Montana Maverick

by Debra Salonen

  Bravo let out his signature squeal.

  JJ groaned and clapped his hands to his ears.

  Hank tucked Bravo under one arm like a football and said, “Let’s go watch a movie.”

  “The cold one?” Bravo asked.

  “No,” Hank and JJ cried together.

  Hank snatched up the baby monitor on his way past, clicking the off button for good measure. Regardless of David’s pending custody case, Hank needed to distract his family from the possibility of ghosts before some judge declared them all crazy.

  Chapter Twelve

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  A day and a half of partial sunshine had helped clear the roads. Meg made good time and pulled into her place with plenty of daylight.

  Since she didn’t know whether or not she’d be back before spring, she dug out her Season’s End Checklist to make sure she didn’t return to a mess of broken pipes and soggy sheetrock.

  Rook raced around with a bit more restraint than she remembered. He peed on every other tree and widened his circles methodically.

  She liked the dog, and was glad Henry had insisted she bring Rook along. It might have been Henry’s worry that made her uneasy, but every time she carried a box of perishables to her truck, she had the eerie feeling of being watched.

  Having Rook nearby assured her there weren’t wolves around, but someone with a high-powered gun sight could be out of Rook’s range of scent.

  She started setting her plastic bins near the back door. Some things—like the barrels of rice and potatoes she’d bought might last till spring in the root cellar. If they spoiled, so be it.

  She stripped her bed and stuffed the bedding in a pillowcase. The bulk of her winter clothes, she left. She had more at home in Missoula.

  Home. Where was that? she asked her herself as she opened the taps and flushed the toilets one last time. She’d already turned off the water at the main valve.

  She’d owned her place in Missoula for twelve years. Except for books and a few treasures from her travels, she didn’t have much that shouted, “Meg Zabrinski lives here.” Stuff simply didn’t interest her that much.

  Animals and a few select human beings who belonged to her pack and her community at large took precedence over things.

  “People,” she murmured, picking up the framed photograph of Paul’s wedding to add to her suitcase. She studied each of her siblings a moment, but her gaze settled on her sister.

  The question of whether or not to consider handing her one shot at childbirth to Mia hadn’t been far from her mind all day. Even the characters in her story seemed to have an opinion.

  With a sigh, she sat on the end of the stripped bed and made the call.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Ninety-seven percent.”

  “Really? Not ninety-six-point-eight? Nerd.”

  Meg chuckled. “Shut up. I’m at the cabin. Closing it down. I’ve decided I need to be present in my life in order to write anything worth reading.”

  “That’s rather profound. Not that I’m surprised. So, you’re going ahead with your book?”

  “Yes. And I’m going ahead with my pregnancy…or should I say our pregnancy?”

  Mia didn’t respond for several seconds.

  “Mia? Are you there? Are you still interested? I know this is fast—probably sooner than you want considering you and Ryker just got engaged, but I can’t put off getting pregnant for long. As is, my doctor might—”

  Mia interrupted. “Sorry. I couldn’t talk. I’m a blubbery mess—and you know that’s not me. But, yes, Ryker and I want a child together. He swears he’d be okay with adopting, but, Meg, if there’s any chance that we could…oh, God, I can’t even say it. Are you sure about this, Meg? I’ve been pregnant twice and it’s not exactly a cakewalk.”

  Meg looked down at her trim waistline and tried to picture her belly distended, ripe with child. She’d heard enough horror stories from friends and colleagues to appreciate Mia’s question, but the scientist in her wouldn’t be satisfied if she didn’t experience this miracle first hand.

  “I am. But I also know I don’t want to do this alone, Mia. I can’t. To my profound surprise, I’m crazy about writing. I love getting lost in my story, and I won’t be able to do that if I’m a single mom, working full time and juggling childcare. I know myself too well.”

