Montana Christmas Magic

by Casey Dawes

  By the time six o’clock came around, she’d made good progress. The sense of satisfaction took the sting out of the loneliness she felt. Still, she wanted to share her day with someone.

  Not just anyone. Logan.

  Without pausing too long to think about it, she texted him.

  Julie: What RU doing?

  Logan: Laundry. Boring, huh? You?

  Julie: Started your painting.

  Logan: What’s it like?

  Julie: You’ll have to wait.

  Logan: When RU coming out to paint again?

  Julie: Don’t know. Was thinking of a trip to Georgetown Lake to do something 4 PBurg gallery. Maybe Thursday.

  Logan: Stop here first. Maybe I’ll go with.

  Her fingers hesitated before answering. Did she want him with her? What would he do while she was immersed in her work?

  As if guessing her hesitation, he typed:

  Logan: I’ve been meaning to go up there, hike around, do some fishing.

  Julie: I’ll see how much time I have.

  Logan: Okay.

  Julie: Later.

  Logan: Yeah. Bye.

  Well, that had been less satisfying than she’d hoped.

  God, she was a mess over this man. He challenged every bit of thinking she had, from her dating rules to where to live. Why hadn’t the good Lord found someone more practical for her?

  Because she had to face it. There was definitely love on the horizon.

  Chapter 13

  As Julie drove east on 90, her mind was a whirl of plans and information. Sue Anne had been more than helpful with business plan ideas.

  “I’m grateful for the years you’ve given me,” she’d said. “It’s exciting to see you finally following your own dream. Come fall, I’ll look around for another person looking for some part-time work and apprentice opportunities. Anything I can do to repay you for supporting me is a joy. So what do you need?”

  Julie had reminded her of the retreat idea, as well as incorporating time to create her artwork.

  “You may want to move beyond paintings,” Sue Anne said. “Otherwise you’ll always be trading time for dollars.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Consider making prints—you know, cards and stuff for people to take as souvenirs of their trips. Something with a lower price point. By the way, I think your retreat idea is brilliant, but you’re going to need to pay attention to numbers and marketing.”

  The four aspirin Julie had downed when she got home had barely dented the headache that threatened to erupt again this morning.

  Focus. It’s a painting day, a time to hit up different mental muscles.

  Should she stop and see Logan? Her heart beat faster at the idea, and she knew she would. It was risky, but if she didn’t stretch her horizons and take the chance of being hurt, she’d never know what was possible.

  When she reached the road to the ranch, she took the turn. However long he was around, she wanted to be with him, no matter how much it hurt in the end.

  “I was hoping you’d show up,” Logan said when she drove in. He pointed to a bunch of fishing gear on the porch. Hobo was sitting within inches of it. “I’m ready to go. Do you mind taking my SUV? That way there’s plenty of room for both our stuff, and Hobo can come.”

  “Positive he’s not your dog?”

  “Quite.”

  “Okay.” She moved her supplies to the back of the vehicle, surprised to see a picnic basket sitting on the floor. “Pretty sure of yourself,” she said.

  “Yeah, I suppose. I was hoping you couldn’t resist fried chicken and potato salad.”

  “Sounds like cholesterol on wheels.”

  “Only the very best,” he said.

  She laughed and slid into the passenger seat. Hobo leaped into the back, and they were off.

  “I found a strange letter yesterday,” he said. “It was addressed to me but had slid to the back of the kitchen drawer. That’s why I didn’t find it right away.”

  “Oh?”

  “Turns out Lefty is Wild Rose.” He handed her a letter.

  She recognized Willy’s spidery handwriting. She skimmed the letter until she got to the third paragraph:

  “Although Wild Rose is part of my estate, she only belongs to you temporarily. It’s my greatest hope that you find a Montana woman who can give you the love and support neither your mother nor that stiff stick you were engaged to were capable of doing. When you do, that horse is hers. Keep it well for her, and you will gain more than you can even anticipate.

  “If you choose not to stay after your six months are up, please find her a good home.”

  She read through the rest of the letter, then folded it, and put it back into the envelope with a smile.

  “I guess he expected to have the mare settled by the time you got that letter.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But no idea where he got her from? No papers?”

  “Nope.”

  “So still a bit of a mystery.”

  “Yep.” They began the twisting stretch of road before the lake. Summer heat had diminished the few waterfalls sometimes visible from the road, but the vistas were still beautiful, and Julie let nature soothe her.

  She had an image to create and a business to launch. If Logan’s property wasn’t going to be available, she’d just have to find another place to create her retreat. Both her dad and Sue Anne thought it was a good idea—unique and a great boon to artists or even amateur baby boomers who were trying new things as they retired.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve gone fishing,” Logan said. “Willy and I would go a few times every summer, but it was the only time I went. It was one of the things I missed—the sound of the water, casting, and chasing the fish once you’ve snagged him.”

  Based on the length of the pole and the fact they were going to a lake, he probably wasn’t doing fly-fishing, but it was worth the question.

