Montana Standoff (19 page)

“Could you run this proposal by Young Bear before the public hearing?”

“I'll speak with him about it tonight,” she promised.

“Good. I hope this is the beginning of better times. I see no reason why we can't work together to reach an equitable compromise, and I'd like that to be expressed up front and center Tuesday night, if not by Ken Manning, then by you.”

 

S
TEVEN SPENT A RESTLESS DAY
at his office catching up on work for the Conservancy while fielding calls from journalists interested in the New Millennium mine proposal and how it would impact the Yellowstone River drainage. Some callers were from the East Coast, some from the West, and some from points in between. The interest sparked by the violence on the access road had put the proposed mine squarely in the public's eye, and Steven did his best to keep it there.

That afternoon he fielded a different kind of call from Conrad Walker. “I thought you'd want to know that the second autopsy on Sam Blackmore didn't turn up anything suspicious,” Walker said.

“Did his digital camera and briefcase ever surface?”

“Nope. He may have left them at a friend's house. Maybe he was having an affair, who knows, but apparently the fact that they're missing isn't reason enough to open up a murder investigation. His death is being officially listed as resulting from injuries sustained in a car crash. How are your injuries, by the way?”

“Fine,” Steven said. “Yours?”

“Better, little by little. The one good thing that came out
of getting the stuffing beat out of me is having Amy Littlefield check in on me from time to time. She's a nice girl.”

After talking with the sheriff, Steven contemplated phoning Molly but decided against it. She'd been angry with him last night, and he didn't blame her. Somehow he needed to smooth the waters and make it right between them. He needed her to know how important she was to him, and that he was thinking about her. Not being an experienced romantic, the most obvious inspiration took a while to strike, but when it did he reached for the phone book and turned to the yellow pages.

Say it with flowers.

 

M
OLLY
'
S HEAD WAS
still spinning after she returned to her office that afternoon. The conversation had been so unexpected and Gregory Dehaviland had seemed so sincere and been so
nice.
Could this really happen, this compromise between New Millennium Mining and the people from Moose Horn? And could Steven really raise two million dollars in six months? The idea began to excite her. Twice she reached for the phone to call him, but somehow the proposal seemed too important to relay over the phone. “I could sell my car….” she murmured aloud, then laughed. The thought had come out of nowhere. Sell her car, buy a junker, give some money to Steven for the land, for the mountain, and she was the girl who, not that long ago, was arguing that a mountain was just a heap of dirt and minerals. “I could sell my car,” she repeated. “Every little bit will help.”

She reached for the phone again and then glanced at
the clock. Four-thirty. She could drive to Steven's place and tell him about Dehaviland's offer in person. Maybe then he'd realize that she was right, that industry and the environment could coexist in a symbiotic relationship; that people could have steady, good-paying jobs, and the land could be treated with the respect it deserved.

A tap at her door and Brad entered, looking full of something important. “Skelton just called from the courthouse,” he said, standing across the desk from her, hands shoved in the pockets of his tailored slacks. “He wanted me to tell you that he's reconsidered everything that's happened and wants you to remain as my assistant on the project. He also wants you to attend the public meeting tomorrow night.”

Molly feigned surprise. “Really? What made him change his mind?”

Brad shrugged, his gaze evasive. “I'm not sure. He also said he'd smooth things over with Ken Manning.”

“That's going to take some fancy smoothing,” Molly said. She pushed to her feet, stifling a moan as her legs reminded her of a horseback ride and a herd of buffalo. “Thank you, Brad. I'm afraid I have to leave the office a little early today, so I won't be able to file these for you.” She picked up a thick stack of folders and handed them to him with as sweet a smile as she could manage. “But I certainly appreciate you giving me the opportunity to do so, just the same.”

Looking mildly disgruntled, Brad left her office, and not long after that, Molly was in her car. As she was driving out of the parking area she noticed a floral delivery van parking out front. Some lucky person was getting flowers.