  Mia made a sound Meg remembered well. She called it Mia’s sparkler moment—more exciting than a light bulb but just as illuminative. “So, being a surrogate would give you the experience without the responsibility of raising the child, and marrying Henry would give you children and a mate to share the burden.”

  Meg might not have added the second part of the equation, but she couldn’t deny the thought had crossed her mind.

  “He hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

  “Oh, that is so sad,” Mia exclaimed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Too bad you’re not a liberated, forward-thinking woman who would never let gender bias or traditional man-woman roleplaying get in the way of her agenda.”

  Meg could picture her sister’s grin. She laughed, too. “Well, there’s that. Suppose I promise to keep all my options open. If the subject comes up, I might do the asking, but, right now, I have to finish packing so I can get back to the ranch in time for dinner…which Henry is cooking.”

  They said their goodbyes and Meg pocketed her phone with a sigh of satisfaction.

  As she closed the bedroom curtains and checked the locks, her eyes caught a flicker of something bright from a not-too distant ridge.

  Hikers, she assumed. She hoped.

  But what if Henry was right? Could there be scavengers on the mountain?

  She walked to her closet and went straight to the gun safe. Her father taught all of his children to shoot, but Meg was never content to be merely competent at any skill. She had to be the best.

  In college, she’d trained at the local shooting range, drawing the attention of an instructor who begged Meg to try out for the Winter Olympics.

  “You’d be a gold medal shoo-in for the biathlon.” Since Meg had no idea what that was—plus she was doing post-grad-level studies at the time, she passed.

  But she still went to the range every few months to keep her edge.

  She withdrew a small-bore rifle that she used to scare away woodpeckers that tried to repurpose her siding. She set the box of ammo on top of the safe and closed the door. With well-practiced ease, she loaded the gun and carried it to the laundry room.

  Thirty minutes later, she was ready to go. Four or five more trips, then a few minutes of exposure while she covered the load, and she’d be on her way back down the hill.

  She unlocked the door and stepped on to the back deck to look around.

  Rook, who had been sitting, ears cocked, on the far side of the clearing, jumped to his feet, the hair on his back lifting.

  A low growl of warning echoed in the snowy silence. “Come here, boy,” Meg said softly.

  Rook cleared the distance in a flash, but he turned at the top of the landing and faced some unseen enemy. Unseen, but not undetected.

  “Whoever you are, leave now,” Meg said, raising her voice in a calm, but firm tone. “I have an open line with the Sheriff’s Department and a loaded gun, which I know how to use.”

  Rook’s growl turned to an angry, dangerous bark the minute a figure stepped from the side of her barn. She knew the building was locked because she’d set the padlocks herself. But, from the look of it, the man in camouflage had come from inside.

  She drew her weapon and set the bolt action to ready.

  “Whoa. Hold on a minute, Meg. I come in peace.”

  The man walked toward her, hands raised, but he used one to remove the full-face snowmobile cap—the favorite of stupid bank robbers—from his head. “I’m just here to check on you. I left you a voice message.”

  The tension in her stomach twisted into a rock. She barely recognized him with the forty extra pounds
and the artificial tinge of his thinning hair. But she knew his voice because she’d heard it when he ordered her not to try to rescue the family that went down in a helicopter.

  “Ken Morrison.”

  He took her icy words as a greeting. He started toward her—until Rook flew off the porch, hackles raised, teeth bared.

  “Hey,” Ken shouted. “Call off your dog. I’m here on official business.”

  Rook circled warily, his big shiny teeth telegraphing his intention if the man moved.

  “Meg,” Ken yelled again. “Call him off, or I’ll shoot the motherfucker.”

  Meg lifted the rifle to her shoulder and took a bead. “Ken. That dog belongs to Henry Firestone. If you try to shoot him, I’ll be forced—quite by accident—to put a bullet in the body part you value most. That squalid little dangly down thing you tried to convince me was an impressive hunk of manhood.”

  She made a cutting laugh. “Too bad I’ve been with a real man since then, so I know what a liar you are.”

