Montana Unbranded

by Nadia Nichols

  “You’re not crazy,” he said, “but you scare me to death.” And then he kissed her again, and after that second kiss, there was no turning back.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE PURCHASE AND sales agreement for Shep Deakins’s ranch was signed at approximately 4:22 that afternoon. “I’ve already spoken to the seller,” the Realtor informed them upon their arrival at her office, “and your offer’s been accepted, pending the results of the water test, of course. If everything else goes smoothly, we could close in thirty days. Congratulations!” Dani wrote out a check for five thousand dollars as an earnest money deposit.

  Joe escorted Dani out of the office and down the steps. She paused when she reached the bottom and waited while he picked a few stray pieces of grass from her braid. “Guess I didn’t get it all,” he said with a grin. She fished a green cottonwood leaf from inside her shirt and let it flutter to the sidewalk.

  “No, you didn’t, not by half,” she said, flushing prettily and giving him a look that said she wasn’t talking about grass and leaves in her hair and clothes. Joe’s heartbeat quickened. After the hour they’d spent tangled up together on the banks of that creek, he wasn’t sure what she meant but he knew what it was he wanted.

  “Well, you’re about to become the owner of a wild horse refuge,” Joe said. “This calls for a celebration. I’ll buy you a drink at that tavern just down the street. They probably serve food, too. We should eat something before going to the cattlemen’s meeting. It could drag on for hours.”

  The tavern was dark inside, with old photos and dim wagon wheel light sconces on the walls. A bartender polished glasses, a few people sat at the bar and a group of what looked like high-school-age waitresses cleaned salt and pepper shakers and filled sugar bowls at one of the tables, getting ready for the evening rush. “Seat yourselves, I’ll be right with you!” the older supervisor with the short bleached spikes called out. When they were seated, she left the group and came to their table wearing a name tag that said Cindy. “What can I getcha?” she said, notepad and pencil at the ready.

  “I’d like a glass of La Posta,” Dani said.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “I’ll just have a glass of your house red.”

  “Gotcha.” Cindy scribbled on her notepad. “You?”

  “Draft beer,” Joe said. “Do you serve food?”

  “Just breakfast, but it’s real good and we serve it all day long. We just started our new summer menu today. There’s some real good stuff on it.” She plucked two laminated one-page menus from the bar and handed each of them a copy. “I’ll be back with your drinks in two shakes.”

  Joe tried to concentrate on the menu but all he could think about was the woman across the small table from him and how demure and proper she looked, sitting there with her head bent studiously over the menu. Had they really, just hours earlier, been tearing each other’s clothes off beside that creek in a desperate rush to consummate an intimate act they both desperately wanted but equally feared? Had they really collapsed together onto the ground with all the romantic grace of two wrestlers trying to win a match? Had Dani really started laughing halfway through their wrestling match because she had a foot cramp? Had he really rolled over on a sharp rock with her on top of him and shouted a pain-filled curse into her ear, shifting her aside and saying, “Oh, God, I’m sorry!”

  His performance had been an embarrassment. A joke. Worst ever. Was that what she had meant by that comment of hers—“not by half”? Was it because he hadn’t measured up by half to her ex? He dropped his eyes to the menu, filled with a kind of sick despair. He’d wanted to impress her and he’d made a fool of himself instead.

  Dani was being very quiet, studying the menu. Was she already regretting what they’d done? The awkwardness Joe felt began to build. He couldn’t think of a thing to say and the silence between them became almost unbearable.

  Cindy came back with their drinks and whipped out her notebook. “Have you decided?”

  “I have a question, Cindy,” Dani said in her most professional counselor tone of voice.

  “Shoot!” Cindy responded briskly, pencil poised in midair.

  “What are ‘Breakfast Bubes’?”

  “Huh?” Cindy snatched the menu from Dani’s hand and studied it with a furrowed brow. “Oh, for cripes’ sake!” she burst out, then stomped briskly along the bar to the kitchen door where she brandished the menu to the unseen cook. “Henry, we got Breakfast Bubes listed on the new menu! I wonder who made that typo!”

  There was a chorus of giggles from the younger waitresses, who had picked up copies of the new menu and were scrutinizing it with delight.

  “Breakfast Bubes! Look at that, only $1.99. What a bargain!” one hooted.

  “Good going, Henry, that’s your best typo ever!”

  “This could become one of our hottest sellers! The guys’ll love ’em!”

  “Depends on the size of the order,” another quipped. “Thirty-two double-A like yours? Not so great.”

  “My mother’s a thirty-eight double-D. I don’t know what happened to me.”

  “They might grow more if you eat a lot of parsley.”

  “That’s enough, girls,” Cindy snapped, marching back to their table. She handed the menu back to Dani. “That’s supposed to read ‘Breakfast Cubes,’” she said. “They’re diced-up potatoes. I apologize for the typo. Henry’s going to fix it, soon as he fixes the dishwasher, which hasn’t run right in two years.”

  Dani hid behind her menu. Her shoulders were shaking. Behind her, the girls were now talking about men’s feet as they filled the salt and pepper shakers. “Have you ever noticed how man feet are all big knobby knuckles and black hair?”

