His Montana Homecoming. Jenna Mindel

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СКАЧАТЬ “That would explain a few things.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like why I never want to leave this land. Shaw land is part of me, like, in my blood. You know?”

      He didn’t, but he nodded anyway as he watched her shrug into her own coat and pull on felt-lined boots that hit her midcalf and had fake fur along the top. He followed her out and climbed into the passenger seat of her little SUV.

      The Shaws lived quite a ways out of town. Their driveway alone seemed like miles long. Lush green grass surrounding the house gave way to straw-colored grass that grew tall and spindly against the wire fencing. An immaculate spread of red barns and outbuildings, the property had to be worth a small fortune. Horses sauntered in their pasture, some following after Faith’s SUV within their confined space.

      Dale stared out the window as if transfixed by the purple mountains behind rolling hills dotted with evergreens. The clear blue sky held puffy white clouds that looked so huge and close enough to touch.

      “It is beautiful land,” he finally said.

      “I think so.” Faith nodded. “Different than New York, I imagine.”

      He chuckled and focused on Faith’s driving the road ahead. She had a lead foot. “Very different. Although, the city sprawls with the same vastness. New York is huge and it’s a city that never sleeps.”

      Faith shook her head. “I wouldn’t like that. I look forward to my eight hours.”

      Dale had certainly received his share of sleep overnight and then some. He’d slept hard with none of the trouble that came with travel and hotel rooms.

      Finally, Faith pulled into the bank on the corner of Shaw Boulevard and Main. Dale made a call on his cell during the short drive into town. He’d gotten through to his office and left a message on his father’s voice mail that he was headed for the ski resort meeting. He’d give him an update later.

      Faith parked, got out and then peeked her head back inside. “Want to come in? There’s a picture of your great-great-grandpa hanging on the wall in there.”

      Dale checked his phone. No new messages. “Silas?”

      Faith nodded.

      “Yes. I’d like to see that.”

      Despite the warm morning sunshine, there was a distinct chill in the air. He glanced at those awful boots tossed in the backseat. No way.

      They walked toward the glass doors of a building that blended in with the rest. Same storefront look with a simple facade. It didn’t look old. Not like the city hall building he’d seen when he first drove into town. In fact, that place looked more like a bank than this one.

      “Hi, Faith.” A man close to his own age and height opened the door for her as he exited the bank. His smile was warm and welcoming. The word easygoing came to mind.

      “Pastor Ethan, good morning.” She stopped short and Dale nearly ran into her. Again. “This is Dale Massey—he’s come to represent one of the founding families for homecoming.”

      The guy extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

      Dale shook it. Pastor Ethan looked more like a well-groomed surfer than a minister. He had relaxed casual nailed. Faith could do worse. “Likewise.”

      “I’m showing him around,” Faith said with a sheepish smile.

      “Great. Yeah, well, have a nice day.” The minister nodded and walked on. No jealousy there.

      Dale followed Faith inside. “That’s your boyfriend?”

      Faith shook her head and laughed. “No.”

      “But your mom said—”

      “Just talk. There’s too much talk in this town, especially these days. All I did was bid on his picnic basket and next thing I know, folks were guessing the date.”

      “You did what?”

      “Bid on his picnic basket, you know, at the fair.”

      He was lost.

      Faith’s eyes widened with pitiful mirth. “You’ve never been to a small-town fair.”

      “No.” Why’d she make it sound as if he’d missed something important?

      They walked inside and another man, short and stocky in a gray suit with a bad comb-over from premature hair loss, approached them. He, too, had a wide smile for his compact chaperone. And maybe a little more interest, too. “Morning, Faith.”

      Faith smiled in return. “Dale, this is Wilbur Thompson. He manages the bank. Mind if I show him the picture of Silas Massey in the safe-deposit-box room?”

      “Certainly. Wait—are you Dale Massey? Of Massey International?” Wilbur turned to him with gleaming eyes.

      Dale gave a quick nod. “I am.”

      “Nice article in Fortune, by the way. Mr. Massey, are you staying in town? If so, we’d be honored to set up a temporary account for you to use. It’ll only take a few moments.”

      “I’m all set.”

      Wilbur gave him a shrewd look. “Well, here’s my card if you change your mind.”

      “Thanks.” Dale pocketed it. He wouldn’t need it, wouldn’t use it, either.

      “That’s my great-great-grandfather.” Faith pointed to the portrait in the lobby. “Ezra Shaw.”

      He looked at the stocky man in the picture with a handlebar mustache.

      Faith stood next to him. “My middle name is Elaine, after Ezra’s wife.”

      Faith Elaine Shaw. He looked at her. She liked to chatter.

      Her cheeks colored. “The safe-deposit-box room is this way.”

      He followed her across a hardwood floor that creaked. Every person, staff member and customer alike knew Faith and greeted her with warmth. They’d stop and chat, and Faith returned that same warmth with a grin or wave, or a quick caress to a chubby toddler’s cheek. She was the mayor’s daughter, after all, but she didn’t seem a bit affected by that. These were natural actions.

      Once they were in the safe-deposit room, Dale pointed out the obvious. “You talked to everyone in this place.”

      “Sorry. You said time wasn’t an issue.” She shrugged. “I grew up here. Went to school with these people, and babysat their kids when I was a teenager. Now, take a good look at that picture and tell me what you see.”

      Dale looked up at the canvas of a man who looked neither young nor old. His hair looked darker and longer and Silas wore a beard that covered half his face. “A creepy version of me or my father even. Didn’t anyone use a razor back then?”

      “He’s not creepy,” Faith defended, and then stared at the canvas СКАЧАТЬ