  Ken’s hand went for his gun, which she assumed was stashed in a pocket.

  “Are you reaching for a concealed weapon, Ken? Do you have a death wish? You know how long it takes for an emergency crew to get up here, don’t you? Even a flesh wound could be fatal if I can’t get a signal.”

  “You b—”

  Rook obviously didn’t like the tone of Ken’s voice. He lunged and grabbed Ken’s wrist before he could reach his weapon. Ken tried to fight back but, once Meg was certain the dog was in no danger, she let Rook go for it.

  Ken’s heavy winter jacket would protect him from too much damage, and the distraction gave Meg time to actually place the call to the Sheriff’s office that she’d threatened earlier.

  Once Ken was curled in a fetal position, making whimpering sounds, Meg whistled the way she’d heard Henry call for his dog. Rook gave the man a look of pure disgust then trotted to her side.

  Since Meg didn’t know whether or not Ken was alone, she took Rook into the house and locked the door. She didn’t care if Ken tried to run away before the officers got here. She intended to file a report no matter what. Abuse of power was abuse of power.

  She hadn’t realized that—or she’d been too embarrassed to admit it—in college, but not any more.

  *

  Unfortunately, the red tape and reports took longer than she’d hoped. She texted Henry with a vague explanation—“Someone broke into the barn. Waiting for sheriff,” but decided not to worry him with the details since there was nothing he could do.

  “We’re back,” she said, walking into the kitchen after a quick knock on the door. “Brr, it’s cold outside and, oh, my, something smells good. Are we too late?”

  The kitchen was the bright, warm place she’d been envisioning all day. Her toes felt like ice cubes despite the excellent heater in her truck. “I need food…and hugs.”

  Annie slipped from her seat at the table and ran to Meg with open arms.

  “Hello, beauty. How was your day?”

  “Good. We didn’t watch Frozen.”

  Meg looked at Henry, who was dishing something from a pot on the stove to a serving bowl. He put both aside to walk to her.

  “Good?”

  “Yes.” He helped her with her jacket. “Very good. I was starting to worry, though. I take it the wheels of justice were especially slow today?”

  She sat in the chair Annie led her to. “It was complicated. I’ll fill you in later. All I want to do now is eat.”

  She reached for her fork then stopped and told him, “And please give Rook an extra portion tonight. He deserves it. I am so grateful you sent him with me.”

  He took the chair beside hers and reached for her hand under the table. The look in his eyes made her feel protected and loved. Especially loved.

  *

  Hank had to wait through the longest supper on Earth, then bath time, and book time, and snuggle time before Meg was his.

  He handed her a glass of cabernet once she joined him on the sofa in front of the wood-burning stove. The sound of canned laughter from the television set in the family room warned them that JJ was still up. Hank put his arm around her shoulder so she snuggled closer to his heart. “I was worried.”

  “I know you were. But you couldn’t do anything, and my phone was dying.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  She gave him a play-by-play, including Ken’s arrest.

  “Apparently, Ken didn’t believe I’d call the Sheriff because he was walking down the road when they picked him up.”

  “Headed downhill?”

  “No, he ran that way when he thought Rook was after him, but then, apparently, he remembered a snow mobile loaded with my tools and your helicopter parts about a hundred yards or so from the barn.”

  Hank’s jaw dropped. “He’s a thief and a cad?”

  “Yep. Nothing like a woman with gun and a big dog to make a man forget his ill-gotten loot. But, now, he’s locked up so all is good.”

  He knew there was more to the story. He could probably call an old friend or two from his SAR days to get more details, but first…

  “Wait. Did you say you had a gun?”

  “I have several. Dad taught us all to shoot…and fly. I’m a pilot, too, did I tell you that?” He shook his head, but the news didn’t surprise him. “Not to brag, but I’m a very good shot. I got serious about it after…” She stopped.

