California girl might like. He parked and used the controls on his door panel to close her window. The noise woke her.

  "Are we home?"

  "I missed lunch.” A lie. "Thought we'd grab a slice of pizza on the way. Unless you think your mom will be waiting for you."

  Her foggy blink told him she wasn't quite awake. "She'll be with dad. Like usual."

  A telling admission. Bailey often criticized her mother's blind devotion back when they were dating. Paul never understood what about the man inspired such loyalty.

  He got out and hurried around to help. Typical Bailey, she was already standing by the time he got there. Swaying just the tiniest bit in the steady Montana breeze.