The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series) Page 13

  He flushed, his eyes sliding around the room again, as if he were taking inventory.

  “Now, run along and give Alison a ride to work. Pick up groceries in town. Garth and I are going fishing, we’ll use his car.”

  Henry was headed for the door when she called him around.

  “I meant what I said,” Mary Kathryn challenged her son. She didn’t know who he was anymore. “I taught you respect. I taught you manners, use them.”

  He mumbled something, his shoulders stiff as he stomped toward the door. Mary Kathryn shook her head as he left her room, banging the door behind him. What was going on with him? He was nutting up. She froze as she glanced around her room, Henry had been assessing the contents.

  Well, hell!

  Chapter Thirteen

  “THAT WAS GOOD, THANK YOU.” Garth finished a sandwich Mary Kathryn had given him as she directed him to drive onto a well-paved side road. She handed him a napkin. Garth wiped his mouth and passed it back.

  She finished the last bite of her own sandwich and sighed contentedly. “Stay on this road until you see a sign. You’ll know it when you see it. Follow that road.”

  He glanced at her to find she was staring out the passenger window. He drove carefully, the gray rocked road was wide and pot-hole free. The terrain become rougher, more rugged, boulders the size of small houses alongside the road, just laying there as if dropped by a careless hand. Occasionally he could see a creek as they meandered through the mountainous country. He came around a corner and the road forked. He looked for the sign, knowing she was waiting for a reaction. He didn’t disappoint her, chuckling when he read it.

  You are now entering the

  O. Henry Land Trust – 5400 acres of Big Sky County

  ATV’S stay on trails

  What comes around goes around, poachers will be poached

  “We have permission to be here?” The sign had him smiling at her as he took the road.

  Mary Kathryn beamed, silent for a moment before she said, “As soon as it sold, I was granted permission to use it anytime I wanted.”

  “Some big conglomerate probably owns the ranch,” Garth mused. “I like their warnings. On point.”

  Mary Kathryn didn’t respond. He glanced at her as he drove. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Then again, nothing.” Her smile was enigmatic. “I love this place. Someday I want to build a house out here. Sometimes I think I would have been better off born two hundred years ago.”

  He grunted, casting her a quick cursory glance. “But you weren’t, and you can’t build. You don’t own it.”

  “There is that,” she nodded, but as if not liking having to agree.

  Garth appreciated whoever owned the ranch maintained the road. He drove the car across a bridge, the water under it swift, river willows growing along the creek. Rocky, steep hills rose from the far bank that over eons the water had created a meandering creek bed, the road carved into the mountainous terrain along side it. The sparse landscape was opening up. They came around a corner into a valley, a timbered skyline the far side of the meadow. Big Sky Country! Elk cows were visible along a far off tree line, some in the meadow. The car came to a crawl as he took it all in. They were only half an hour from her house and deep in wild, untamed country that appealed to everything in him.

  “It’s—amazing.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, knowing she was drinking in the view just as he was. “I want to build a house here too,” he touched her hand, holding her fingers.

  “The road forks again, stay to the left, along the creek,” she told him. “The other road leads to campsites and some old cabins across the meadow, right where that massive bare rock is jutting through the forest line. Hence its name, Bare Rock.” She pointed and his gaze followed to see a lonely jagged rock at least a hundred feet high sticking out of the trees. “Further along to the left, about a half mile back is a coulee— The canyon walls are a thousand feet high. We use the term coulee rather loosely, coulee can be a canyon, or gorge, even though you probably think of it as a ravine or a gulch,” she explained. “Over the last three years, I’ve explored the entire ranch. Where I could, that is. I’ve only been turned around, um,—confused, once.” Her hasty tongue in cheek made him scowl with masculine, harassed amusement. They both knew he couldn’t say lost without admitting he’d been lost in the UAE. “I used Bare Rock to guide myself back to familiar territory.” She chortled smugly at her jab.

