Montana Standoff

by Nadia Nichols

  Molly looked this way and that, taking it all in, rolling her window down and leaning out. “Horses,” she exclaimed with obvious delight. “And dogs, and puppies! And there, by the barn, isn’t that a buffalo?”

  “Absa,” Steven replied, catching sight of the young buffalo. “Her leg was broken shortly after she was born and she had to be hand raised. One of the boys, Roon, adopted her and she follows him around like the dog she thinks she is.”

  “She’s a pretty big dog,” Molly laughed. She was out of the Jeep practically before it stopped rolling, kneeling down to pat the two fat little pups that bounded down the porch steps of the ranch house and cavorted about her feet. “Oh, they’re adorable, Steven. Look at them.” She swept one of the wriggling pups into her arms and it began licking her face. Within moments she had paw prints on her pretty blouse, several unruly curls had escaped her braid, and she looked thoroughly, beautifully happy. All vestiges of her previous torment had miraculously disappeared.

  Steven watched her and felt an easing inside of himself. It was this place. The Bow and Arrow had the power to transport people beyond their immediate troubles. He’d felt that same magic himself a time or two before. He’d stood in awe and looked around him at the towering wall of the Beartooth Mountains, at the old ranch buildings near the bend of the creek and the slow curl of wood smoke from weathered fieldstone chimneys. It was a nurturing and timeless place that somehow made sense out of every dawn and sunset, and every moon that ever gave name to a season.

  “Those are Blue’s pups,” he said. “Blue belongs to Jessie and Guthrie. She’s the cow dog that keeps everyone in line.”

  “Well, puppies like to cuddle, and that makes them just about perfect in my book,” Molly said beaming, and he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy he felt toward the pup she cradled so lovingly in her arms.

  At that moment the screen door banged open and Ramalda waddled onto the porch. She was holding a big wooden spoon in one fat fist and wearing her infamous scowl, which she fixed first on Molly and then on Steven. “You are hungry,” she accused.

  Steven glanced around at the absence of vehicles and other people. “Ramalda, my apologies,” he said. “Pony invited me to a barbecue, but I must have mistaken the day or the time. This is Molly Ferguson, my friend from Helena, and she hasn’t eaten all day. She’s too thin, and needs good cooking like yours.”

  Ramalda’s stern features softened as she fixed her gaze on Molly. “You need to eat much,” she agreed. “You too thin. But first, there is big problem down in the barn.”

  Steven glanced down toward the pole barn. “Is that where everyone is?”

  “Si. Yes.” Ramalda nodded, her scowl deepening. “It is always something. This time, a sick horse. They are down there. You go get them, tell them it is time to eat or they get sick, too.”

  “All right. We’ll round them up.” He caught Molly’s hand in his and started down the slope. She was still holding one puppy while the other gamboled at her heels, and he heard her soft laugh as she fell into stride with him.

  “She’s intimidating,” Molly confided, “but I’m guessing she’s a big softie at heart.”

  “As well as a great cook,” Steven said. “She practically raised Jessie and Guthrie.” He stopped so suddenly that she stumbled into him.

  “Steven? What is it?”

  His eyes had caught the glimmer of sunlight on metal out behind the barn, metal where there shouldn’t be metal, only grass and dirt and curlews and horses and Absa, waiting on Roon. He stood in silence for a moment, processing the sight. “There’s a party here today, all right,” he said, eyes narrowing, “but for some reason everyone’s parked out behind the barn.”

  Molly shifted the puppy in her arms. “That’s not where they normally park?”

  “No. Everyone parks just below the ranch house, where we did.”

  “Maybe there isn’t enough room there for all the people who’re coming to the party,” she offered. She looked happy and content, the color in her cheeks bringing out the clear shine of her eyes. “Come on, let’s go see what’s going on in the barn. I want to meet that buffalo, too.” She abruptly abandoned him, continuing on at a brisk walk, still holding the one pup, who showed no desire to leave the cradle of her arms, the other one following behind her.

