Montana Standoff (23 page)

Dehaviland nodded wryly. “It seems I have a lot to learn about the Soldier Mountain mine, as well as the law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein. Young Bear sure as hell opened Pandora's box tonight. I was hoping we could catch up to him and talk about what other surprises might come out of it. The sooner I find out what I'm up against, the better. Come on, let's go hunt him down.”

They didn't have very far to look. Steven was waiting outside by his Jeep. He straightened at their approach and his calm deportment infuriated her, but before she could speak he said, in that deep voice of his, “I'm sorry. I didn't intend for that can of worms to be opened. It wasn't planned.”

“No apologies necessary,” Dehaviland said. “I understand how the media works. If tonight marks a new beginning of honest and open communications between mining interests and environmental lobbies, then I can assume all past transgressions will be brought to light sooner or later. I'd just as soon have all the cards laid out on the table.” Dehaviland rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. “Look, I haven't had supper yet. There's an historic railroad station close to here that seconds as a pretty good eatery. What do you say we start charting the waters over a few beers and steaks?”

The last thing Molly wanted to do was fraternize with the man who had just announced to the entire world that the law firm she worked for was corrupt, but when Dehaviland looked at her with raised eyebrows she couldn't think of any graceful way out of it. “That sounds fine,” she said.

 

H
ALF AN HOUR LATER
they were being served drinks at the old train station, a charming restaurant that Molly might have enjoyed under different circumstances. As it was, she lifted her gin and tonic and studied the menu to avoid Steven's eyes. Dehaviland was the most gracious of hosts. Ignoring the tension at the table, he talked about fishing, about the trout he'd caught and released that day and the flies he'd used to catch them, and about the old man in Livingston who'd tied them for him.

“His great-grandfather was one of the first explorers to this area. Wasn't with the Lewis and Clark expedition, but should have been if history could be rewritten,” he said with a grin. “That old man knew his stuff, too. He took me to all his special places and taught me how to use the flies he tied. We camped out on the banks of the river and he cooked sourdough pancakes for breakfast. I'll never forget those times. He died this past summer, but for the past two years I was just too busy to touch base with him.” Dehaviland stared into the amber sparkle of his beer for a moment, then straightened and said to Molly, “Steaks are the specialty here.”

They all ordered steaks and a house salad. Molly started on her second gin and tonic. Steven was quiet while Dehaviland expounded on a horse he'd once owned, a retired world-champion cutting horse. The salads came. Molly poked at hers, Steven didn't touch his, and Dehaviland was now talking about a racehorse named Kola, who could drink beer out of a bottle and outrun a cheetah.

The steaks came, sizzling and cooked to perfection, with sides of baked potato and roasted vegetables.

Molly poked at hers, Steven didn't touch his, while Dehaviland devoured every last morsel with the enthusiasm of a starving man. “Damn,” he said, pushing his empty plate away and picking up his beer. “Lunch seems like it was a long time ago. Nothing like being outdoors all day to put an edge on a man's appetite.” He took a deep drink of his brew, then set his mug down on the table with a sharp thump and leaned forward on his elbows.

“The reason I was late getting to the meeting was because I was paid a visit by Ken Manning. He showed up a couple of hours after the two of you left and asked for his job back. When I told him no, he got a little ornery. He had more than a few things to say about the two of you, then he made some nasty comments about my performance as CEO. All in all, he said too much that I found offensive, so I interrupted him and asked him to leave.”

“Did he?” Molly asked, feeling the blood drain from her face.

Dehaviland nodded. “He did, after making some ugly threats, which I took as empty gestures of anger because I'd had him fired. But on the way to the meeting, before reaching the main road, I got a flat tire. The thing I noticed right away about that flat was that the hole was in the sidewall, so I got in my truck and called the state police, then took my sweet time changing the tire. Until the police arrived I pretty much stayed under the truck trying to get the spare tire unbolted from the rear frame.”

Molly's fingers tightened on her glass. “It was Manning, wasn't it? He shot your tire and he was trying to shoot you.”

