Montana Standoff

Molly raised her eyebrows. “Oh? What’s that?”

“An organized citizen’s group that holds regular meetings to discuss things like local politics, government at the federal level, and semiautomatic assault weapons. They have close ties with the National Federal Lands Conference and the Wise Use Movement, both borderline right-wing antienvironmental lobbies funded by oil and mining interests.”

“Well, the odds are I’ll never sit next to him again at any public hearings after my last performance, and anyway, my client’s lifestyle is none of my business. I’m merely representing his company’s interests.” She narrowed her eyes. “Semiautomatic assault weapons? Dare I ask what connection they have to local and federal government?”

He glanced at her long enough for her heart rate to accelerate, then took a bite of the sandwich, chewed with a contemplative expression. “Good sandwich.” Took another bite and washed it down with soda, then set down his soda can and leaned toward her. His strong fingers swept a curl of her hair back behind her left ear. He was so close that she could smell the scent of his skin, and the brush of his fingers against her ear made her catch her breath around a fluttering drum of heartbeats. She suddenly hoped beyond hope that he would kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat back and regarded her with those calm dark eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since that very beautiful curl escaped from your very beautiful braid,” he said.

She laughed shakily, her heart hammering. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get when it comes to controlling my hair.”

“As far as the militia is concerned, guns and politics sort of go together out here. Some folks still regard this as the Wild West. I was threatened once after speaking at a public hearing against the proposed logging of a wilderness area that had been burned in a forest fire. The proposal hinged on an upcoming house vote for managing public lands, so naturally everyone in the environmental camp was fighting to swing the house in favor of protecting the wilderness. I happened to be spearheading the environmentalists. This big guy with buzz-cut hair got right in my face and told me if they couldn’t beat me at the ballot box, they’d beat me with a bullet.”

Molly paused, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. “You’re not serious.”

“The militia can get pretty nasty.”

She lowered the sandwich. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s wrong with logging a burned forest?”

“It was in a designated wilderness area, and they wanted to build major logging roads to access the standing timber. A lot of the trees weren’t dead, and even if they were, fire is all part of the natural process. Big permanent logging roads aren’t.”

“So you risked getting shot just to protect a bunch of scorched trees?”

“It’s the principle of the thing. You have to pick your fights. I thought we might win that one.”

Molly took a small bite of her sandwich and chewed, frowning. “So what happened?”

“Money and politics happened. The logging industry won the vote, and the big roads went in. The trees are all gone now, and soil erosion is silting up the spawning grounds in the river. The same old story is being played out in other places, too. It’s hard to stand up to big industry.”

“People need jobs.”

“What kind of jobs will the loggers have when the last tree has been cut?”

Molly saw the rift widening between them again. “You think the mining industry is a greedy monster, don’t you?”

“I think we need to start treating this planet with greater respect, as if the future mattered.”

“Do you have any children?”

He drained the last of his soda and lowered the can. “Is this a loaded question?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

“No children, never been married. You?”

Molly shook her head. “But I understand how people feel about bringing jobs into a community. I understand the importance of putting food on the table when you have children to feed. A mine on Madison Mountain will bring a lot of good paying jobs into that depressed area. It will make life better.”

“Better for whom? The people who live there now, who love the place just the way it is, or the people who would move there to get the good jobs? And how do you tell the people who live there now that their depressed lives are about to change for the better, when their lives are already just the way they want them to be?” He reached for the picnic basket and peered into it. “Did you bring anything for dessert?”

Molly sighed. “No, sorry. We can stop for an ice cream on the way back. I know a great place just outside of Helena that has the best double-fudge chocolate-chip ice-cream cones on the planet.”

STEVEN DROVE DOWN THE HIGHWAY toward Helena wondering how accurate his gas gauge was. He’d never redlined it before. He’d always paid attention to things like how much gas was in his vehicle before taking a long trip, but for some reason this time he’d spaced it out completely. The last thing he needed right now was to run out of fuel.

