Montana Standoff. Nadia Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ anxiously nibbling on one fingernail.

      In less than an hour, she’d be officially launched as a real, practicing attorney, pacing studiously before the residents of Moose Horn, calmly and succinctly explaining the financial benefits and industrial intricacies of a world they knew nothing of. She’d be skillfully guiding them into a brighter, more financially secure future, and who knows? They might even name their new library after her.

      Molly shook her head with a laugh. At this rate, she’d be doing well if she just found the town before the meeting was over. She tossed aside the road map and spun her car around, reversing her direction on a dime with a nickel to spare. She shifted, shifted again, and had the speedometer nudging sixty-five in mere seconds. Lovely little car to drive. It almost made this two-hour road trip fun. The window was down and the cool mountain wind whipped through the car. The road was made to order for her Mercedes, all curves and twists. She came around a tight corner and hit the brakes. A dark green Jeep Wagoneer blocked the road in front of her, traveling at a sedate speed that instantly caused her blood pressure to soar. She was already late for the first important assignment she’d ever had with Taintor, Skelton and Goldstein, and now she was trapped behind some nursing-home escapee.

      Another corner approached, and then a brief straightaway beckoned with no oncoming traffic. She downshifted, accelerated and flew past the sluggish Jeep like it was standing still. On the next brief straightaway she pegged seventy and U2 was blaring from the speakers when something struck her cheek just below her left eye. The car swerved as she hit the brakes, slapping wildly as an insect fell into her lap. Her brief, panicked glance identified the insect as a honeybee even as she felt the car leave the road. The Mercedes slid sideways and nosed over into a ditch, throwing her against the seat belt as the car came to an abrupt stop in a thick cloud of dust.

      Molly sat for a moment, dazed, then scrabbled to release her seat belt and jump from the car, brushing her hands over her clothes to make sure the bee was gone. She felt her cheek swelling where the bee had stung her. Tires crunched on gravel and she turned, blinking to clear the tears from her eyes. A vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder. The driver of that irritatingly slow Wagoneer she’d just passed emerged, walked around the front of his vehicle and approached the edge of the ditch.

      “Are you all right?”

      The man had a deep voice, and he was dressed to kill in a tuxedo. His hair was the glossy black of a raven’s wing and he had calm, dark eyes and a handsome face. He was certainly not ready for a nursing home, in spite of the way he drove. He was decades away from a nursing home. Eons.

      Molly raised a hand to her cheek. “I’m fine,” she said as he started down the embankment toward her. “A bee stung me and I went off the road. I’m not sure if I can get my car out,” she said as he drew near. She took a step and stumbled into the side of her car even as he reached a firm hand to steady her. Her knees were wobbly and she was sure he could feel the trembling that was beginning to take over her body.

      “Easy. Your car looks okay, but it’ll need to be winched out of this ditch. I could pull it out with my Jeep, but I’d need to pick up a good tow rope. You sure you’re all right?”

      “Fine,” she repeated. “But I have to attend a meeting in Moose Horn. I was already late when this happened, and now—” She stopped speaking when her voice broke.

      “I’ll give you a lift,” he said. “I’m on my way to the same meeting. We can get your car out of the ditch afterward.”

      Molly hesitated. She had never before accepted a ride from a stranger, but she trusted her instincts, and they were telling that this man was safe. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that very much.”

      “Glad to help. I’m Steven Young Bear, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.

      “Molly Ferguson,” she said, liking his warm, firm grip. “Thank you again, Mr. Young Bear. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped.”

      THE DRIVE TO MOOSE HORN took fifteen minutes. Steven’s passenger sat quietly beside him, reassuring him every time he asked if she was all right. Sporadic conversation centered on getting her car out of the ditch after the meeting. It would be dark. They’d need to either call a tow truck or see if one of the townsfolk had a rope or chain heavy enough to use. “Yes, all right,” she murmured repeatedly in response to his one-sided dialogue, nodding her agreement to his plans. She seemed distracted. He noted that her face was very pale and her hands were trembling in her lap, but attributed that to the adrenaline pumped into her system after skidding off the road. He hoped she wasn’t going into shock. It was a miracle she hadn’t been killed, driving that fast when she left the road. He hoped she’d learned that rural roads and excessive speed were a bad combination.

      It would have been impossible to miss the town of Moose Horn, since the road ended at the one and only public building. A cluster of cars and trucks crowded the small gravel lot. Steven parked, got out, went around the vehicle and helped her out. Her hand was ice cold.

      “Thank you, Mr. Young Bear,” she said, gripping her briefcase. “I was supposed to meet someone named Ken Manning. He should be here, though I don’t know what he looks like, and I’m not sure he knows I’m coming, so he probably won’t be looking for me….” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the building.

      “I know who Ken Manning is,” Steven said, wishing he’d never agreed to come tonight. The very mention of that man’s name set his stomach churning. “I’ll hook you up with him, but first I really think you should get checked out. I’ll ask if there’s an EMT present. Usually in a remote place like this, one or two of the townspeople are trained to handle medical emergencies, and—”

      “That’s not necessary, Mr. Young Bear,” she interrupted, her voice strengthening, becoming firm. “I wouldn’t classify a bee sting as a medical emergency. Really, I’m fine.” She lifted her briefcase and took two wobbly steps before coming to an uncertain halt. Steven took her briefcase out of her hand and encircled her waist with his arm. “Thank you,” she said humbly as he guided her into the building.

      “You’re very welcome,” he replied, taken aback by the unexpected surge of protectiveness he felt for a woman he’d only known for the past five miles and twenty minutes. By the time they reached the town office, she was walking unassisted. She paused to take her briefcase from him, smooth her clothing and give him a wan but reassuring smile before entering the room.

      The whole town was there. There were chairs, but only enough for half. Rob Brown sat up at the front of the room behind a big desk. Next to him sat Ken Manning, the geologist from the mining company and there was an empty seat to his left. All conversation stopped as Steven led Molly past the crowd at the rear, through the maze of occupied seats at the front, and pulled out the empty chair while Manning stared with obvious dismay, both at Molly and Steven.

      “Ken Manning, Molly Ferguson,” Steven said when she was seated, giving a brief nod to Manning. “Ms. Ferguson was just involved in an accident. Her car went off the road.”

      “I’m perfectly fine,” she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. “Mr. Manning, I’m Molly Ferguson and I’m here on behalf of Brad Little. He was taken ill at the last moment and couldn’t make it. He sends his regrets.”

      Manning scowled, obviously taken aback by the young woman’s appearance and her announcement that she was replacing Brad. “I don’t recall Brad ever mentioning you,” he said, staring briefly at her swollen cheek. He glanced up at Steven. “There seem to be a lot of lawyers going off the road all of a sudden. I heard about Sam Blackmore’s accident. I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