 

S
TEVEN STOPPED
at the grocery store on his way home and invested in some food. His bank account was stretched pretty lean, but it was no great hardship for him to exist on stir-fries and rice, supplemented by the fresh seasonal vegetables with which September was especially generous. He reached home by five-thirty, time enough to cook a quick meal before heading for the special strategy meeting in Moose Horn that he'd promised Amy Littlefield he'd attend. He sipped a beer while he stirred the strips of boneless chicken breast in spicy garlic oil and sliced the vegetables. He wondered if Molly had liked the flowers. He hadn't quite known what to send her but the florist had been very helpful.

“Is this a special occasion?” she'd asked.

“Yes. Her first public reprimand, and her first horseback ride, which happened to be up a very steep mountain.”

“All in one day?”

“Near enough. She needs something special.”

“Hmmm. Roses?”

“Are roses good for sore muscles and a bruised ego?”

“Roses work for everything,” the woman's sage voice pertly informed him. “What color roses would you prefer we send? Yellow is for friendship, white is for purity of spirit, pink is for beauty, red is for love.”

He thought about this for a moment and wondered why the wild flowers that colored the prairies and mountain slopes and alpine climbs had not attained such lofty symbolism as roses had since they were by far the most beautiful flowers of all, and tougher than any cultivated rose. But then again, he was a man. What did he know
about things like flowers, or a woman's heart? “All of them,” he said.

“How many?”

“At least a dozen.”

“A dozen is a nice number. Any less, and a woman might feel slighted.” Spoken like a true florist, but he heeded her advice. He'd sent Molly two dozen roses, four each of the yellow, white and pink, and twelve of the red, hoping they might help to bridge the gap that had widened between them on the drive back from the Bow and Arrow. It seemed doubtful to him that mere flowers could wield that much power, but time would tell. She'd either call to thank him, or her chilly silence would span the rest of his life.

He spooned the chicken onto a plate and added the vegetables to the hot oil in the pan. He'd gone without lunch and the food smelled good but he had no appetite, because in Helena there lived a woman who believed that he didn't trust her, and that knowledge preyed on him and stole his hunger and his need for anything but her forgiveness and understanding—though he wasn't sure he was worthy of either.

 

N
O MATTER HOW MANY TIMES
Molly drove it, the distance between Helena and Bozeman remained the same, and it took her two hours to reach Steven's house, which gave her two hours to rehearse exactly how she would present Dehaviland's proposal to him. Yet when she turned down his drive, her cleverly rehearsed and passionate presentation fled before the overpowering need to see him again. She climbed from her car, her muscles stiffer than ever after the long drive. He opened
the door and stood in the doorway, watching her careful approach.

“You're walking pretty good, for a lame cowgirl,” he said. “It's good to see you. Come inside. I'll make a fire in the fireplace and fix you a drink. Have you had supper?”

She paused at the foot of the steps. “Are you going somewhere?” she said, her heart plummeting as she noticed that he held his new leather briefcase.

He nodded. “Moose Horn. They're discussing the emergency zoning they want to put in place, and the meeting starts at seven. I'd ask you to come along, but if we arrived there together they'd probably tar and feather us both. It won't take long. I should be back in a couple hours.”

Molly's disappointment was huge. For the past two hours she had envisioned a celebratory evening together, just the two of them. Perhaps they would have shared a bottle of wine in front of the fire, and talked away all the barriers between them. “I guess I should have called before driving all this way. I'll make this quick. I have good news. Great news.”

“You resigned your job,” Steven said.

Molly felt a rush of anger at his insensitive words. “I met with Gregory Dehaviland this afternoon. He wants the two of us to work together to broker a deal between Condor International and your group. He's offering to sell the patented mining claims on Madison Mountain for two million dollars. That's the amount of money they've invested so far in permitting, road building, test drilling, and site preparation. He's talking about shifting their mining operations to a place called Butte Mountain, which is about forty miles due west of here
on privately owned land. You'd have until March to raise the money. I know it sounds like a lot, but—”

“Why would he do that?” Steven asked.