  Steven hesitated only briefly before realizing that his trepidation was foolish, and he followed because there was no other place he wanted to be than with her. Thus they walked together into the dimness of the barn, and it was Molly who was astounded by the sheer number of people gathered there, awaiting their arrival to spring this surprise party on Steven. But it was Steven and Molly together who shared the enormity of the moment, who leaned into each other when all those voices shouted “Surprise!” and when the barn full of faces moved toward them, beaming and smiling and full of the celebratory essence of the word party!

  Molly looked at him, eyes shining and face alight. Still holding the puppy in her arms, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek before the first of the well-wishers reached them, and somehow, in that sweet, simple gesture, she made all the embarrassing fuss and fanfare bearable.

  MOLLY WAS DAZZLED, entranced, swept away by her introduction to the Bow and Arrow. If not for the welcoming committee of two cuddly puppies and the scowling but soft-hearted Ramalda, it would have been for the sheer magnificence of the historic mountain ranch, the safe feeling of home she had experienced upon simply alighting here, and the unexpected presence of fifty people surprising them in the barn with a tribute and accolade to Steven that had brought tears to her eyes and had made her stand on tiptoe to kiss him with love and pride and something she couldn’t even begin to identify because it was way beyond any emotion she’d ever felt before.

  She was standing by the door, watching Steven be inundated by well-wishers, when Pony touched her arm and smiled in greeting. “I was afraid the two of you weren’t coming. Steven hates parties. His birthday is next week, but we wanted to surprise him.”

  “You certainly did. He’s so deserving of this,” Molly said, her voice choked with emotion. “I think it’s wonderful and it’s just what he needs. What can I do to help?”

  “Everything is pretty much done. We were just waiting for you to arrive. Come on, let me introduce you around.”

  “Wait,” Molly said, indicating the puppy who lolled contentedly in her arms. “First introduction. Who’s this?”

  “That’s Bonnie. Tessa is the one gnawing on your fancy boots. Tess belongs to Caleb, but Bonnie is as yet unclaimed, along with her brother Bandit, who’s probably in the kitchen keeping an eye on Ramalda. He has already figured out that the best place to be is close to the cook.”

  Molly shook hands first with Pony’s husband-to-be, Caleb McCutcheon, a handsome, athletic man with sandy hair and mustache, and keen blue eyes. Then Badger, a crusty old wrangler who took her hand and kissed it with a gentleness that made her smile and blush like a schoolgirl. Badger’s friend Charlie promptly shouldered the old cowboy aside and removed his hat. “A pleasure,” he said, matching his friend’s gallantry with a stiff bow from the waist that nearly did his arthritic body in.

  She met Jessie Weaver and Guthrie Sloane. “Steven’s told me so much about you and the Bow and Arrow.” Molly smiled. “I’m so glad to finally meet you and see this beautiful place.” The two of them looked so happy and content that it reaffirmed Molly’s belief that true love wasn’t just a myth perpetuated by fairy tales.

  She met the five teenage boys Pony was fostering: Jimmy, Dan, Martin, Joe and Roon, all full-blooded Crow. She greeted Bernie Portis, Guthrie’s cheerful and organized sister who was catering the barbecue, and the rest of her family, and so many others that the names and faces quickly became a scrambled blur. “There,” Pony said, as they trailed the group from the pole barn to the ranch house. “You have just met the entire population of Katy Junction.”

  “Except for the buffalo,” Molly reminded her.

  P
ony paused and called to Roon. “Where is Absa?”

  Molly then followed the boys to the corral, where she set down the puppy and, skirt be damned, scrambled up and straddled the fence rails to watch the horses milling about while Roon fetched Absa. Steven came up to stand beside her, resting his forearms on the top rail. She glanced down at him and smiled. “Neat place.”

  “Neat place.” He nodded.

  The buffalo followed Roon from behind the barn like a dog. She allowed the boys to fuss over her while Molly climbed down from the fence and held her hand out cautiously. Absa gave it a brief sniff and appeared unimpressed, and Molly thought the buffalo calf was the oddest-looking creature she’d ever seen. “She’s kind of cute, in a prehistoric sort of way.”

  Roon regarded Absa somberly. “She’s beautiful,” he corrected.

