Heartbeat of the Bitterroot

by Janice Mineer

  And what about the strange, threatening texts I’d been receiving? Were they connected? It all sounded so crazy.

  “Look,” I said, “a friend of mine is a detective in Missoula, Grant Stephens. He has been looking into some texts I’ve gotten lately. There might be a connection. I don’t know who would be following me or why someone would want to harm me, but Grant may have some light to shed on this by now.”

  The sheriff penciled in a few more notes, then went to talk to Martin.

  I looked at Michael. A dark expression covered his face. “Jenna,” he said seriously, “I think you have to consider that what happened tonight has something to do with your search for your father. What about the clerk at the county courthouse who was angry with you? I think there is a connection. Maybe someone does not want you to find him, to stir up the past.” His eyes narrowed, but his tone was soft. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

  “No.” My answer came too quickly. No, no, no, I thought. It’s not possible. I didn’t want to think my real father could be involved in anything threatening to me. It couldn’t be. And no one could stop me from looking for him, even if they tried. I had to find him. I had to find that part of myself.

  Michael looked concerned as he searched my face.

  Elizabeth walked over and gave me a hug. “We gotta go get the kids in bed. Will you be OK?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll call you later,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze.

  “Michael, can I borrow your flashlight?” I asked.

  “Sure, what are you doing?”

  I set my chin. “I’ve got to get my coin back.”

  I found the light switch inside the shed and flicked on the single, dim bulb. I panned the flashlight around, figuring the trajectory of the coin, the bounce off the shovel.

  “Here it is!” Michael exclaimed.

  And there she was. My gracious friend in silver. I didn’t think Mitchell Harrison, could ever have known how important this little “piece of courage” would be to me.

  “Pretty lucky hit.” Michael eyed the shovel on the floor and the garbage cans tipped on their sides.

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” I said elbowing him in the side and he smiled.

  Michael turned somber and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is crazy, Jenna. Who would want to harm you? The text you got earlier, now this. I know it seems unlikely, but don’t you think this has something to do with your search for your father?”

  “I don’t know why this is all happening at the same time.” I said, raising my palms in front of me. “I don’t even know if there is a connection. Why would anyone care if I found him? Who would try to scare me? Who’d want to stop me enough to do this?” I pointed at the dead bison in the road.

  Chapter 36

  dc

  By the time we replaced the tires on Michael’s Explorer and drove home, it was late, so I slept in the next day. I lay half in and half out of sleep with troubling dreams where bleeding bison wandered, lost through dark fields with giant boulders and men with rifles lunged from behind trees. Sirens wailed until I woke and realized it was my phone.

  “Are you all right?” It was Ann.

  “I’m all right. Except for this goose egg on my shin where I fell in the pasture on that huge boulder.” I rubbed the area that was blooming into a violent shade of purple.

  Ann told me the sheriff had called. He had done some checking on the license plate of the red truck. It was from out of state and there were some delays. They were sending a man out to the ranch again today. In fact, Grant Stevens called and said he’d come along to help as well. She sounded surprisingly calm given the circumstances. She had always been tougher than she appeared.

  The doorbell rang and I saw Michael through the window.

  “I’ve gotta go. Sorry. We’re going on a picnic with Jack and Elizabeth and some people.”

  “You sure you are OK?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I juggled the phone while pulling on my sweatshirt.

  “Well, be careful,” she said. “This whole thing has made me really nervous. Who could have done such a thing? I hope we find out soon.”

  I told her goodbye and opened the door. Michael kissed me and asked, “How are you this morning?”

  “Glad to be alive after last night. That was terrifying,” I said. “You doing OK?”

  “Sure. I love getting chased through the woods in the middle of the night by an armed assailant.”

  “I know. I’m the best date ever. I’m sorry you had to be involved, but I’m also glad you were there.”

  “I’m just hoping the sheriff can find this guy before somebody gets hurt. Any news on that?”

  “Not yet.”

  He sighed. “Well, are you ready to roast a dog?”

  I leaned out the door and pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. I looked up at the gray sky and said, “I don’t know, it’s pretty damp out here. We might end up drowning a dog.”

  Michael helped me load a cooler into the back of his Explorer and we drove through town, out of Missoula. In the south, the pale Bitterroot Mountains loomed in the distance, dusted with a cap of snow. A white mist bedded itself against their feet, making them look as if they were floating in midair.

  When we got to the picnic area by Blue Mountain, Jack and Elizabeth were already there, transporting bags of food to the picnic table. A weak fire smoked in the nearby ring of stones.

  We pulled on our jackets as we got out of the car and walked toward the campsite, but the sun had broken through the clouds and it warmed our shoulders. Jack clasped Michael’s hand and slapped him on the back. “Ready for me to humiliate you at folf?”

  “Folf?” I asked.

  “You know, you play it with a Frisbee,” Michael explained. “It’s like golf but you use a Frisbee for a ball and trees as the holes.”

  “Oh, right. I remember.”

  “I have the first part of the course marked out here.” Jack gestured up the hill. “But I need some help laying it out. Here, grab that bag.”

