Montana Unbranded

by Nadia Nichols

  “I’m not hungry. I know you cooked that nice meal for me and I’m sorry I didn’t touch it, but this pregnancy thing isn’t much fun. I feel sick all the time, and I’m worried about Joe. I know he’s safe but I keep feeling like the house is being watched.”

  “That’s just your imagination. I’ve already checked a dozen times. There’s nobody out there, unless it’s one of the sheriff’s deputies doing a drive-by. I don’t think you should go anywhere tomorrow. Stay home and work on the Madison Mountain papers.”

  “I’m done sitting around the house,” she complained. “It’s driving me crazy. If I do something I’ll feel better, even if it’s just driving to the Bow and Arrow to hang out with Dani and Joseph. I’ll be home by supper. Nothing strenuous. No mountain climbing or anything like that. I might stop and see Luther Makes Elk, though.”

  “Every time you stop to see Luther, you read too much into what he says and it makes you worry even more.”

  “Steven, he’s your grandfather and he’s a holy man and he saved your life. He might have something to say about Joseph, something that could help my brother stay safe. How can I not visit him? And besides, he’s going to be marrying us in a few weeks.”

  Steven brought her a glass of milk and set it beside the banana. “So this means you will bring him more Chinese food, and I suppose that Pendleton blanket that arrived yesterday is for Luther, too?”

  “I thought he might like it,” Molly said, picking up the glass of milk. “It’s a very handsome wool blanket, three points, red-and-black stripes, his favorite colors.”

  “A wool blanket and some Chinese food will not change the future,” Steven said.

  “I like your grandfather,” Molly said, setting down her glass of milk. “You should be glad I want to go see him and that he likes me, or he might not have agreed to perform our ceremony.”

  “I am glad that you like each other, but I think you should stay home until this sickness passes. You should not be driving out to the Bow and Arrow, or visiting Luther. It’s a long ways.”

  “Take tomorrow off and come with me,” Molly urged.

  Steven shook his head. “I have three appointments and I can’t cancel them. We are barely making it as it is.”

  “Young Bear and Ferguson.” Molly sighed. “It’s been quite a struggle, hasn’t it?”

  “Are you sorry you left your law firm in Helena?”

  Molly shook her head. “No regrets, not a single one. I’d rather eat macaroni and cheese for the rest of my life than go back to that law firm. I’ve never been happier, Steven.” She reached across the table and gripped his hand. “I love you. It might seem like hard times now, but our baby’s going to be the luckiest baby in the whole wide world to have a father like you and grow up in a place like this. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Good. Neither would I, but I do not like macaroni and cheese,” Steven said, “and I am hoping it does not come to that. Go and see Luther Makes Elk, and spend the day with Dani and your brother, but be home by dark. You are not the only one who worries.”

  * * *

  PONY TOLD THEM a little bit about the history of the Crow sweat lodge ceremony while she walked with Dani and Joe to Piney Creek. The trail ran up behind the old cabin and paralleled the creek as it climbed. Joe was quickly out of breath. The pain in his side grew worse with every step. Dani seemed unaffected by the steepness of the trail. Her leather hiking boots hadn’t gotten worn like that from sitting in a closet. She climbed like a mountain goat.

  “The sweat lodge ceremony was an important part of Crow culture, but the sweats were banned by the US government until 1978. Now it is part of our culture again, but a real sweat lodge ceremony must be performed by someone who has been taught the old ways, like Luther Makes Elk taught my brother, Steven, who then taught Roon.

  “There are many spiritual connections in the actual ceremony. Four is an important number in Native American culture, as it represents the four directions and four seasons. You must be quiet when the first four rocks are brought in, but as more rocks are added, you can start to talk. There are four rounds in the sweat, but there are breaks in between each. In the first round, water is poured on the rocks four times. Water is poured seven times in the second round. The seven pours symbolize the Big Dipper and the seven buffalo that once helped the Crow tribe. During the third round, there are ten pours, which represents the number of moons between conception and birth. On the final round, there is no limit to the number of pours, which symbolizes that our spiritual life goes on forever. Herbs and medicines are also used during sweat ceremonies, but in Crow tradition, the most commonly used herb is bear root. When the door is closed and the ceremony starts, the bear root is thrown on the rocks, which lights up like stars. It also emits a peppery and soothing smell.