Dehaviland shrugged. “It's possible he shot my tire, but I doubt he'd have shot me. He was pretty irrational, but not crazy enough to want to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Anyhow, the cops showed up in about thirty minutes. They didn't find Manning hiding in the bushes, but they did find where someone had pulled off the road in a spot that gave them a good clear shot. No proof, of course, but I'm hoping if Manning was anywhere in the area, he saw all those badges and decided to leave the country. Anyhow, two of the state cops helped me change my tire or I never would have made it to the meeting. I couldn't get those damn lug nuts loose for the life of me. Not as young as I used to be.”

“What about Manning?” Steven said.

“They're still looking to charge him for criminal threatening, breaking and entry, and serve him with your restraining order, but when I told them about the new rash of threats he'd made, they beefed up their all points bulletin to bring him in for questioning. They staked out the meeting tonight, thinking he might show, but so far as I know he didn't. I wanted to give you a heads-up because I think he has the potential to be dangerous. Environmentalists and Native Americans are definitely at the top of his black list, as well as anyone who hangs out with them or negotiates with them.” He reached for his beer, took a swallow, then sat back in his chair. “Okay, I know it's late and the two of you don't really want to be here, so I'll wrap things up as quickly as I can,” he said.

“A man in my position meets a lot of people, day in and day out. Most of them think they're important. A few of them are. Very few of them are honest. I believe both
of you are.” He glanced between them. “I also believe that in spite of all the negative things that have happened in the past, we can work together to create a better future.”

Steven tilted his head very slightly to one side, a subtle but skeptical gesture that brought the blood back to Molly's cheeks. She took a big swallow of her gin and tonic. “I believe that, too,” she said.

Dehaviland looked squarely at her. “The law firm of Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein has done its last work for Condor International,” he said.

Molly felt the bottom drop out of her world. “But…”

Dehaviland raised his hand to silence her. “Would you be willing to leave them and come work for me?”

“Work for you? Doing what exactly?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“You'd be in charge of coordinating all of the environmental impact data collected by our staff, and you'd report on all existing or potential environmental problems as and when they apply to all of our mining projects, past, present and future. Think carefully before you respond. We're talking worldwide. Condor International holds active mining leases in over twenty countries. The position would involve extensive travel and long, insufferable dealings with more than a few uncooperative old-school staff members.”

Molly sat back in her chair, momentarily paralyzed as her mind scrambled to process what Dehaviland was saying. He was handing her an unbelievable career opportunity, one that she was hardly qualified to accept. “Well, sir, I—”

“Don't give me your answer now,” Dehaviland interrupted, raising his hand again. “Take your time and
think about it. As for you,” he said to Steven, “I'd like you to think about this. Everything Molly learns, all the information she compiles, she brings to you. Together, the two of you prepare briefs for me, and I do mean briefs. I'm a busy man and don't have time to wallow through mountains of chaff just to find a grain of wheat.” He raised his beer and drained it.

“I realize the two of you are in opposite camps right now,” he continued, “and I also realize this partnership might not work, but I can't think of another way to break through the concrete wall that's been built by generations of corporate execs who only knew how to do business one way. My daughter's counting on me to change the world, and I need some help.” He broke off abruptly and regarded Steven with a calculating eye. “You're going to tell me no,” he stated flatly.

“I can't accept,” Steven said with a brief head shake. “It would be a definite conflict of interest.”

“It doesn't have to be,” Dehaviland said.

“I'm sorry.”

Molly set her glass down on the table with a sharp rap. “I'm sorry, too,” she said. “Mr. Dehaviland, I don't need any time to think about your offer. I accept, with gratitude. I'll hand in my resignation to the firm tomorrow, and be available in two weeks.” She pushed her chair back abruptly and stood. “It's getting late, and it's been a very long day. If you don't mind, could you drop me off at the airport hotel?”

“Of course,” Dehaviland said. “I'll get my truck warmed up.” He rose to his feet and shook hands with Steven. “It's been quite an evening, Young Bear. Good
luck with your fund-raising, and if you should change your mind at any time, please give me a call.”

After Dehaviland left the table, Steven stood. “Come home with me tonight,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Molly stared him in the eye. “I think you've made it perfectly clear how you feel about helping to change things for the better. It would be a definite conflict of interest.” She retrieved her coat from the back of her chair and when Steven tried to help her into it, she shrugged away from him, her eyes blurring with bitter tears.