  Michael followed Jack up into the trees while I helped Elizabeth lay out the picnic things.

  “How are you?” she asked. “That was pretty crazy last night. I’m so sorry you guys got caught in the middle of that. So sad for Martin to lose one of his bison. We can’t figure out who would do that, just shoot one and leave it in the road.”

  “Me either. It just doesn’t make sense.” I thought again about the man with the gun. Was it easier, more logical, to think of someone killing the bison out of some revenge toward my uncle—perhaps over some water rights dispute or fencing issues—or to think that someone was watching me, targeting me for … for what? Was this attack related to the threatening texts I’d received? I wondered again if it might have something to do with my search for my father. Maybe someone had something to lose if I found him. I shook off the thought. Who would care about that? I felt like I was being blindsided by hate and I didn’t know where it was coming from. My family was being threatened and it was frightening.

  “Well, the people in the sheriff’s department at the county are very good at what they do. I’m sure they will find the man,” Elizabeth said.

  “Where are the kids today?” I asked.

  “At my sister’s. Jordan loves it over there with the cousins.”

  We spread a checkered tablecloth and brought bags of food from the car.

  As we were bringing over the last load, an extended cab Ford truck rolled into the parking area and emptied its contents.

  The group waved and came to the picnic table carrying packs of soda and bags of chips.

  Elizabeth introduced them to me. “These are guys that help Michael and Jack coach the kids in basketball at the YMCA. Stuart, Landon, and the tall one back there is Cory.” The young man lifted his ball cap to me, then put it on backwards. “And these two put up with them—Tiffany in the yellow and Lacey here.”

  I gave them a general hello.

&n
bsp; “Where are Michael and Jack?” Cory asked.

  Elizabeth pointed up the hill. “They should be ready to play folf. See them up there?” She pointed into the woods. “If you guys want to go. I’ll keep the fire going.”

  I insisted on helping her while the others trooped into the trees. We put more logs onto the fire until it blazed, then stood watching the sparks fly up into the cool air, the flames licking toward the sky.

  After a few minutes, Elizabeth probed, “So how’s it going with Michael?”

  “Great … I think.” I pulled at a lock of my hair. I looked up the hill where Michael was handing out Frisbees.

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “OK, that’s confusing.”

  “Yeah, I am confused. Michael is such a great guy but …” I heaved a sigh.

  “So, what’s the problem?” She tilted her head.

  “I can tell Michael still struggles with feelings about reinvesting in life. Sometimes I wonder if it’s that or just investing in me he’s worried about. I mean really, what do I have to offer him? I have my own emotional demons and I don’t want him to be hurt by that. Not to mention that now I seem to have made a mortal enemy somehow,” I said with chagrin.

  Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about? Emotional demons? You are great for Michael.”

  “How can I be good for him? It’s not like I have the genetics for it.”

  “What do genes have to do with it?” She sat down and crossed her arms in front of her on the table, looking at me intently.

  “My mother seemed to think it had a lot to do with it. She did not have what it took to hold a relationship together, and she didn’t think I would be able to either. Once, when I was still in high school, I called her. I hadn’t heard from her in several months so I wanted to check on her.” I sighed. “You know, sometimes I just wanted to feel like I still belonged to her and that I was important to her. I guess I was … sort of. I just don’t think she was capable of holding onto that in any effective way for very long.” I wrapped my jacket closer around me.

  “Anyway, I called her. No answer. I left a message. She called me back, but she was drunk; she had probably been drinking for days. She started off being sloppy sweet and asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said I did.” I paused a moment, trying to ease the tension in my gut. “Funny. I can’t remember now what his name was.” I gave a weak smile and stared into the trees as if to call forth the forgotten name.

  Elizabeth came around to my side of the table and sat facing me. She didn’t say a word and I was grateful.

  My voice quavered a little. I started moving things on the table aimlessly, picking up cups and packets of utensils and laying them back down in nearly the same places. “Mother started in, telling me that men couldn’t be trusted. And even if I found a half decent guy, that I wouldn’t have what it took to keep him anyway.” I stopped moving. “I cried for three days. A part of me realized her unsolicited advice came from the cataclysmic chaos of her life, but a part of me has always doubted that I had the ability to do … to do what you and Jack make look so easy.” I raised my palms in exasperation.

  I felt Elizabeth’s hand on my shoulder.

  I rubbed a hand across my eyes, and then continued. “But being around you guys and the rest of the family … you all are great examples. I guess I just need to figure out what it takes to weave together a fabric strong enough to weather the storms. I need to know I can find that kind of resilience inside me.”

  Just then, Michael and Jack crashed their way through the bushes downhill toward us, laughing and pushing at each other playfully.

  Elizabeth put an arm around me. “Nobody is perfect, Jenna. We all do the best we can based on those strong, sound principles that create a firm foundation for our lives. You’ve seen that done. It’s up to each of us to make our lives good. No one who came before you can determine your personal success. I know without a doubt you have it in you to make a great life,” she said firmly.

  “We’re starved!” Jack hollered as they drew closer. “Is that fire ready for roasting dogs yet?”