  “She’s a buffalo who thinks she’s a dog,” Jimmy explained. “But she’s just a calf still.”

  “A three-hundred-pound calf,” Caleb McCutcheon said, joining the group. “She tried to come into the kitchen yesterday. Ramalda wasn’t amused.”

  “I can’t imagine who taught that critter to come inside in the first place,” Badger groused, staring pointedly at Roon.

  “That would be me,” Guthrie admitted. “The day Caleb took Pony and the boys to the Fourth of July celebration in Livingston, I was working on the books, and it just seemed easier to let Absa come inside with me where I could keep an eye on her.”

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t be too critical of that behavior,” Charlie interjected on Guthrie’s behalf. “I mind the times when Badger and me babysat our fair share of orphaned beef calves in the old bunkhouse.”

  “Just like Mother Roon,” Martin teased. “Absa thinks Roon’s her mother, so he sleeps in the barn with her, to keep her company.”

  “Absa was hurt when she was very young,” Roon explained to Molly. “Her leg was broken and she couldn’t nurse from her own mother, so we had to bring her back to the ranch and bottle-feed her. That’s why she’s so tame. The other buffalo are wild, the way buffalo are supposed to be. The herd is up near Piney Creek now, nearly a hundred head.”

  “A whole herd of them must be something to see,” Molly said.

  “I could take you up there,” Roon offered. “Do you ride?”

  “Hold your horses,” Steven said. “We have a barbecue to attend, and people to mingle with, and lots of food to eat.”

  “Yes, but we could eat really fast,” Dan said, “and then go see the buffalo, all of us together. It would be fun.”

  Molly looked hopefully at Steven. “Could we?”

  “Leave me out of this conversation,” he said. “I don’t ride.”

  “You rode a horse once,” Jessie reminded him. “Remember? It was the day we showed Caleb the ranch.”

  “I’ll never forget. I couldn’t walk for a week afterward,” Steven said with a wry grin. “Let’s eat first, and talk horses later.”

  “Okay,” Molly promptly agreed because she was suddenly ravenous. “But it would be fun to see the buffalo herd.”

  PICNIC TABLES HAD BEEN set up behind the ranch house around the big stone barbecue pit itself, and the sweet tang of mesquite coals flavored the crisp September air. Earthenware bowls containing several different salads anchored the red-and-white checked oilcloth coverings at each table. A big cast-iron pot of spiced beans steamed from a pot hook suspended over the fire, and in the old-fashioned kitchen, Ramalda, wearing a bright blue bandanna over her white hair, was baking pan after pan of biscuits so light that even after eating them for decades they could still bring a reverent expression to Badger’s bewhiskered face. Ramalda caught him secreting some into his hat and spoke several rapid-fire sentences in Spanish while brandishing a wooden spoon in a threatening fashion.

  “Quality control, old gal,” Badger said, sidling out of range and winking at Molly as he did. “Someone’s got to make sure your biscuits are edible.”

  Molly placed a basket of the piping-hot biscuits on each picnic table next to the butter crocks. She helped Bernie baste the ribs with sauce as they browned slowly over the coals, and absorbed the babble of conversations, the laughter, the interaction of the partyers as if it were a precious elixir. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the big family atmosphere back home. When Steven found her and handed her a glass of wine, she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him in blissful gratitude. “This is so much fun,” she said.

  “I just hope you’re hungry,” he said as they found a table to sit at. “Remember what I told you about Ramalda.”

  Pony and Caleb and the boys shared their table, and in between jumping up to help Bernie and Ramalda replenish the heaping platters, Molly ate more than she’d eaten in a long time. The food was delicious, and true to Steven’s prediction, Ramalda fully expected every last bit of it to be devoured. Molly had no trouble cleaning her plate several times, nor did anyone else.

  During the course of multiple lively conversations, the subject of her occupation came up.

  “I’m an attorney,” she responded over her shoulder to the gentleman who’d asked.

  “Oh?” he said. “Do you work with Steven?”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” she said, blushing as Steven caught her eye.