  He eyed her for a moment, uncomfortable with the idea of her alone out here. It was wild territory, and very dangerous if a person weren’t careful. It was no wonder she’d protested when her pistol was confiscated. Bears, big cats and wolves roamed freely. Not to mention the elk. She wouldn’t appreciate hearing his objection. But accidents could happen. A broken foot, twisted ankle.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” her quick comment caused him to blink. “I’m careful. I never come out here alone without a compass, water and someone knowing where I am and what time to expect me back in town. Not even fishing.”

  “It’s a guy thing, what I was thinking,” Garth said dryly, wondering how she had read him so easily. Probably as easy as he was reading her, he decided. She hadn’t become miffed at his assessment, she’d reassured him without fuss. Yes, she definitely understood him. Her pride wasn’t so strong her ego got in the way when her common sense was questioned. He loved the way her mind worked.

  River willows dotted the way, the trees thickening then thinning, interspersed between boulders as the road narrowed. He drove across another one lane bridge. Mary Kathryn indicated he pull over in the next spot wide enough along the creek.

  He got out of the car and inhaled deeply. The chill in the fresh air was compounded by a light wind. The smell of grass, trees, snow and cold water... and the sky—huge. There was no other way he could describe it. Big Sky. “Did you know the reason the sky is so big in Montana is said to be caused by the lack of trees?”

  “Of course I do,” she smiled. “You love the outdoors, like I do, I can see it on your face. Maybe more, I think,” she observed the pleasure on his face as he looked around, inhaling deeply again and savoring the air.

  Garth saw elk in the distance. “Everywhere I’ve ever been, I’ve always felt most at home outside, places like this where there’s room to move, to breath. The company who owns this must know what they have. It would be a shame if they didn’t.” He said easily, “As I’m sure you know from your snooping, I grew up in Northern California. Small enough communities to be considered countryside by the people in the southern cities.” He cast her a wry smile. “I loved growing up there. Fishing on land and sea, hunting; taking my city cousins snipe hunting.”

  “Snipe?” she sneered. “How trite. How long did it take them to learn there is no such thing as a snipe?”

  “Two years,” he grinned as they were pulling the rods and tackle box from the trunk. “Two hilarious summers of watching them scraping bricks together out in the boondocks, cowering against tree trunks in the middle of the night in wet, dark, scary redwood forests.”

  “Scraping bricks? That’s a new one on me.”

  “We told them that they had to scrape bricks together, that the noise was close to the sound mating snipes made when they claimed their territories. The male would come and pick a fight and we’d catch it,” his amusement engaged her as he continued. “One time we had them scraping clay pigeons together then made them buy new ones because they broke them. Of course, we told them that clay pigeons were only sold by the case.” His boyish grin was infectious. “So you’re a country girl. Obviously, you like living in Bennt.” Score one more tally for her.

  “Like I said, I to love this place,” she waved a hand, indicating the sky, the hilly landscape, the far off snow capped mountains. “The air, the mountains, the freedom from the congestion the masses cause, but mostly, the people here are what I like the best. The closeness of a small community where everyone is in everyone’s
business. And we’re not so small that it’s all that bad, but it’s still a rampant cactus bed of excessive gossip and speculation. Bennt can actually claim a beauty salon that sells yarn. Hair, nails and yarn.”

  He shot her a doubtful look and she grinned, nodding her head. “I swear. All the body needs in one shop. Hair care, crochet hooks to catch your attention, knitting needles to stab with, scissors and tongues cutting and spinning yarns all day long. They actually do great nails. The place is insanely popular.”

  “By yarns I take it you really do mean stories?”

  “The best and worse about all our neighbors,” Mary Kathryn laughed heartily. “And knitting supplies.”

  “You knit?”

  She shook her head, further amused. “Quilter, remember. But I do yarn occasionally.”

  He chuckled as she waved toward the creek. “You first,” she instructed blandly. “If I fall, I’ll fall into you.”

  “Then I’ll fall,” he pointed out.

  “But, as you are well aware, Mr. Morley, I won’t be the one that gets hurt.”

  “Ruthless!” A smile flirted with his lips.

  “That’s what I’m all about.” Mary Kathryn claimed sweetly.

  The sharp glance he gave her was all-encompassing as he led the way, picking his way across the rocks as they went down the steep incline. She didn’t have a ruthless bone in her body. She was cautious. No, Garth decided; she wasn’t cautious. She was reserved. Some part of her remained detached, held back, even though she wanted him with the same passionate intensity he wanted her.