  “Montana’s a big fly fishing state—ever try it?”

  “Not while my uncle was around.” Logan chuckled. “He always said fly fishing was for people who wanted to look good while they fish. If you wanted to catch a fish, you needed a spinner.”

  She’d heard that sentiment before. “Yeah, it is the image, isn’t it? From that movie with Brad Pitt on down, fly-fishing has a romance of its own. You know Norman Maclean, the guy who wrote A River Runs Through It, lived in Missoula for a while.”

  “No, I didn’t—but I’ve read it and seen the movie. Part of me would still like to fly fish—especially in the Madison down by Yellowstone.”

  “I haven’t been there in years. Silly, because it’s so close—in Montana terms, anyway.”

  “It would be fun to go with you. We could see the sights, you could paint, and I’d fish and tell tall tales.”

  The eagerness in his voice caught her up in the fantasy. She could see them at Old Faithful, staring at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, following buffalo in the Lamar Valley, followed by a candlelit dinner at one of the lodges.

  And then what? The step after the fancy dinner and goodnight kiss had always eluded her. Time to take a chance?

  “Where did you have in mind?” he asked as they approached the lake.

  “I thought around Stuart Mill Bay Campground.”

  Once she’d found a spot and set up, he took off to go fishing. Hobo hesitated a moment before following in his footsteps.

  Logan was back a few hours later.

  “Wow. That is impressive.”

  She looked at the few blobs she’d laid down on the canvas and laughed. “It’ll look better after a few days.” She showed him the sketches and photos, describing what she had in mind. His attentiveness was rewarding. He even asked a few insightful questions.

  For the first time, it was comfortable discussing her art with someone.

  “Were the fish biting?” she asked as she packed up.

  “Two rainbow trout,” he said. “I was planning on bringing them home to gr
ill, but I had a better idea and threw them back. They’ll be there the next time I come.” His smile was relaxed, as if the activity had drained some tension from his body.

  “Oh, what was your better idea?”

  “I thought we’d go to the Classic Cafe in Anaconda—early dinner of burgers and milkshakes. Have you ever been there?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “You’d remember this place.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  She glanced at her watch. There was still plenty of time. She’d decided to give herself a chance to get to know him better and determine whether or not she was being too rigid about staying in Montana.

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  The conversation during the drive to Anaconda was light, as they commented on the scenery and the fading summer. She mentioned helping Sue Anne plan her wedding but quickly skirted off the subject. Would he be interested in being her plus one? It was too early to ask, although seeing how he acted among her friends would be a good test.

  By the time they’d reached the cafe, she had started talking about her business plan discussion with Sue Anne, sticking to the plans for her artist work. No need to ruffle feathers reminding him about her idea to turn the ranch into a retreat center.

  “She’s got a point about the printed materials,” he said. “It’s a way to expand your reach without having to crank out new work all the time.”

  “But I don’t want to sell out. Wouldn’t that cheapen my originals?”

  “I don’t think so. People who want originals don’t buy prints unless they’re stellar quality, and they can’t get anywhere near an original. Or they’ll invest in a relatively unknown artist and hope the work appreciates.”

  “After the artist is dead, you mean.”

  He laughed heartily as they entered the small town. It had a bit of a bleak look, the result of a hundred years of smelter operation.

  Her fingers itched for a pencil or artist’s pen. Dark lines seemed like the best way to capture the town. Far different from what she normally drew. Like everything else in her life, she was trapped in what was expected from western artists.

  Another reason to consider exploring new parts of the country. She glanced at Logan.

  And new people.

  • • •

  Logan felt Julie’s gaze on him. “What’s on your mind?”

  She was silent for a few moments, a trait he was coming to know well.

  “I think I need to expand my artwork into different directions, not only concentrate on scenery, as gorgeous as it is,” she said.

  “How would you go about it?”

  “Just try different things, I guess. Experiment.”

  “Would classes help?” he asked.

  “Maybe, but my budget doesn’t allow for it. Because I’m reducing my hours, there’re fewer extra funds. I’ve taken all the courses I want from the university. I guess I need ... I don’t know ... a different perspective.”

  “Mmm,” was all he said.

  Again, he waited for her to process.

  When they finally arrived at their destination, he announced, “Here we are.” A big black-and-white checkerboard skirted the upper portion of the white building that looked like it had been a rescued garage. There were additional tables and chairs on the roof, with a view of the Pintler Mountains in the background.

  “Oh my God! It’s darling! Let’s sit up there!”

  “I don’t think you’re going to want to.” He shook his head. “Not after you see the inside.”

  He put water in a dish for Hobo and left the car windows cracked open. The dog would be fine in the shade of a neighboring building.

  The inside was cluttered with everything from license plates from across the country to old-fashioned clocks and beer and soda taps, to team photos of the locals.

  But the centerpieces were the brightly colored convertible Volkswagen Beetles, with tables and booth seats instead of classic car seats and a steering wheel.