  “Boy, you ain’t kidding—ugliest things ever!”

  “Clean those sugar bowls, girls!” Cindy snapped.

  Dani made a choked noise as Joe handed his menu to Cindy. The awkward moment had been effectively erased by a menu typo and the young girls. He gave the waitress a big grin. “I’ll have two eggs with a side of Breakfast Bubes, since this is probably the last time I’ll ever be able to order a breakfast item like that for supper.”

  “Gotcha,” Cindy said. “You want those eggs over easy or sunny-side up?”

  * * *

  THE CATTLEMEN’S MEETING began at 6:30 p.m. but Dani and Joe didn’t leave the tavern until 6:15 p.m. Dani was feeling light-headed and euphoric after two glasses of house red and an hour of gazing at Joe across the tiny table as the tavern filled with patrons and jovial noise. She’d hardly touched her ham and eggs. All she could think about was the awkward tryst they’d shared beside the creek, and how sweet Joe had been, how tender. After that first searing kiss, she hadn’t been sure what to expect, and the gun in a shoulder holster under his jacket had surprised her. But he was a cop, a federal drug enforcement agent with the Mob after him. Why wouldn’t he be armed?

  They hadn’t exactly chosen the best of spots, swept up as they’d been in the heat of the moment, but he’d been so considerate afterward, helping her dress, picking the grass and leaves out of her hair, brushing off her clothes. Three times he’d asked her if she was okay and once he’d even asked, “Did I hurt you?”

  Hurt her? The only thing that had hurt was how quick it had been, and yet, they’d had to get past that first dangerous place, past those first awkward moments carrying all the baggage from the past that they’d both brought into their relationship. Joe hadn’t hurt her; he’d only whetted her appetite and now she wanted more. A whole lot more of a man she’d vowed not to get hooked on.

  But she was caught, hook, line and sinker. It was pointless to pretend she didn’t care about Joe when she was crazy about him. So much had happened in the past few days that she was dizzy from it all—meeting Joe, rescuing that orphaned foal, trying to find who shot the wild mustangs...and n
ow she was about to become a real ranch owner. She’d have to walk the walk and talk the talk among these cattlemen, but one thing she knew for certain—she didn’t want to walk that path alone.

  She also knew she had to be careful. She didn’t want to spook Joe, and nothing did that faster than a needy woman. She made a vow to herself that she’d never ask anything of him that he didn’t willingly offer. She laced her arm through his as they walked into the old grange hall and took seats at the back, smiling and nodding at the curious faces that turned their way. Caleb wasn’t there, which was unfortunate. His presence would have been welcome. Hershel Bonner wasn’t there, either, which was probably a good thing.

  The meeting was called to order quickly by the chairman, who read the minutes of the last meeting. There was a much heated discussion about the federal government’s latest attack on ranchers by trying to raise the price of the grazing leases. “I don’t think it’s going to happen,” the chairman finally mediated. “The livestock lobby’s too strong and we have politicians in key places. They’ve been trying to jack the rates for decades and haven’t been able to do it yet, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about. And now I’d like to bring up another subject along the same lines.”

  The chairman, a lean, gray-haired weather-beaten man who looked like he could whip Clint Eastwood in a gunfight, picked up a piece of paper, put on his reading glasses, leaned on the podium and said, “We’ve all been watching what the BLM is doing about the wild horse problem. They realize the range is being destroyed by too many horses and they want to remove an additional forty thousand mustangs from our grazing lands, but the public is fighting them tooth and nail, and the BLM is giving in. I’d like to recap a letter that the Utah Cattlemen’s Association sent to their senators and congressmen. It states good points that we should make our own, to put the pressure on the lobbyists and politicians. I’ll read you the important points.

  “First off, there’s no need for additional wilderness areas or special protection of lands. Secondly, the Endangered Species Act needs a critical revision. Thirdly, the wild horse, wild burro and wildlife issues need to be resolved. Grazers continue to express concern that the resources cannot continue to be abused by wildlife and wild horses. The federal agencies need to recognize their overriding charter of protecting the rangeland resources and not continually give in to special interest groups that seek an increase of one species at the expense of the resources. The federal agencies must establish a functional system of management that is not always contested and stopped in the courts. Also, the federal government must recognize and respect that water rights are governed and protected under state water rights and laws.”

  He laid down the paper, removed his glasses and looked out over the crowded room. “There’s more along those lines, but you get the gist. It’s a good letter. I’ll distribute copies to all of you after the meeting. Point is, we’re losing control of our grazing rights to special interest groups, and it has to stop. We have to protect our public grazing lands from political posturing and ensure that we have the certainty we need to be able to manage our ranches for the benefit of our nation, or else we might end up with our public grazing leases being turned over to packs of wolves and herds of wild horses.”

  Dani felt a surge of anger and started to her feet, but a strong tug on her jacket plopped her back into her seat. She shot a sidelong glance at Joe, who looked as calm as if he was attending a Sunday afternoon church social. He rose to his feet. “Permission to speak?” he said.