  “The spirit and body are two different things,” Pony said. “The body is temporary, as it grows old, weak and tired. But the spirit is infinite—it never ends—and like water, it is always the same. The sweat lodge ceremony is about celebrating life and living it to the fullest. It is about self-discovery. It is a form of prayer.”

  * * *

  JOE WASN’T SURE what to expect when he walked with Dani and Pony up the trail to the place where the sweat lodge had been constructed. He’d pictured a towering teepee with smoke curling out the top. What he saw, there on the edge of the creek, tucked into the woods, was a low dark mound. The lodge was maybe eight or ten feet in diameter, no more than four feet high and covered with what looked like blankets and buffalo skins. A flap lifted and served as the entrance, and inside strips of red cloth hung from the frame and fluttered when Pony opened the flap. She told him they were tied to the willow framing poles as reminders of the prayers said when each was fastened. The rich herbal odor of bear root hung in the air inside the sweat lodge, and a pit to hold the fire-hot rocks was dug in the far corner.

  A fire burned in a pit close by and stones had been arranged in and around it. The creek tumbled into a deep pool in this spot, which, according to Roon, was why the sweat lodge had been constructed there. “We can just stand on the edge of the pool and dump buckets of water over our heads,” Roon explained as he added more firewood to the pit that heated the rocks. “It’s deep enough to swim but sometimes the shock of so much cold water after being in the heat of the sweat lodge can make a person pass out, so it’s best just to use the buckets of water. It’s good, having the creek close by like this. Your skin will get so hot it will feel like it’s on fire. You can come out whenever you get too hot and dump water over yourself.”

  “Do people have visions during a sweat lodge ceremony?”

  Roon nodded. “You might see things.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Strip,” Roon said. “You don’t want to be wearing any clothes when you go in the sweat lodge. It gets too hot.”

  The boys snickered. Pony frowned. They stopped. “You can go into the sweat lodge with your underclothes on,” she said.

  Dani scanned the trio of leering boys, then said, “You’re on your own, Special Agent Ferguson. I’ll settle for a long, hot shower.”

  * * *

  TWO HOURS LATER, Joe stood beneath the bright spangle of stars and poured one final bucket of ice-cold creek water over his head. He was light-headed and dizzy.

  The boys had chanted. Roon had beaten on a skin drum and thrown handfuls of bear root on the hot rocks, filling the scorching air inside the lodge with a pungent herbal scent and whirls of colorful sparks. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand any more heat, Roon would announce a break, and they’d come outside and pour water over themselves. This was the end of the fourth and final round. The sweat lodge ceremony was done.

  The boys were quiet. They passed around a towel as they stood dripping in the cool night air. Nobody spoke. They pulled on their clothing, then sat on rocks beside
the creek to put on their shoes. An owl hooted in the darkness. A gust of wind tugged through the trees. The creek rushed past, carrying the water that was life itself, the spirit that never ends. The owl hooted again and Joe stared into the starlit night for a long moment, then rose and began the downhill walk back to the ranch, where the boys filed into their building and Joe continued toward the ranch house. He climbed the porch steps slowly and sank down onto the wall bench. He wasn’t as dizzy now, but he still felt strange, as if adrift, untethered. His muscles were like water but his lung felt better. The pain was gone.

  A few minutes passed as he sat listening to the night sounds. A horse blowing down in the corrals. A whip-poor-will calling in the meadow beyond the creek. The murmur of voices in the kitchen. Then a patch of light spilled out onto the porch as the door opened. Dani emerged, carrying a pitcher of water and two glasses. She sat beside him and filled both glasses, handing one to him. “Water with lemon slices,” she said. “Pony said you’d need to drink a lot of water after the sweat.”

