Unforgiven. B.J. Daniels
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together? A set of snow tires.
The only reason he’d married her was to get her elk hunting tag. Only a few tags were given out each year in the area he loved to hunt. She’d lucked out and gotten one.
It had taken a moose even to get Clete to notice her. She’d been mooning over him for years. But it wasn’t until she’d come into the Range Rider where he’d worked as a bartender and started showing her moose photos that he finally came around.
She’d drawn a moose tag—and bagged one. That was big news since moose tags were more rare than elk. Of course Clete had been jealous as all get out.
“You got a tag?” Clete had said.
She’d grinned, enjoying his jealousy—until he’d asked, “Who shot it for you?”
Bethany hadn’t even bothered to answer him as she’d turned to show off her moose. It was three times bigger than she was and would feed herself and her family all year.
“What’s moose meat taste like?” one of her “city” friends had asked.
“A little sweet, a darker meat than elk or deer. I’ll get you a package of steaks to try,” Bethany had promised. Behind her, she’d heard Clete banging around behind the bar, louder than usual.
It wasn’t until the bar had cleared out some that he’d called her over. “So you shot it yourself,” he’d said and offered her a drink.
She’d never been one to hold a grudge or turn down a free drink. Not to mention the fact that she’d had a crush on Clete since junior high. He’d been Beartooth’s claim to fame, a football player who’d played for the Grizzlies at the University of Montana. That is until he got hurt.
Bethany had always known she was going to marry him. She even did that silly thing all lovesick girls do, she wrote Mrs. Clete Reynolds and Bethany Reynolds so many times that she believed it.
When he’d gotten injured his sophomore year at U of M, he’d dropped out, come home and gotten a job bartending at the Range Rider.
“Just until the leg heals,” he would say. Everyone knew better. When the bar came up for sale, the owner sold it to Clete and carried the loan.
“So tell me about this moose,” Clete had said that day at the bar as he’d glanced up from one of the photos to look at her. There’d been only one other time that he’d looked at her like that, years ago at the Fall Harvest Festival when she was sixteen. She’d told him that day she was going to marry him and that he’d better wait for her to grow up.
But it had taken the moose to bring them together years later.
“You gutted it yourself?” he’d said.
It was so big that she’d had to crawl inside it.
The moose had gotten them dating. But it had taken the elk permit to get Clete to pop the question. It was almost an accepted thing, women giving up their tags so their men could hunt more, even though it was illegal. If you got caught.
Most things came down to simply that, she’d learned. Like affairs, she thought as she slipped into her Western shirt.
“That was amazing,” said the man on the bed.
She felt warm fingertips brush along the top of her bare butt and smiled to herself. Some men were breast men, others leg men. This one was all about her large, round butt and she loved it.
Clete had never appreciated her backside. Hell, he wasn’t all that wild about her other parts, either. Lovemaking with Clete had become so mechanical that Bethany could just lie there and think about anything else she wanted until it was over. At just barely thirty-two, she was in her prime and was glad at least there was one man around who appreciated that fact. This man had never thought she was too young for him.
“I’m glad you were able to get away today,” he said.
She finished snapping her Western shirt and stood. This was when she usually told him that she couldn’t do this anymore. If they got caught, they both had too much to lose, not to mention it was wrong.
Bethany always left him, swearing she wouldn’t go back. But after a day or two, she’d weaken. He made her feel as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He also was smart enough to know a woman didn’t want snow tires on Valentine’s Day, she thought as she again touched the tiny heart-shaped silver locket he’d given her. It felt cold against her bare skin.
“I have to work a double shift at the café tomorrow,” she said and groaned at the thought. She’d worked at the café through high school and thought those days were behind her once she married Clete. She’d been wrong about that, too.
“I’m sorry, Sweetie, but I’m going to be busy for a few days myself.”
She turned to look at him, a little surprised by his words. He always had more free time than she did. Lately, she’d felt as if he was losing interest in her and that scared her.
“Oh, and don’t forget to take that off before you go home, will you,” he told her, motioning to the locket resting against her skin.
The locket, like their affair, was their secret. “I won’t forget.”
* * *
DESTRY COULDN’T WAIT to ride horseback up in the high country above the ranch. She did her best thinking on the back of a horse. Or no thinking at all, which would have been fine with her this afternoon.
When she stopped by the house on her way to the barn, Cherry was lying by the pool.
“Is it always this quiet here?” Cherry asked.
“Always,” Destry said, looking toward the spectacular Crazy Mountains.
“Where do you shop?” Cherry asked.
“Nettie at the Beartooth General Store sells the essentials, food, supplies, even some clothing and muck boots.”
“Muck boots. You have a lot of use for those?” Cherry smiled up at her.
“Actually we do, especially in the spring and during a winter thaw when you’re out feeding the animals.”
“I can’t imagine,” Cherry said with a shake of her head. “Carson said there are grizzlies and they sometimes come down in the yard?”
Destry could tell that the thought had been worrying her. “Occasionally.” She didn’t add that this time of year bears were fattening up for the winter and stuffing themselves before going into hibernation.
Cherry sighed. “I have to tell you, this place gives me the creeps. It’s too...isolated.”
Destry thought about what her brother’s fiancée had said as she prepared for her trip up into the mountains. She’d noticed that Carson had spent little time with Cherry and suspected he was seeing her differently against the Montana backdrop. Cherry was like a fish out of water—and clearly unhappy being here.
Inside the big house, Destry followed a familiar, alluring scent as she walked down to the kitchen to find Margaret making fried pies. A dozen of the small crescent shaped pies were cooling on a rack next to the stove. Against the golden brown of the crusts, the white frosting drizzled over them now dripped onto a sheet of aluminum foil.
“You’re just in time,” Margaret said, smiling, as she lifted two more pies from the hot grease and put them beside the others.
“They smell wonderful.” Destry picked up a still warm pie and took a bite. The crust was flaky and buttery and delicious. She licked her lips, closing her eyes as her taste buds took in the warm cinnamon apple filling and sweet icing.
“Do they meet your satisfaction?” Margaret asked with a smile as Destry groaned in approval.
“I swear they’re the best you’ve ever made,” she said between bites.
Margaret laughed. “You always say