“Damn you, Young Bear,” she choked. “That man's offering you the best opportunity you'll ever have for a good-paying job that would let you make the kind of difference you want to make, and you throw it right back in his face. And…and you made a fool of me tonight at that meeting, and…” Tears spilled over as she struggled with the coat. Steven reached to help her again, and again she pulled away. “I don't understand you at all,” she said, turning blindly for the door because she knew if she stayed a moment longer she'd never find her way out. As she left the eatery and walked rapidly toward the headlights of Dehaviland's waiting vehicle, she heard Steven call her name, but she didn't look back.

T
HE BLEAK EMPTINESS
Steven felt watching Molly drive off in Dehaviland's truck became an unbearable ache as he headed home. If only he'd been able to talk her into coming with him, maybe they could have made things right between them, but he knew nothing he could have said would have penetrated the depths of her anger. She felt betrayed by him, and she'd never understand why he couldn't work for Condor International. Perhaps time would dull her hurt, but he doubted it, just as he doubted that all the roses on the planet could smooth over the giant rift he'd created between them.

He pulled into his drive, parked, and sat in the darkness listening to the tick of the hot engine as it cooled. In two weeks Molly would be gone. She'd move to Texas and he'd never see her again. The thought burdened him with an almost suffocating sense of loss, and he climbed out of the Jeep slowly, weary to the depths of his soul. He moved to go into the house when a sharp explosion rent the darkness and something struck him hard in the chest, knocking him back against his Jeep. The blow drove the air from his lungs and he twisted as he fell, hitting the ground facedown. He lay motionless, stunned, feeling only the cold sharpness of gravel dig
ging into the side of his face and an intense burning pain in his chest. He struggled for breath and finally felt an easing, felt air trickling back into his lungs with agonizing slowness as his fingers closed around handfuls of gravel.

Over the thunder of his heartbeat, he heard approaching footsteps and remained still, silently breathing through cracks in the pain. The footsteps moved closer, pausing frequently, cautiously. He knew who it was, knew even before the expensive leather shoe tentatively prodded him, knew before the hand reached down to roll him onto his back, knew before the starlight gave substance to Ken Manning's features. He knew the way Mary Pretty Shield must have known, two and a half years ago, on the terrible night she'd died.

“I would have done this years ago, Young Bear,” Manning said, his voice chillingly calm and matter-of-fact, “but back then I had a lot to lose. Now I have nothing. Before you die, know that you've failed, you and Dehaviland both. Without you to raise the money, the patented claims will remain the property of Condor International, and the New Millennium mine will be in full operation on Madison Mountain before the end of next year. You just fought your last fight, and you lost. Not even that powerful California senator friend of yours can help you now.”

As Manning spoke, Steven felt his strength returning with every shallow breath he drew. The crushing burn in his chest was easing. Manning's bullet had struck him squarely, but somehow he was still alive—if only temporarily. Manning still held a pistol in his hand, and if Steven didn't die in a timely fashion he had no doubt that Manning would shoot him again.

“You killed Mary Pretty Shield,” Steven said.

Manning's smile was without remorse. “It was the only way to get you to drop the lawsuit. Killing her was risky, but it worked like a charm.”

“And Sam Blackmore?”

“A shame about him. I heard he was driving too fast.”

Steven flung the fistful of gravel upward with all his strength, but that compromised strength wasn't enough to propel him off the ground. Manning's well-placed kick easily leveled him again and he found himself staring point blank into the face of death as Manning pointed the pistol at his head.

“You're a tough bastard, I'll give you that much, Young Bear. You're going to die as hard as she did,” Manning said. “It took her a long time, too. She was quite a fighter.”

Even as Manning spoke, Steven's thoughts blurred on Molly and he was glad, so damn glad, she hadn't come home with him. He wished he could tell her how much she meant to him…waited for the gunshot and heard a sudden rush of wind…no, not wind, swift movement, footsteps rushing out of the darkness behind Manning, many people moving, swift and silent and deadly, a sudden swarm descending. There were sounds of weapons being readied, sounds of Manning being grabbed, struck, driven hard onto the ground beside him, so close Steven could reach out and touch him, and a voice, taut with the stress of the moment, saying loudly, harshly, “
You are under arrest!
You have the right to remain silent, you have the right…”

Another voice, closer, a familiar voice saying, “Young Bear? It's over. We have Manning and an am
bulance is on the way.” Sheriff Conrad Walker bent over him as he spoke, a dark figure blocking the starlight.