  Joe took the glass and drank the cool, tart liquid. She refilled his glass and he drank that one down, too. The third glass he drank more slowly. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice sounded strange to his ears.

  “You’re welcome. Did you have a vision?”

  Joe leaned his shoulders against the weather-bleached boards of the house. He thought about seeing Molly walking away from him, looking back over her shoulder, and the incredibly sad feeling that came over him as she moved farther away. But he kept the vision to himself and shook his head. “No profound visions, but I felt like I was floating outside of myself. Still do.”

  “Maybe you’re dead and having an out-of-body experience.”

  Joe laughed. “If a sweat lodge is supposed to strengthen your blood, I should be good for another hundred years.”

  Dani sat quietly beside him while he finished his third glass of water. Then she said, “I’m sorry I called you a jerk.”

  “You called me an insensitive jerk.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  Joe gazed at her in the darkness. “Don’t be. What you said was absolutely true. I am an insensitive jerk. Any other red-blooded man would have kissed you back at the Hairy Dog.”

  “What makes you think I’d have let you?”

  “Because you were hoping I did.”

  “I can think of more romantic places to share a first kiss than the Hairy Dog.”

  Joe thought he sensed a smile in her response. “Is this place romantic enough for you?”

  “I think this is the perfect place,” Dani murmured, but just as Joe had resolved to make his move, she added, “But now’s not the time. You were right about something you said to me.”

  Joe froze. “What was that?”

  “You asked me how I could be sure if what I felt in a relationship was real, or if it was even reciprocated, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Maybe the strong attraction I feel toward you is just a rebound reaction from Jack walking out on me, and me wanting you—someone—to be attracted to me. I had no business talking about commitment. You’re right about wanting to stay unbranded. The last thing either of us needs right now is another relationship.”

  Joe sat back, baffled. “Did I say all that?”

  “You’re a lot wiser than me, Joe. I apologize for being such a fool.”

  At that moment the kitchen door opened and Jimmy’s voice called out into the night. “Dani? Can you come look at the cheese? I think something bad’s happening.”

  She rose to her feet. “I’ll be right there, Jimmy.” Then to Joe, who was struggling to rise, she said, “You still want to come with me tomorrow?”

  “If you don’t mind my tagging along.”

  “I’d like it if you came.”

  They stood facing each other. Even though Joe couldn’t see her clearly in the darkness, the nearness of her drove him wild. The sexual tension flowed between them like an electrical current. He was sure if they touched, sparks would fly. “Well, good night, Joe,” she said softly, and turned to go into the kitchen. Joe stood for a few seconds more. He should have thrown all caution to the wind, pulled Dani into his arms and kissed her. Instead, as the kitchen door closed behind her, he dropped back onto the wall bench with a defeated groan.

  He needed another sweat lodge to get Dani out of his blood.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, after tossing and turning through mutually sleepless nights, Dani and Joe were on the road directly after breakfast. They left Jimmy in the kitchen straining his curdled goat cheese through the cheesecloth with Ramalda keeping a watchful eye. “Be sure to refrigerate it when it’s finished draining, and don’t rush it. Making good chèvre takes time,” Dani instructed him.

  Before they left the ranch, they stopped at the barn to check on the filly and Roon solemnly presented Joe with a cowboy hat. The hat was a genuine felt Stetson, tan colored, with a leather hatband. “It’s too big for me,” Roon explained. “If you’re going to pretend to be a cattle rancher today, you should look like one.”

  Joe thanked him, put it on and glanced at her. “What do you think?”

  In spite of her resolve to distance herself, Dani felt herself melting. “It looks like it belongs on you,” she said, and meant it.