“Because he's a nice man,” Molly burst out heatedly. “Because he wants to change things, improve the public's image of the big corporate mining interests—and because he owns a cabin on the Yellowstone River below the Madison Mountain watershed. He wants to protect the natural resources as much as you do.”

Steven nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you saw the legal papers that go along with his remarkable offer?”

Molly felt her anger intensify. “I believe Dehaviland's an honest man, and I took him at his word.” She could see his skepticism and her fists clenched involuntarily. “Steven, why can't you believe this is real? If you can come up with the money, which Mr. Dehaviland thinks you can easily manage, there won't have to be any emergency zoning in Moose Horn because there won't be any mine on Madison Mountain.”

“Were you the only one present at this meeting with Dehaviland?”

“Yes,” Molly said stiffly. “He said he wanted to run it by me first because he trusted me the most.”

“Smart man. No wonder he's CEO. And then I suppose he asked you to come here and fill me in before the public meeting tomorrow night?”

Molly felt the stab of betrayal at Steven's words, drew a sharp, painful breath and blinked back the sting of tears. “I came on my own, but I can see it was a complete waste of my time. You don't believe a thing I've said.” She turned abruptly on her heel and started for her car.

“Molly.” She felt his hand close on her arm and tried
to shrug it off. She stopped, but refused to look at him. “Molly. Stay, please. We need to talk. I believe in you, I just find it hard to believe Dehaviland.”

“Well, you know what, Young Bear?” she snapped in a voice that shook with pent-up emotion. “I no longer give a damn what you believe or don't believe. In a one-hour lunch at the Bistro this afternoon, I learned more about Gregory Dehaviland than I would in a lifetime of lunches with you, so you go ahead and attend that ridiculous meeting with those foolish people to discuss your unnecessary emergency zoning laws. I'm through trying to talk to you or understand you, and that's all I have to say.”

She wrenched out of his grasp, gained the safety of her car, and was five miles down the road before her emotions finally caught up with her. She pulled onto the shoulder, rested her forehead against the steering wheel and wept bitter tears.

 

T
HE MEETING AT THE TOWN OFFICE
in Moose Horn lasted forever, the talk droning on and on, with each of the twenty-seven residents needing to have their heated, self-righteous say in every quarter, no matter how irrelevant it might be to the subject at hand. Steven tried to concentrate, tried to moderate and give good input, tried to participate the way he knew they wanted him to, but it was impossible. He should have stopped Molly from leaving. He should have stayed with her and skipped this endless meeting that was leading nowhere. Instead, he'd stupidly said the very worst things he could have, and then gone off about his own business. The two dozen roses he'd sent hadn't helped at all. Their relationship
was on rockier ground than ever, and he didn't see any way to right his wrongs.

His first instincts had been to keep Molly's announcement to himself until he'd had time to speak with Dehaviland himself and make sure the deal with Condor International's board of directors was legally cemented, but when 10:00 p.m. came and went with no end in sight, Steven stood.

“It's getting late. We've laid the groundwork for the emergency zoning, and I can help you get that in place, but before we leave here tonight there's something you should all be aware of,” he said, cutting off Amy Littlefield's fiery diatribe. Amy stopped, visibly surprised by this interruption, and then sat down abruptly next to Conrad Walker, who had nodded off early on and slept through most of the meeting.

“Gregory Dehaviland, chief executive officer of Condor International, has made a tentative proposal pending final approval from the board of directors. According to his attorney, if we can raise two million dollars by March, the mining company will sell us the patented mining claims on Madison Mountain. It seems Dehaviland owns a camp on the Yellowstone River and doesn't want the watershed threatened by mining runoff. It also appears that he's trying to work with us and reach a compromise that will make both parties happy.”