  The rest of the group soon followed and gathered around the table with hungry looks.

  Elizabeth grabbed a tortilla chip and shoved it in Jack’s mouth.

  I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts, and then gave Michael a hug.

  “So, who won?” I asked him.

  “I did,” Michael and Jack replied in unison.

  “You cheated,” Michael accused.

  “Neither one of you can count,” said Cory as he skewered a fat Polish dog.

  Clouds gathered as we bent over the fire roasting our food, and by the time the last plate had emptied, light showers began.

  Elizabeth pulled out the Hershey’s chocolate and a plump bag of marshmallows. “Who wants dessert? Anyone want to roast a quick marshmallow?”

  “In the rain?” Jack asked. He shoved two marshmallows in his mouth and started packing up the buns.

  Michael retrieved an oversized umbrella from his Explorer.

  “I will not leave here without my s’more,” he vowed. “Jenna? One chunk of chocolate or two?”

  I held up two fingers. We huddled under the umbrella as he loaded the marshmallows on a stick and toasted the white confections to a lovely shade of brown. Retreating to the table, we found the graham crackers before the others packed them up.

  Here was proof positive of his dexterity and determination. He held the umbrella over me and deftly assembled a s’more sandwich with a single hand. Warm toasted marshmallow oozed over the edge of the graham crackers, softening the slabs of chocolate. I laughed as he popped the treat in my mouth. He smiled and brushed crumbs from my jacket.

  I wanted to remember this forever. The rain pattering on our umbrella. Michael laughing, the curve of his smile, his clear eyes settling on my face. Mist thrown against my cheek by gentle gusts of wind. The sharp, sweet smell of pine trees. The smell of the campfire. The warm chocolate melting in my mouth. His arm across my shoulder. A moment suspended in time, fragile, like a bubble ready to burst.

  Michael’s cell phone rang and he struggled with sticky fingers to pull it from his pocket. He checked the caller ID and his eyes narrowed.

  “Sorry, I’d better take this. Shane has been trying to get a hold of me. Shane Chapman. Old friend from college. He left a message yesterday. Sounds like something’s up.”

  He kissed my cheek. “I’ll just be a minute.” He left me the umbrella but the rain was letting up.

  As I watched him walk away toward the car, I had a strange feeling. It was like there was a shift in the wind, and a bleak emptiness blew through me.

  I helped Elizabeth clear the table and pack up the trash. I found a jug of water to douse the fire. The others gathered folf discs and packed up the food. Dusk settled around us like the ashes from the fire.

  I watched Michael out of the corner of my eye. He paced as he talked. He ran his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped. When he hung up, he stared at his cell for a long moment, and when he turned toward me, I knew something had changed.

  “Is everything OK?” I asked, searching his face.

  “Shane’s wife. She was just diagnosed with cancer.” His lips were tightened, his voice strained.

  “Is it pretty bad?” My hand went to my chest.

  “They didn’t know she had it until now. It was breast cancer and apparently, it spread fast. She’s stage four.” He cleared his throat. “I … I didn’t know what to say to him.”

  A dark foreboding rose inside me. I rubbed his shoulder but he seemed far away, unaware. “I’m sure he knows you understand.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes focused on the smoldering fire pit.

  The others were loading coolers and chairs into their cars and saying goodbye. Jack and Cory were wrestling good-naturedly over car keys.

  “Hey, you guys,” Stuart shouted our direction. “You want to come over to our place for a movie?”

  Michael looked down a m
oment. “No. Maybe next time.” He looked at me. “Is that OK?”

  “Sure. I’ve got to get up early anyway.”

  “See you guys Friday for the homecoming game in Hamilton, right?” Jack said. “Seven p.m. Our guys will clean their clocks!”

  “Sure,” Michael said, his face somber.

  He helped me into my side of the car, and we pulled out of the muddy parking lot. We drove into town in the thickening rain, windshield wipers slapping out a steady rhythm, breaking the silence inside. My stomach tensed with anxiety. Cancer. It was the same thing his wife died of two years ago. Of course it would trigger painful memories.

  “Are you OK?” I asked hesitantly.

  He nodded.

  More silence.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “It’s so unfair.” His fists clenched on the steering wheel and his brow furrowed. “In one moment, your whole life can just blow up in your hands. It’s so hard … so hard to watch someone you love go through that. It takes something out of you. For a long time. It robs the sun from the sky.”

  Suddenly, I realized we were not talking about Shane anymore.

  He opened his mouth but shut it again.

  I felt him slipping away from me. He stood with a foot in two worlds. The past can be a ghost that robs you of your future, its cold fingers grasping your heart, draining the warmth from your present … if you let it. If you let it.

  We pulled up to my house and he sat with his hand on the key in the ignition.

  “Do you want to come in for a minute?” I asked.

  He turned from me and stared out of the window. I couldn’t see his face. I couldn’t tell what was happening inside him, but I could sense a cold space expanding between us.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna.”

  Sorry for what? Sorry for his sorrow? Or was it fear? Was there no room in his world for me? Was he going to shut me out?

  “What? What is it?”