  She loaded Remington and Winchester into the Subaru, Joe climbed into the passenger seat and they headed out. Maybe a special agent with the DEA was a little overqualified for tracking down someone who’d shot four wild mustangs, but so be it. Dani was glad Joe was along for the ride and she was doubly glad he’d brought her to her senses about getting involved in another relationship too quickly. She hoped last night’s chat convinced him that she wasn’t a threat to the freedom he so obviously coveted.

  When Jack had left Dani for another woman, she’d been determined not to feel vulnerable ever again, but her resolve had crumbled in Joe’s presence. She had to protect herself. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself get hooked on Joe Ferguson. She’d keep him at arm’s length. She needed time to heal from the hurtful way her last relationship had ended.

  She loved the mustangs because they were wild, because they were unbranded and belonged to no one. The same reasons that Joe had connected with them, admiring the photographs at her house in Helena. But she was pretty sure she couldn’t love a man who shared those traits. Not even Joe Ferguson.

  The drive to Josie and Kurt’s place took over an hour. They debated swinging by the sheriff’s office as they drove through town to check on any updates, but decided to stop on their way out of town instead. Joe was also against calling either the sheriff or his son ahead of time to announce their visit. “It’s better not to,” he simply said. Josie and Kurt Conroy lived just outside the city limits, in a pleasant homogenized suburb with small lawns neatly mowed and garages attached to pastel-colored, cookie-cutter houses.

  “I can see why she kept her mare at her father’s place,” Dani said, pulling into the driveway just beyond the big gilt-lettered Conroy on the black mailbox. “I don’t think anyone in this neighborhood would approve of her keeping a prized cutting horse in the front yard.”

  “Or the back,” Joe said. “Josie’s car’s not here. Just that truck...”

  Something in his voice alerted Dani, and she glanced at him as she cut the ignition. “What about the truck?”

  “Nothing,” Joe said. He opened his door. “Let’s see if Kurt’s home.”

  They knocked, but there was no response. “I can hear a TV inside, or a radio,” Dani said after they’d knocked several times. “Let’s check out back.”

  The backyard was the same size as the front yard, small and square with a cedar privacy fence defining the perimeter. The grass out back hadn’t been mowed and the raised patio was littered with crumpled beer cans, cigarette butts and fast-food wra
ppers. The contrast between the neat front yard and the trashy backyard surprised Dani, but what surprised her more was the sight of the deputy sheriff sprawled in the lawn chair in a soiled T-shirt and jeans, an empty bottle of whiskey lying on its side near his dangling hand.

  “Is he dead?” she whispered.

  Joe walked up and bent close to check him over. “Kurt? Kurt Conroy?” He gave the deputy sheriff’s shoulder a shake. There was no response. He straightened. “Dead drunk,” he pronounced. “Now what?”

  “We should call Sheriff Conroy and let him know. He could come over here and check on him. Someone should.”

  He tried the patio door and it opened. “Why don’t you make him a pot of coffee? That might help.”

  “Seriously? You mean, go inside his kitchen?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “You know. Find the stove, a coffeepot, some coffee. Make it good and strong.”

  Dani flushed. “That’s breaking and entering.”

  “That’s being a Good Samaritan and keeping a deputy sheriff’s reputation intact. It’s either that or call an ambulance and make it a public matter.” At that moment the deputy groaned, made another noise like a dry heave and shifted on the lounge chair. Dani backed away.

  “I’ll make the coffee,” Joe said. “If he vomits, make sure he doesn’t aspirate. Get him on the ground and roll him on his side.”

  The kitchen was a mess. The table was stacked with piles of unopened mail, the sink was full of unwashed dishes and more crumpled beer cans littered the counters. Two empty whiskey bottles crowned a brimming trash can. But Joe found the drip coffee machine, cleaned the moldy brew out of the carafe and filter, added fresh water and lots of coffee from a canister on the counter and started it brewing. Joe was just poking through the trash when Dani stuck her head around the kitchen door. “He’s making more noises but he isn’t waking up. What are you doing?”

  “Thought I’d look around a little.”