Montana Standoff. Nadia Nichols
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held obediently still for his first aid. “Thank you,” she repeated when he had finished. He didn’t reply, but went back to the kitchen. Soon she could smell intriguing aromas. He returned and laid another log on the fire, then disappeared back into the kitchen and made more domestic noises. She thought it was extraordinary that a man she hardly knew was cooking supper for her, especially under the circumstances. She took another sip of her drink and touched her fingertips to the poultice that Young Bear had applied to her swollen cheek. He was right. It already felt better.
“I hope you like shrimp curry,” Steven said, coming from the kitchen with a plate of food and setting it onto the coffee table in front of her.
“Never had it,” Molly admitted. “I’m a corned-beef-and-cabbage kind of a girl, but it smells wonderful.” She set her drink down, picked up the fork he’d laid beside the plate, and in a matter of minutes had cleaned it of the last grain of rice.
“More?” he said.
She sat back with a flush of embarrassment at how quickly she’d devoured the meal. “No, thank you. That was delicious and once again I can’t thank you enough.” She hesitated. “Forgive me, but I have to ask. Do you always wear a tuxedo when you go to public hearings?”
“Only when they’re important,” he said.
Molly laughed. “I have only one more favor to ask. Could you please call me a taxi to take me into Bozeman?”
He picked up her plate and took it into the kitchen. “You’re welcome to stay in the guest room,” he said over the sound of running water. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Most law offices are closed, but the auto parts store will be open and we can pick up a tow rope. My Jeep should pull your car right out of that ditch.”
Molly sat up, gripping her gin and tonic and wondering if she’d heard him right. “That’s way too much to ask,” she finally managed to say. “I’ll just take a taxi to the airport hotel. You’ve done more than enough as it is.” She rose to bring her glass into the kitchen but he beat her to it, appearing in front of her, taking it out of her hand, and replacing it with a plate.
“Finish off the rest of the curry so I can wash the pan, and I’ll fix you another drink,” he said, as if offering her a fair trade.
Molly sat back down, plate resting on her knees. She should insist that he call her a taxi, but the combined lure of the cheerful fire in the fireplace, the peaceful ambience of the house, and the company of this extraordinary man won out. “Thank you, Mr. Young Bear.”
“Steven,” he corrected. “And you’re welcome.”
STEVEN POURED HIMSELF another cup of coffee, dropped back into his chair and bent over the text he was studying. He took a taste of the strong black brew, read for a little while and then glanced up at the kitchen clock. Nine a.m., and not a peep from the guest room. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or concerned. Perhaps she was a late sleeper, or maybe she was allergic to bee stings and during the night had slipped into an irreversible coma. He walked into the living room, where he paused for a long moment outside the guestroom door, listening. Nothing. He gave a light tap. No response.
“Molly?”
Silence answered him and his anxiety deepened.
The door opened smoothly when he turned the knob. She was lying on her back with the covers drawn up to her chin, fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, and red hair hiding the pillow beneath its fiery cascade. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly. He closed the door, satisfied that she was alive but wondering how to wake her. He had work to do. He wanted to get her situated in her own world again so that he could concentrate on formulating a battle plan to fight this New Millennium Mining proposal.
In the kitchen he lit the propane burner and put the cast-iron pan over it to heat. Within moments, thick slabs of smokehouse bacon were beginning to sizzle. The sweet hickory aroma mingled with the sharp, rich fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee. Surely the smells of breakfast cooking would rouse her from slumber land.
In the meantime, he’d keep studying.
MOLLY WAS IN ATHENS, standing among tall, bone-white pillars. A long gown of the finest silk whispered in the breeze off the Aegean Sea and brushed against her long, slender legs. Her magnificent hair was long and thick, the deepest chestnut, just as she’d always wanted. His was a shade of ebony that shamed the night and his eyes were dark, as they were in life. He lifted a powerful, beautifully muscled arm, beckoning her to the top of a mountain where men swarmed like ants carrying rocks out of a shaft and running to the bottom. Thousands of rocks being carried by thousands of men, all of them running, running….
“They’re stealing our soul,” he said in his deep, masculine voice. “They’re killing our mountain.”
Her mother was calling her to breakfast. “Molly? Time to get up. Rise and shine, lass, you’re burning daylight.”
Molly’s eyes flew open. She stared up at the blur of white ceiling, moved her head toward the rectangle of light in the unfamiliar room. Her momentary disorientation was quickly replaced by the pleasant memories of the night before. She relaxed and stretched beneath the covers. It was so quiet here, and so gloriously peaceful. The smell of bacon tantalized, and her stomach growled in response. She pushed the covers off and sat up, reaching automatically to try and subdue her wild hair. Hopeless.
She stood and went into the bathroom, stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked almost normal. The swelling had gone down overnight, but there was no mistaking where she’d been stung. She sighed with relief and glanced down at the vanity. Steven had left her a brand-new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. She brushed her teeth, washed the baking soda poultice off her cheek, and was drying her face on a hand towel when she heard a knock.
She padded barefoot across the room and opened the door. Nothing. The knock came again and she realized that there was someone at the front door. She waited a moment for Steven to answer it, but apparently the loud spatter of frying bacon had drowned it out. Still holding the hand towel, Molly crossed the room, slid back the dead bolt, and opened the front door. Sunlight spilled over her bare legs but the chill air negated any warmth. She blinked with surprise as a very pretty young woman with eyes and hair as black as Steven’s stared back at her.
“Yes?” Molly said. “Can I help you?”
PONY YOUNG BEAR was struck speechless by the sight of the woman who stood in her brother’s doorway, dressed in what she had to assume was one of Steven’s white shirts…and apparently little else. The young woman’s hair was a shoulder-length flaming mass of curls that took on a life all their own. Her left cheek was red and slightly swollen, and she was holding a hand towel as if she’d just come from the bathroom.
“I… I’m here to see Steven,” Pony managed to say, wondering if the poor woman was a victim of domestic violence. Steven was always rescuing people from less fortunate circumstances.
“Oh.” The woman lifted one hand in a futile attempt to corral her hair. “He’s cooking breakfast. I’ll tell him you’re here. And you are…?”
“His sister.”
“Oh! Well, please, come in….”
“Pony?” She heard Steven’s voice as he appeared in the entryway, holding a spatula. “You’re just in time for breakfast,” he said, his expression betraying nothing. “This is Molly Ferguson. Molly, my sister, Pony.” Pony shook hands with the redhead, whose grip was surprisingly firm.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Molly said. “And now if the two of you will please excuse me…”
Pony noticed how Steven watched the young woman walk across the living room. Then he turned back to her with a faint grin. “Nice legs, huh?” he said.
“Steven, why didn’t you bring her with you to Leona’s wedding?”
“Because I only just met her last night.”
“Oh.”