“I'm all right,” Steven said, dazed and shaken. He parried Walker's hands and tried to sit up, but Walker pressed his shoulders firmly down onto the ground.

“Sure you are. You're going to be just fine. Just lie still. The ambulance is on its way.”

“How did you know Manning was here?”

Walker was unzipping Steven's jacket, fumbling in the murky light. “Somebody get a light over here!” he shouted over his shoulder. Then to Steven he said, “I was listening to the police radio and I heard a report that Manning's vehicle had been spotted in Gallatin Gateway. I called the state cops to tell them where you lived but Dehaviland had beaten me to it. We all got here about the same time, which was about two minutes too late to stop Manning. Stop moving. Lie still.”

“Did you hear what Manning said?” Steven asked, trying to sit up again, and again being pressed back down.

“Something about you fighting your last fight, and dying as hard as she did,” Walker said, unbuttoning Steven's shirt. “I sure as hell hope he wasn't talking about that red-haired lawyer friend of yours.”

“No. It was someone he killed over two years ago.” Steven slumped back, relieved that Manning had implicated himself, that someone had heard him, and that Mary Pretty Shield's death would finally be avenged.

Someone trotted up with a flashlight, holding it while Walker peeled opened Steven's shirt and stared at the place where Manning's bullet had struck. “I'll be damned,” the sheriff muttered beneath his breath. “You're a lucky bastard, Young Bear. No doubt you
have one hell of a bruise and probably some cracked ribs beneath that T-shirt, but there's not a drop of blood. You've cheated death tonight.” Walker held up the remains of Luther Makes Elk's pouch, which had been torn apart by the bullet. “What's this thing?”

“An amulet containing powerful medicine,” Steven said.

Walker upended the shredded remains of the pouch and shone the flashlight on what dropped into his palm. “An old rifle cartridge,” he mused aloud, “and two equally old silver dollars, an 1879 Morgan and a 1921 Peace. If they were in mint condition before tonight, Young Bear, they sure as hell aren't now. Take a look.” He held out his hand. “You can see how the bullet struck them. Lying together the way they were in that pouch, they saved your life. You're a lucky bastard, Young Bear,” he repeated, shaking his head.

Steven touched his fingers to his T-shirt, felt the large tender swelling on his chest and winced. Dead center, right where Luther's powerful medicine had hung. Keep it close, the old man had told him. Man.

It was another thirty minutes before Manning had been carted off and the last of the police had gone. Walker stayed long enough to make sure Steven's refusal to be checked out at the hospital wasn't going to end in his untimely demise, then followed the ambulance down the drive. Steven stood in the doorway until the sounds of both vehicles faded into silence, then closed the door, locked it, and retrieved a beer from the refrigerator. His message light was flashing and he played back the tape, hoping it was from Molly.

“Sorry I didn't get a chance to talk with you tonight
before or after the meeting,” McCutcheon's voice said, “but we were late getting there and things got a little hectic afterward. This news is too damned exciting to wait until morning. That rifle Luther Makes Elk gave you was issued to an officer by the name of Captain Myles Keogh, who died at the battle of Little Big Horn. And get this. A similar weapon from that battle, which was issued to an unknown soldier, sold at auction last year for nearly seven hundred thousand dollars. The person who gave me this information, and he's a highly respected expert in his field, said that once the documentation is verified, he thinks that rifle of yours could bring well over a million dollars. Thought you'd want to know, just in case you were using it as a doorstop.”

Steven walked into the living room, sat down on the couch, and took a sip of cold beer. He swallowed a mouthful of foam, lowered the bottle. His hand was shaking so badly that the beer was sudsing up. He wedged the bottle between his knees and sat in contemplative silence, but he wasn't thinking about the worth of Luther's old weapon. He was thinking about how close he'd just come to death, and how much worse things might have been if he'd been able to persuade Molly to return home with him. He sat like that for a long time, pondering life's dark mysteries, thinking about Luther's owl stew, and overwhelmed by a cold fear like he'd never known.