  “After the summer Ken led your wilderness survival trek,” he supplied. She looked up, waiting for him to go on. “I know about his brag sheet, Meg. I saw your name on it.”

  She ducked her head. “Not my proudest moment.”

  “My wife’s name was on it, too. A few years before yours. You were what? Eighteen?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Glory was twenty-two. I’d joined Search And Rescue as a way to get out of a small house with a colicky baby.”

  Also something he wasn’t proud to admit.

  “Are you saying you and Ken were friends?”

  “We knew each other. I never liked the guy. I knew he had a reputation. But I turned a blind eye to the way he treated women because…as lame as it sounds, that’s what men did back then…until I found out he was screwing my wife.”

  She repositioned herself so she could look at him. Her sympathetic frown made his guilt even worse.

  “We got into it one day in the parking lot.” His fist closed, remembering the brute satisfaction he’d felt when he landed an uppercut that sent Ken reeling. “He whined the loudest and I got kicked off the team.”

  “That’s not fair. Did you ask for a hearing?”

  He shook his head. “My pride was hurt. My wife cheated on me. I felt like my life was falling apart. So, I followed in my dad’s shoes—I worked too much and pretended I didn’t give a shit.

  “But what’s killing me is I never said anything about his extra-curricular activities. The guy was a predator. He took advantage of young women and then bragged about it.”

  Although his stomach turned, he added, “Virgins were marked with the sign of a V in a circle with a diagonal line through it.”

  Meg’s jaw dropped. “You knew?”

  “I knew he was a jerk. He went for Glory because she was mine, and because she was unhappy. That made her a target.

  “I can see his pattern now, clear as day, but I didn’t think in those terms at the time. I’m sorry, Meg. I really am. If I’d reported him, he might not have been the one who led your camping trip.”

  She patted her chest and let out a small, “Oh, Henry, you are the most decent human being I’ve ever known.”

  “Why would you say that? I didn’t do anything.”

  She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Beautiful man, you’d carry everyone’s burden if we let you. But, this is not yours to carry, my love. It’s mine.”

  He still didn’t get what she was trying to say.

  “I was young and immature, but I wasn’t underage. I knew what I was doin
g. I thought it out. You know me.” She tapped her head. “Logic and reason, right? I figured an older man with experience would be a better lover than some panting young geek.”

  Her confession left him speechless.

  She gave him a moment to process this unexpected concept, before adding, “I realized, immediately, that I’d made a ghastly mistake. In my mind, I’d imbued Ken with heroic attributes that had no basis in reality.” She made a face. “I spent the next four nights sleeping with a buck knife in hand. I bet that wasn’t on his brag sheet.”

  Hank let out a bark of laughter.

  She smiled, too, and placed her hand along the side of his face. “The ultimate irony is if you’d been the man leading that wilderness retreat, you’d have been my first lover…”

  “And your last,” he said with a possessive growl.

  “I wish. But, Henry…” She shook her head. “I had so much growing up to do. I thought I knew everything, had all the answers.

  “Remember how hard I fought to convince the world my cause was just and good and ranchers like you were living in the past?” She knocked her fists together. “If anyone owes the other an apology here, it’s me.”

  “No. Don’t ever apologize for your passion.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the love, the worry and the forever thoughts he’d been thinking all day.

  When they were both breathless, he inhaled deeply, looked her in the eyes and said, “Even when I wanted to hate you, I couldn’t.”

  He kissed her eyes, her nose, and the fluttering pulse in her neck. “Because, deep down, I loved you then, and I love you even more, now. Will you marry me?”

  She stared, speechless, for a good minute, and then she put his hand on her flat belly. “Before or after I have Mia’s baby?”

  “I’ve thought about little else all day. I even brought up the subject with the kids.”

  “Really? What did you tell them?”

  “That when you love someone, you take them as they are—and that includes their family, their faults, and their commitments to whatever ideas are important to them.”