“I’m sorry, Steven.” Molly was tucked beneath his sheepskin jacket, gazing out the side window. “It seems like I have to say that an awful lot when I’m around you.”

“For what?” Steven said. She’d just finished telling him all about her family. Her mother and father. Her brothers. Her aunts and uncles and grandmothers and grandfathers, the place in Scotland where her ancestors were buried near the ruins of a crumbled castle, and the old Roman sword her great-great-grandfather had plowed up in his Irish potato field that her father still had. It was a colorful history, and he couldn’t imagine why she would be apologizing for it.

“For being so argumentative. I practically forced you to take me to see that mine, show me something relevant to the New Millennium project, tell me important things, teach me what I need to know so I won’t make a fool out of myself again, and all I wanted to do was defend the mining industry because I happen to represent it. I’m sorry.”

“My intention wasn’t to put you on the spot.”

“I know that. And I really do want to go back and visit the reservation when we have more time.” She shifted, turning to face him. “I keep thinking about that guy that threatened to shoot you,” she said. “And the fact that Ken Manning might be associated with that group. And the fact that such groups even exist.”

“I guess everyone needs a hobby,” Steven said. The engine faltered and a fist of anxiety clenched in his stomach. Just one more long uphill, one more mile…

“I was threatened once, too,” she said as if recalling some long-buried memory. “Not quite as violent as your threat, but it was scary.”

“Oh? Where?” Foot off the gas pedal now, coasting down the hill…

“In high school, by three big, tough girls. They cornered me once after freshman gym class in the locker room and said I was a witch, told me they were going to cut all my hair off and light it on fire. My hair was a lot longer back then, and if anything it was even redder than it is now.”

The Jeep felt like it was hitting invisible barriers as the carburetor began starving for fuel. He could see the gas-station logo up ahead. “What did you do?”

“I told them if they gave me the scissors I’d cut it myself and they could do whatever they wanted with it. I didn’t care. So they gave me the scissors and I cut my hair really short. Things were progressing nicely but just when I was almost finished, I nicked my hand with the scissors and made it bleed. And although I’m a strong person, I have one awful weakness. I faint at the sight of my own blood. So down I went onto the bathroom floor, out like a light. Caused quite a commotion at school, but those girls never bothered me again.” She paused and frowned out the windshield. “Do you think we’ll make it to the gas station?”

“I hope so. I don’t feel like pushing.” He lost the power steering when the engine died and had to wrench the wheel hard to guide the Jeep up to the gas pumps. Never again in a million years would he be this lucky. “What did your parents have to say about all that?” he asked as they coasted to a stop.

Molly smiled. “My mother cried and my father was so mad he called the school and threatened a lawsuit. My brothers made fun of me, like they always did, but in the end, I survived.”

“You have beautiful hair. Those girls were just jealous.” Steven got out and filled the Jeep’s tank. Then, when they were back on the highway just south of Fort Benton, he said, “Forgive me for asking, but with a weakness like fainting at the sight of your own blood, how did you ever manage to survive growing up in a family with all those brothers?”

“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I was unconscious throughout most of my early childhood years.”

He laughed. “You’ll have to tell me where this famous ice-cream place of yours is.”

“It’s just before we reach Helena.” They sat in silence for a while with just the whine of tires on the highway in the background. Molly shifted in her seat, facing him again. “What does your girlfriend think about what you do?”

Steven switched on the headlights. “No girlfriend. Makes things a lot easier.”

“I suppose it would, especially if you’re getting death threats from a radical right-wing militia group.”

“That was over two years ago. What about you?”

“My death threats were all in high school.”

“I mean, your boyfriend.”

She stretched her legs and sat up a little straighter. “No serious boyfriend. I was too busy going to college and law school and passing the bar exams and trying to impress the law firm that finally hired me on. No time for matters of the heart.”

“Must get kind of lonely from time to time.”