  “Granted,” the chairman said, visibly surprised by the request. “I don’t recognize you, son.”

  “My name’s Joe Ferguson and my partner and I are guests here tonight. I don’t know much about this ranching business, but my partner here’s as local as they come, and she’s looking at running some cattle in your neck of the woods. I’m confused about these grazing leases. If she holds grazing leases for her stock on public lands, do those leases apply to the water on those lands, as well? For instance, if a creek runs through the grazing lease, does the rancher have exclusive use of that water as it passes through that allotment?”

  The chairman leaned one elbow on the podium. “Well, current regulations state that the right to use water on public lands for the purpose of livestock watering is regulated by the state in which the land is located, and here in Montana the use of the waters in our streams is declared to be a public use. Every citizen has the right to divert and use the water so long as they don’t infringe upon the rights of another who had a prior right by appropriation. So, you can use the water for your livestock, as long as you’re not taking it from someone who had a prior right to it. And when you’re done, you have to restore the flow to the channel of the stream so other folks can use it. Does that help?”

  “What about irrigating hay fields?”

  “Same thing. You can use the water so long as you aren’t robbing it from another rancher who had prior rights.”

  “How do you know if someone else has prior rights to a stream running through public grazing lands?”

  “That information should be in your grazing leases.”

  “So if the creek runs dry because a rancher upstream has a prior right, and my animals suffer, do I have any recourse?”

  “Yes. You can go to the state level and petition for fair water rights.”

  “You mentioned wild horses and their impact on grazing lands. Does a lease holder have the right to run them off the lease if they stray onto it?”

  “That’s why God made fences, son,” the chairman said.

  “And bullets,” a man in the front row added, to a ripple of laughter.

  “Just keep your fences in good repair and you shouldn’t have any trouble,” the chairman said. “We don’t have much of a problem with mustangs in this part of Montana. Kids on four-wheelers are more of a nuisance.”

  “Thank you.” Joe sat back down.

  Back in Dani’s car after the meeting adjourned, Dani was fuming over the comments that had been made. “And that comment about the bullets!” she burst out as she started the Subaru. “That was disgusting. You know what those people are? They’re welfare ranchers, all of ’em. They use our public lands without paying diddly squat, running their cows all over, polluting the water sources, creating erosion and destroying the vegetation. We taxpayers subsidize their ranches to the tune of billions of dollars a year. Did you know that wild horses and burros have been squeezed into just twenty percent of the land allocated to them by the Wild and Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act that was signed into law in 1971? Miners and frackers and welfare ranchers are pushing them to extinction! Those ranchers in that meeting are mooching off the American taxpayer while our wildlife and wilderness areas are being annihilated!” She pulled out onto the black road and accelerated. “Why didn’t you let me speak up?”

  “Too risky. They might’ve strung you up.”

  “Fifteen years ago, two percent of public land ranchers controlled fifty percent of permitted grazing acreage. And today that elite group of megarich owners has tightened its hold on federal grazing land even further through leases attached to those larger-than-life ranches they inherit or buy outright to use as tax write-offs?”

  “It didn’t look like many elite billionaires were in that meeting tonight.”

  “No doubt they had much more important things to be doing but they benefit from all that lobbying, believe me.”

  They left the outskirts of town. Up ahead a neon green motel sign flashed, bright even in the golden light of the early-summer evening. “Would you look at that,” Joe marveled. “The Wagon Wheel Motel has vacancies.”

  He heard Dani blow out an exasperated breath, then she cut a quick glance in his direction. He wondered if she felt the sexual current running between them, but he didn’t have to wonder for long. Her foot came off the accelerator as the neon sign grew bigger. It wa
s a tacky-looking place with a little half-moon motor court, vinyl siding and green trim with fake shutters. Each motel unit had two little windows that looked out at the parking lot. Dani glanced at him again, then pulled into the gravel lot and parked in front of the little office with the big plastic wagon wheel mounted to the wall beside the door. Joe got out and went inside. A young kid sat behind the desk reading a newspaper. He got to his feet, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “I need a room,” Joe said.

  “Sixty-five bucks,” the kid responded with a smirk, handing him a registration card. Two minutes later he was unlocking the door of unit six while Dani parked the Subaru in front of it. Four minutes later they were tearing their clothes off with the same furious haste they’d employed at Shep Deakins’s place, until Dani stayed his hands with her own and they kissed with a hot, wet tangle of tongues that made his knees turn to water.

  “Slow down,” she murmured as they came up for breath. “Slow and easy, cowboy...”

  This wasn’t going to be another awkward wrestling match beside the creek with sharp rocks digging into his back. This was going to be the way it should be. The Wagon Wheel might not be the classiest hole-in-the-wall, but it had a bed and, at the moment, nothing else really mattered. She was unbuckling his belt when her cell phone rang. She moaned, arching against him for another passionate kiss.

  “Don’t answer it,” he said when she pulled away on the fourth ring. Her phone was on the desk in her purse. She checked the caller ID. “It’s Steven. He never calls me.” She answered it. Joe flopped onto the bed with a frustrated moan.