Montana Love Letter. Charlotte Carter
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her brown eyes. He’d felt a connection with her, an undefined link that echoed his own sense of loneliness.
Her elemental feminine mystique called to him, as did her quiet sophistication. Chances were good she wouldn’t feel the same way about him—a guitar-playing mechanic with grease stains on his hands and lube oil in his veins.
She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Which didn’t always mean a woman wasn’t married. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder.
Scratching the back of his head, he forcefully set aside any thought of Janelle Townsend. He had to find out what glitch had kept him from paying on credit.
Sitting at his desk, he punched in the number of Devin McCain at the auto-parts store in Missoula. While he waited for an answer, he looked out the window above his desk, past the play yard to his house, and wondered what Janelle was doing.
“McCain,” his friend answered.
“It’s me, Adam. What’s going on, Devin? What’s this about your delivery guy asking for cash only?” Adam strummed his fingers against the edge of his desk in an agitated beat.
“You tell me, Adam. I ran your credit-card number through the system like I always do, and it was declined. You overextended on your limit?”
“Not likely.” He stared at the pile of invoices that needed to be paid. No more than usual, he was pretty sure. “There’s gotta be some kind of glitch in the system. Did you try it a second time?”
“Three times, man. Rejected every time. You’ve never had trouble with credit before.”
“No, I haven’t.” Since Lisa died, he’d barely kept up with the paperwork that she used to do so easily. But he hadn’t overdrawn his account, he was sure. “Wish you’d given me the benefit of the doubt and called me. Kind of embarrassing to be told by some kid my credit’s no good.”
“Sorry, man. I really am. But I’ve got a business to run.”
“Right.” So did Adam. If a mix-up cut him off from his line of credit, it would be tough to keep things going smoothly. There was always a lag between buying parts for a job and getting paid by the customer. He had to find out what was going on.
“Look, Devin, we’ve known each other a long time. You know I’ll work out whatever misunderstanding has happened. But I need you to cover me while I get things back to normal.”
“I don’t know...”
“A woman came in a bit ago. Her front end collided with a tree. Lots of damage. I’ve got most of the parts I’ll need on hand, but I’m going to need a new radiator for her, a headlight and an air bag for a three-year-old Honda. Run a tab for me, will you? You know I’m good for it.”
Devin sighed into the phone. “Okay. But get this credit thing straightened out fast. In this economy, my sales are way off.”
“Don’t worry. Just ship that stuff to me next week.” Adam gave Devin the model number he needed. With a sense of relief, Adam hung up and immediately called the president of the bank in town, a man he’d known most of his life.
Paul Muskie gave him an answer he didn’t want to hear. “The IRS put a lien on all your bank accounts.”
That news drove Adam back in his chair. “You’re kidding me.” A joke, that’s what it was. The Rotary guys were always pulling stunts on each other. Adam had done his share of leg-pulling over the years. “Come on, Paul. Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”
Muskie was quiet for a moment. “Didn’t the IRS send you a notice of the lien?”
“I don’t—” He grabbed the pile of paperwork in the in-basket. His hand trembled as he sorted through the papers. He squinted trying to make out the names of companies, the return addresses. How could he have missed a letter from the IRS? Lisa never would have.
There. A government return address. This had to be—
“You still there, Adam?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Nausea roiled his stomach. “Look, I’ll get back to you. Okay?”
“Sure. Hope you can straighten out whatever’s gone wrong. The IRS can sure make a mess of a man’s life.”
Yeah. Some guys didn’t need the help of the IRS. Some guys could make a mess all on their own.
Hanging up the phone, he ripped opened the envelope and spread the letter flat on his desk. He remembered he’d had to sign for the letter when Billy Martin delivered it but he hadn’t had a chance to open it right away. He’d been busy. Two customers had just arrived, one to pick up his car and the other with a fuel-pump problem and a squealing water pump. Adam must have put the IRS letter aside. Somehow it had gotten buried under the pile of invoices. And he’d never given it another thought.
Fool! He should have asked Hailey to tell him what the letter said. A reading lesson, he should have said.
Staring down at the typed words, the letters swam before his eyes. He rubbed his forehead. Slowly. Laboriously, his finger moving from one word to the next, he read. NOTICE. UNPAID. TAXES. LIEN.
But he’d paid his taxes. It had taken him days, but he’d filled out the forms. Every one of them. Just like Lisa had always done.
You filled ’em out wrong, guitar boy!
Panic gripped him and sweat beaded his forehead. A lien on his bank accounts could mean he’d lose his business. The business his dad started forty years ago and had trusted Adam to run.
He’d have to talk to the IRS in Missoula. Figure out the mistake he’d made on the tax forms.
Admit that he’d messed up because he couldn’t read. A secret that shamed him. A secret that he’d never shared with anyone outside of his parents, except for Lisa, his wife. She’d understood. And had loved him anyway.
All these years he’d been an expert at covering up his problem. Making adjustments. Working around the words he couldn’t read. Joking to get past the awkward moments. Keeping his secret.
Now they’d all learn the truth.
Memories of his childhood, his humiliating school experiences, the jeers of his classmates washed over him in a hot lava flow of pain.
Adam Hunter is stupid!
He balled his hands into fists. He wasn’t stupid!
He could tell by the sound of an engine if a valve tappet was about to go bad. With one press of a throttle he knew if the fuel mixture was off or the fan belt was too dry and ready to crack. The guys who had given him such a hard time in school now brought their cars to him. He could run rings around any other mechanic in western Montana and Idaho combined.
But he couldn’t run rings around the IRS.
* * *
Sitting on the dock beneath the shade of a cedar tree, Janelle watched Hailey teach Raeanne to skip stones across the water. Most plopped into the lake with a splash. But now and then a stone flew across the surface in two or three skips, and Raeanne lit up as if she’d won an Olympic medal. She’d been so engaged in rock skipping, she’d even left her beloved Ruff in Janelle’s care.
The air was so pleasant and filled with the scent of the woods, Janelle hated to move. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this relaxed.
She checked the time. After six o’clock. Adam must be busy on a repair job.
“Hailey,” she called. “If you know what your dad plans for dinner, I could get started cooking.”
“It’s Friday night,” the child called back. “That means it’s spaghetti night.”
“Perfect.” Standing, Janelle brushed the back of her slacks off. “You two stay close and don’t go in the water. I’ll start dinner.” She didn’t like Raeanne to eat too late or she wouldn’t