A Montana Christmas Reunion

Her comment had Saxon frowning down at her.

The last band members moved on out a back door. When it opened, Jewell felt a damp wind whish along the hall. Courtesy of an outside light above that same door, she noticed rain flying in circles. “The weather is definitely worse. I wonder how far away hotels or motels are.”

Donovan acknowledged Saxon’s request for food. Then he, too, rushed out, calling loudly to the absent Carson. Suddenly she and Saxon were the only ones left in a theater where the few lights still burning began going dark one at a time.

His arm tightened around her waist. “Damn, it’s really you! Believe it or not, you come to mind so often I first thought I imagined you standing in line. I’m sorry I didn’t have a minute before the show to do more than have Donovan find you a seat. This is only the second time we’ve had to shorten a show due to weather. However, our booking agent is responsible for battening down the hatches, so to speak. Come, we’ll have a drink, wait for the food and catch up in my bus. It’s parked out back.”

Anchoring Jewell more firmly to his side, he moved them along the almost dark hall to shove open a door that seemed to stick. Once they emerged, driving rain and a battering wind jammed Jewell’s protest down her throat. “Seriously, Saxon. I’m not kidding about needing to locate a room.”

Hunching his larger body around her, Saxon made a hard left turn and plowed on through fat raindrops striking them from all sides.

As the wind robbed her ability to speak, Jewell was unable to object when Saxon keyed some numbers into a pad near the front of a big, dark bus, then opened a door where steps magically appeared. She blinked water from her eyelashes after he rushed them in out of what was definitely deteriorating weather.

Saxon flipped switches until light fell from a series of wall sconces. That gave Jewell time to gather her jumbled senses enough to examine the interior of a vehicle that for all the world looked like a luxury apartment.

He dashed off, leaving her standing behind plush driver and passenger seats. She dripped on real tile that served as a foyer to a living room outfitted with thick beige-colored carpet. Saxon reappeared with two towels, one of which he offered her.

She set her handbag and the now-soaked free T-shirt on a side table and blotted her face and hair with the terrycloth towel. The hem of her shirt not covered by her jacket was also soaked. The hand towels wouldn’t do much to dry either of them.

“Saxon, I would love to have time to share a meal, but considering the number of people at the theater who’ll be stuck in town, I really need to find accommodations. My hotel is in the heart of DC. I intended to return there after your show, but now that’s out of the question.” Wadding the towel, she clutched it nervously in front of her.

“Are you afraid of me?” Saxon abruptly asked.

“What? No!”

“It looks like it from the way you’re holding that towel like a shield.”

Jewell scowled at the object and quickly relaxed her arms. “Here.” She tried to pass the towel back. “Donovan said you’d have an assistant find someplace for me to spend the night. Is there someone who’ll do that?”

A sharp rap at the door kept Saxon from taking the towel or responding. Before he reached the door, it flew open. A man dressed in a clear slicker gestured to Saxon by holding up two square takeout boxes. “I hope you guys like lasagna. The only restaurant open was an Italian place. Even they were closing up. And Donovan said your friend needed a room. I’m sorry, Sax, but two of us phoned around and couldn’t find even an empty broom closet.”

Saxon handed Jewell his wet towel so he could accept the boxes from the poor dripping fellow. “Uh, thanks, Carson. Were you able to buy enough to feed you guys and the band?”

“Yeah, the restaurant owner was happy to have me take all remaining pizzas off his hands. If this is all you need, boss, I’d like to get back before the others demolish it.”

“By all means. And double thanks for braving the weather.”

The response was muffled as the other man shut the door with a loud bang that made Jewell jump.

Facing Jewell again, Saxon shrugged. “You heard him. Maybe the storm will pass quickly. I’m sure you heard me say earlier that I’m starved. Unless you’re full up, follow me to the table and I’ll serve this while it’s hot. My kitchen and dining table are in the center of the coach.”

The aroma from the food wafted up, causing Jewell’s stomach to growl loudly.

Saxon smiled for the first time since they were left alone together. “That sounds as if you’re plenty hungry, too.”

“Embarrassing but true. I went to examine a stallion Mark Watson wants to mate with his new mare. I got lost and missed lunch. Where shall I put these towels? They’re too wet to set on any of your nice wood furniture.” Looking around, she noted the cozy living room and its big-screen TV.

“The kitchen counters are granite. Drop the towels there. If you want, you can wash up at the sink while I grab plates and utensils. So you came across country to check on a horse for Watson? Remember Rafe Laughlin? He came to one of my shows a few years ago. He said you were engaged. Was it to Watson?”

“Mark is older and happily married. I made this trip to speak to the Natural Resources Committee about buying a portion of Leland’s land as a snowy owl refuge.” Trailing in his wake, Jewell laid the towels on the countertop. “Wow, this is fancy. I had no idea buses could be so swanky.” She swept a hand around to take in stainless-steel appliances that included a dishwasher and wine fridge. She noticed it only because after setting out plates, napkins and silverware, Saxon got out a bottle of wine. Holding it out for her to see the label, he pulled the cork. “Do you still prefer chardonnay regardless of what type of food is served?”