  Pony waited until the meal was nearly over before she asked her brother, “Did you stop to see Luther Makes Elk on your way here?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did,” Steven replied after a lengthy pause, leaning his elbows on the table and turning his bottle of beer between his palms. “That’s why we were a little late getting here. He gave me an old rifle. He said it was at the battle of Little Big Horn.”

  Caleb perked up. “No kidding? Was it by any chance a Winchester?”

  “I don’t know much about guns. He said his great-grandfather was a scout for the bluecoats.”

  “Did he mention which officer?” Caleb leaned over the table, his expression intent.

  “Never mind all this talk of guns,” Pony interrupted. “What did Luther say about our wedding?”

  Steven shook his head. “Well, Pony, it’s like this,” he began slowly.

  “Steven,” Molly said, her disapproval mirroring Pony’s. “This is not a joking matter.”

  Steven glanced between the two of them and relented. “He said yes.”

  “Yes? He said yes?” Pony came off the bench with a cry of delight. “He said yes!” She flung her arms around Caleb from behind. “We are doing the seven sacred steps.”

  “That’s great, that’s good news.” Caleb patted her arm. “Do you have the rifle with you?” he said to Steven.

  “Caleb,” Pony protested.

  He swiveled on the bench seat to look up at his bride- to-be. “It’s not every day a person gets close to a weapon that was at the battle of Little Big Horn, and I think everyone here should see it. It’s an important piece of history.”

  Pony sighed. “It is a depressing piece of history.”

  “What do you mean, depressing?” Steven teased his sister. “We Indians won the battle, didn’t we?”

  “You’d better show it to him.” Pony frowned. “He won’t rest until you do.” And then to Molly she said, “Caleb collects old guns.”

  “It could be worse,” Molly responded with a philosophical shrug. “One of my uncles collects old farm tractors.”

  STEVEN FETCHED THE RIFLE from the Jeep and carried it to the picnic table, still wrapped in the oilcloth Luther had presented it in. He laid the long bundle on the table in front of Caleb and let him unwind the shroud, an act he performed with a kind of reverence while the other guests rose from their tables and gathered around to watch.

  “Was the gun a birthday present?” Bernie asked.

  “No. Luther didn’t know this was a birthday party,” Steven said. Then he gave his sister a suspicious glance. “Or did he?”

  Pony shook her head. “I haven’t seen Luther in ages.”

  Caleb had the rifle in his hands. “By God,” h
e marveled. “It’s a Winchester 66. This rifle could very well have been at Little Big Horn. I can research it, all I need to do is write down the serial number and call up an old friend.”

  “Really?” Molly said. “How does that work?”

  “If it’s an army-issue weapon, the tracking system works pretty good. All soldiers were given a rifle, of course, and a record was kept of its serial number and who it was issued to. At the end of a soldier’s enlistment he returned the rifle. Obviously, this one was never returned to the quartermaster, but most of those old army records still exist. I should be able to find out who it belonged to.”

  “Wow,” Molly said. “That’s kind of neat.”

  “Maybe it belonged to General George Armstrong Custer,” Badger said, smoothing his mustache. “That would really be something.”

  Caleb laughed. “I guess to hell it would. That would make it a pretty valuable birthday gift.”

  “How valuable?” Pony asked.

  “It would depend on who wanted to buy it and what they were willing to pay, I guess,” Caleb replied. He handed the rifle to Steven, who handed it to Guthrie, who handed it to Badger, who handed it to Charlie. By the time it returned to the table everyone had examined it, and Molly was still wiping the cold, greasy feel of it from her hands. “Well, seeing that gun was a real treat,” Caleb said, wrapping the oilcloth around it once again. “Almost as good as doing the seven sacred steps will be,” he teased his future wife.

  Once the rifle was put away, the festivities began with the presentation of a multitude of mostly humorous birthday gifts to Steven, including a deluxe first-aid kit and a box full of things like linaments for sore muscles and extra-strength aspirin. After the joke gifts, he was given a new leather briefcase and an engraved wall plaque lauding his involvement with the creation of the school, which he accepted from Pony along with a hug and a kiss. “Thank you for making our school a reality,” she said.