 

M
OLLY SPENT THE BETTER PART
of the night alternately seething with anger at Steven and anguishing over the look in his eyes as she told him what she thought of him, and the sound of his voice as he called after her at the
restaurant. She drifted off briefly into a troubled sleep just before dawn and saw the owl sitting in a tree, watching her in the darkness, but her 5:00 a.m. wake-up call interrupted any message the owl might have given her. She caught the first commuter flight back to Helena and took a cab to the office, dressed in the same clothes she'd worn the day before. A part of her felt so adrift and disconnected from the corporate world that she scarcely cared if her suit was rumpled. There were things in life far more important than that.

First on her agenda of those far more important things was to meet with Jarrod Skelton and tell him of her decision to accept the position Dehaviland had offered her. She would then touch base with Dani, call her mother and fill her in on the latest, play catch-up with some office work, and begin planning a future that involved extensive travel, intensive research…and had very little to do with Steven Young Bear.

Skelton's secretary gave her a startled up-and-down once-over that reflected Molly's mildly disheveled appearance. “Good morning, Mrs. Lancing, is Mr. Skelton in?”

“Yes, but he only just arrived, and…”

“Thank you.” Molly forged boldly forward, rapping once on his door before opening it. Skelton was seated at his desk reading the front page of the daily paper, which explained the thunderous expression on his face as he lurched to his feet uttering what sounded like a very unprofessional profanity. “And good morning to you, too, Mr. Skelton,” Molly said, closing the door firmly behind her. “I see you've read the headlines. The public hearing was very interesting.”

Skelton's countenance darkened. “That public hearing was a travesty. Young Bear's overstepped his bounds, and this firm intends to bring charges of slander against him for those damning public statements. Furthermore, I can't believe you actually stood up in front of that pack of bloodthirsty media wolves, while representing both this law firm and Condor International, and pledged nine hundred dollars to Young Bear's cause. I'm afraid your actions go way beyond mere apologies.”

“It was Mr. Dehaviland who put forth New Millennium's buyout proposal. The idea wasn't mine, and the cause isn't exclusively Young Bear's. I was merely supporting my client's proposed compromise. And actually, I'm not here to apologize.” Molly stood before his desk, curiously calm in the presence of a man who, until yesterday, had intimidated the hell out of her. “I'm here to tender my resignation. I'll work out my two-week notice if you wish, but I've accepted a job offer from Gregory Dehaviland. I want you to know that I appreciate the opportunities you've given me here during the past year. I've learned a great deal, and I'm grateful to you for that.”

“Dehaviland won't last out the month as CEO of Condor International,” Skelton said, his upper body rigid with anger. “He sealed his fate at that meeting last night when he sided with Young Bear's camp.”

“I happen to disagree, Mr. Skelton. Dehaviland may be ahead of his time, as all truly brilliant men are, but I admire his vision of the future and I want to help make it a reality.”

Skelton blinked, then shook his head as if he couldn't
believe what he was hearing. “You may vacate your office immediately, Ms. Ferguson. We no longer require your services.”

Molly met his flat stare for a moment longer before turning to leave, still infused with that strange calm that allowed her to exit Skelton's office with measured grace, nod to Skelton's secretary, and pass Brad in the corridor with an almost beatific smile. Brad fell in behind her as she returned to what would remain her office for a perilously short time. “Have you read the morning paper?”

“Yes, on the plane this morning,” she replied.

“And I suppose you already got it from Young Bear that Manning's been taken into custody.”

Molly masked her surprised relief with a brisk nod. “Of course.” There was no need for Brad to know that she and Steven were no longer communicating.

“What did Skelton say to you just now?”

“He told me to clear out, and that's exactly what I'm going to do,” Molly said, and left him standing slack-jawed behind her. Once inside her office, she closed the door and leaned against it, waited for the spell of weakness to pass, then moved to her desk, picked up her phone and dialed. Dani answered on the second ring. “I have some important news,” she said, sinking into her chair for perhaps the last time. “Can you meet me for lunch?”

Within two hours Molly had cleared the last of her things out of what had once been her office and packed them with some difficulty into the small confines of her car. She met Dani for lunch at their favorite deli and after their sandwiches had been delivered Dani said,
with long-suffering patience, “Well, are you planning to keep me in suspense forever?”