Jewell saw it was a brand they sometimes used to buy as a treat after acing their college tests. Almost as quickly, she recalled if they indulged too much, their evenings usually ended in a sleepover. Back then not a lot of sleeping went on. “I...still do prefer chardonnay. But only one glass with dinner. Hopefully, I’ll get to drive back to DC later.”

“Doubtful from the sound of that wind.” He set aside the cork and poured wine into two glasses. “Let’s sit and fill our plates. Then you can catch me up on what’s happening in the lives of the old home crowd.” Pausing, he studied her. “I still can’t believe you’re here. If you only knew how many times I spotted someone with hair the color of yours in the crowd and my heart... Well, suffice to say, until tonight I was always wrong and disappointed.”

Having no idea how to respond, Jewell dipped her head and slid into a chair across the table from him. Opening her food carton, she sniffed the pungent garlic scent. “This looks and smells fantastic. Can we eat first and talk after I appease my empty stomach?”

Chuckling, Saxon scooped lasagna onto his plate, along with asparagus and two slices of toasted garlic bread. “I can’t say I’m sorry the only restaurant open was Italian. Remember that little hole-in-the-wall place near campus that served the world’s best spaghetti and meatballs? I recall it every time I eat Italian food.”

Jewell smiled and felt the knot in her stomach ease. “Rossiano’s. Good food and cheap. I wonder if it’s still there. I have to admit I rarely get out of Snowy Owl Crossing these days.”

“Yet here you are.” Saxon picked up his wineglass and took a drink. Setting it down, he said, “You mentioned asking a committee to buy some of Uncle Leland’s land. Is he selling out? If so, I suppose he wants a fortune.”

“His Realtor advised him not to break up the ranch, which includes the area where owls nest.” After blotting red sauce off her lips, Jewell set her napkin back on her lap. “My meeting with the federal committee didn’t go as I’d hoped.” Between bites, she launched into an explanation of the efforts already put forth by the Artsy Ladies. “One member of the national committee said maybe we can partner with a birder group to buy the land.”

“Who are the Artsy Ladies?”

Jewell named them. “We all make and sell crafts. We hope the money will one day buy land for a snowy owl refuge.”

“Okay, I know most everyone. I’m drawing a blank on Myra Maxwell.”

“Until this past spring she was Myra Odell. Remember she only spent summers with her grandparents? Her grandmother passed and Myra moved to Snowy Owl Crossing to run the ranch the last three years. Then her grandfather died.”

“Now I can place her. I’m sorry to hear about the Odells. You say Myra married someone named Maxwell? That name doesn’t ring any bells.”

“It’s quite a story. Myra’s dad gave the ranch to Zeke Maxwell, an ex-military guy who saved her brother’s life. Myra and Zeke fell in love and married. They run the Flying Owl now. Zeke has a twin, Seth. Before I left home, I sensed he and Lila Jenkins will be the next in our group to walk down the aisle.”

“Lila? Did she and Keith divorce?” Saxon paused in eating and frowned. “Rafe didn’t mention anyone but you when we talked. He travels a lot selling farm equipment. Sometime after college he left Montana for Tulsa.”

“You really are behind times.” She glossed over the horrific mine accident in which Keith and other miners died.

“Gosh, I’m sorry to hear it. I remember they got married right out of high school. And didn’t they have a son about the time we graduated from college?”

“Yes. Rory is nine. He’s nuts about playing baseball, something Seth Maxwell’s been helping with. Actually, another of Zeke’s groomsmen, a guy who lost a leg in Afghanistan, kinda fell for Tawana. We expect he’ll move back when he’s done with rehab at the VA. They all fit well into the community.” She ate a few bites to let Saxon absorb all she’d said.

“In my mind things in Snowy Owl Crossing remain as they were when I left. Obviously not.”

“You could’ve caught up if you’d bothered to touch base with anyone,” Jewell said pointedly.

He idly broke apart a slice of garlic bread. “I had a tough time believing we were through, Jewell. You were my rock. The constant in my life.”

“Your only living relative is still in town, Saxon. Leland is aging,” she chided softly. “He looks poorly but doesn’t complain. At least, not to me. What did he have to say in the letter I brought?”

“You didn’t give me a letter.”

“Donovan took it. I planned to leave when the show ended. Your uncle didn’t share what he wrote, but he was anxious enough to bribe me to hand-deliver it. He paid for my ticket to your show.” She finished off her wine.

Filling their glasses again, Saxon paused, his eyebrows diving together. “Donovan will give me the letter next time I see him. But I don’t want to talk about my uncle. You, of all people, know he’s why I had to leave Snowy Owl Crossing.”