  “Oh, I want that one!” She pointed to the pink model with red lips and bright blue eyes painted on the front.

  He smiled at her exuberance.

  “It’s yours, honey.” The waitress, dressed in casual clothes belying the 1950s atmosphere of the diner, handed them menus.

  Logan took a quick look and nodded. “Burger and chocolate milkshake.”

  “No beer?”

  “Driving.” His answer was clipped. He’d never repeat that mistake again.

  “I’ll have the same,” Julie said quietly.

  He was going to have to explain—soon.

  Once he gave the waitress the order, he pulled out his phone and went through his text messages. It didn’t look like there were many.

  The easy banter between them had been replaced with a distinct chill, and it was his fault.

  One step forward, two back.

  She slid from the bug. “Ladies’,” she said.

  Make those five steps back. When a woman cried “Ladies’,” it was a definite time-out.

  “I’m sorry,” he said when she sat down. He took her hand. “It’s bad memories about the crash.”

  “Your crash?”

  He didn’t want to drag this up again, but she had to understand he wasn’t being moody.

  He nodded. “Deborah drove. She thought I’d had too much to drink. She hit an icy patch she couldn’t handle and was killed instantly.”

  “You blame yourself.” She placed her hand on top of his, creating a hand sandwich, but there was nothing humorous about it.

  He pulled away. He didn’t deserve her comfort.

  “If I’d taken my responsibilities seriously, I wouldn’t have had that much to drink. I wouldn’t have had anything to drink. Actually, I hadn’t planned to drive home that night. The couple hosting the party had offered their guest room to us. We’d already slept together a few times, so I figured no big deal.”

  He stopped and rubbed his face with his hand, as if he could erase the memories of that night.

  “I take it Deborah objected.”

  He nodded. “She said ... she said it wasn’t seemly to spend the night together when there were members of our inner circle who would know about it. It just wasn’t done.”

  “So her attitude cost her her life.”

  He sat back and stared at her. His life through a different lens.

  “I guess, in a way, you’re right. I’ve always blamed myself for that night, and in a way, I still do. I should have insisted we stay. I knew the roads were tricky, and I owned a fast car. She was only used to driving her Honda, and she didn’t do that very much.”

  “Logan, it was an accident. You both could have done things differently, but in hindsight we’re so much smarter than we are at the time.”

  His breath became strained. What if Julie was right and it wasn’t entirely his fault? Would that give him his life back?

  How much was his insistence on continuing the life he’d had, even though he’d begun to have an inkling it wasn’t a good fit anymore, due to the blinders he wore?

  The food interruption couldn’t have come at a better time. Plates and plastic glasses were slid in front of them, the traditional high school servings conflicting with his adult angst.

  “Anything else?” the waitress asked.

  He couldn’t move.

  “We’re good.” Julie smiled up at the woman.

  “Okay.” Her tone said she doubted it. Julie picked up her burger and took a bite; his stomach roiled at the aroma wafting from his.

  “Did Deborah know that was the plan for the night?” she asked after she’d finished a few bites and gulps of her milkshake.

  Logan shook his head, his food still untouched.

  “How come?”

  “Who knows?”

  He picked up his burger, then let it drop causing ketchup and fixings to splatter across the plate. This restaurant had been a bad idea. His whole involvement with
Julie was a friggin’ bad idea.

  “Good burger,” she said. “Try some.”

  She looked at him with that smile that managed to creep through the mortar of the internal wall he’d built every time.

  Without moving his gaze from hers, he picked up the hamburger and took a bite. He allowed himself a smile.

  “Yes, it is.” He drank a little of the milkshake. “That’s good, too.”

  “Thanks for bringing me here. I love finding these quirky little places in small towns. I was thinking of Anaconda in terms of sharp black lines, and now all I can think about is colorfully painted cows.”

  “Your thought process is really, really strange.”

  “I know.” Her smile grew broader.

  His happiness went up a notch.

  “Sorry for the slump,” he said. “I guess I mentally went back to that night and tried to figure out how I could have made it different.”

  “I’ve never experienced something like that,” she said. “It must be hard.”

  “It is.” And it was time to stop talking about it. “How’s Sue Anne’s wedding coming?”

  “Everything’s ramping up. Invitations are out, the gown is being fitted, and Sue Anne is driving the event planner nuts. Normal wedding.”

  “Sounds like it.” He wiped a stray bit of ketchup from his fingers.

  She stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you come to the wedding with me?”

  “You want me to do that?” he asked. This wasn’t going to help his effort to keep things casual.

  “I do,” she said.

  He stopped eating. She took his breath away with her innocence and joy. He was in so much trouble.

  “I have to warn you, I’m the maid of honor so you wouldn’t sit with me, but there’d be a table for everyone’s plus ones so you wouldn’t be alone.”

  “Plus ones?” he laughed.

  “You know, people’s dates—especially couples that aren’t officially couples.”

  “And that’s us.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Too bad it isn’t different.”

  Now she stopped eating.