  She was still weighing their attraction. He glanced over his shoulder as they neared the edge of the creek to find she was only a few feet behind him, picking her way agilely over the last of the larger rocks.

  Mary Kathryn looked up to find him watching her; his intensity held her. She didn’t look away, couldn’t look away; impressions in the exchange taking her by surprise. Overwhelmed, swept away, carried on storm... Meeting his gaze steadily, they stood without talking for a moment.

  He seemed to hesitate, as absorbed as she, then he smiled and waved toward the water. “Come on, you sweet fishing fool, let’s see what’s for dinner.”

  “Biggest catch cooks?” She put the question out nonchalantly, a twinkle in her eyes. But she was astonished at the wealth of emotion she’d seen. Longing, admiration, and he hadn’t been looking at her body. The other things she’d seen, she’d think about later, because he was waiting for her. “You’re on,” she said. “I enjoy a challenge.”

  Her triumphant snickering had him suspiciously studying her profile as she opened the tackle box. He peered at her closely. “What was that evil little noise about?”

  “What noise?” but she snickered again, betraying herself.

  “Share,” he demanded. “I’ve already learned you’re untrustworthy.”

  “That hurt.” Further amused, she glanced up quickly as she rummaged through the box then handed him a package of bait. “If I were a silly twit, I’d take that untrustworthy accusation wrong and shove you in the water.”

  “But you’re not—a silly twit, that is,” Garth told her confidently. “As for the other, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. I feel set up again.”

  “A paranoid bum?” she tsked. “Not uncommon.”

  He snorted as he readied his pole. She was a wise ass. “Yeah, after last night, I’m paranoid. Designated driver?” he grunted disgustedly. “I’m a quick study. I’m going to be cooking tonight, aren’t I?”

  Mary Kathryn brushed stray hair from her face. “And I like lemon juice with my trout.”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve been fishing, ma’am. I’m a survival expert.” Garth suppressed the urge to drop his pole and pull her against him, what would follow would satisfy them both. “I could catch a trout with my toe if I needed too.”

  She scoffed, then a quick flash of humor came over her face. “Stay close. I don’t want you to get lost.” She laughed at the indignant expression that came over his face—laughed herself silly before deciding to appease his bruised ego. “I’m sorry. I meant lost without me, that is. It’s comforting to have someone around who can feed us if we get ourselves in a jam. You have ten toes. We could eat for days.”

  Amused at her own wit, she flounced off, her giggle floating over her shoulder as she moved down the creek looking for a spot to toss her line into the water. “Let the catch-off begin.”

  Garth watched her go, even though she was nimbly climbing over and through the rocks, he still felt protective—although it would be nice if she fell in the creek and got wet. His eyes narrowed speculatively. Mary Kathryn was cocky and sure of herself. He impulsively yelled, “Snakes. Watch for rattlesnakes!”

  His loud call was clear and sharp above the sound of the water trickling and hitting rocks. She stopped short, literally froze in place, her laughter strangling in her throat. Her head whipped around, she glared at him across the short distance. The terrified, vehement curse she uttered about snakes and him in the same breath shocked him.

  Whoa! Not the reaction he’d been expecting at all. Garth saw a side of her that astonished him. “Don’t cuss, there’s no point,” he called innocently. “Snakes don’t listen.”

  “You scared me on purpose,” she screamed the accusation. “I hate snakes!”

  “Obviously.” Garth wagged his finger at her just as Henry had done that morning. He closed the distance between them. “But, don’t bother cursing,” he said as he neared her. “And don’t say hate when it’s really healthy fear. Seriously, Mary Kathryn, snakes don’t care how you feel—” He laughed out loud at her expression as he conveyed his logic.

  Her gaze narrowed. “I didn’t bring my gun. If I see a snake, we’re leaving!”

  “If we leave, you’re cooking,” Garth waved his hand to indicate he already had a bite.

  “Arhgg!” she sounded her aggravation at the idea of forfeiting their challenge. “Get your toes in the water now, mister, you’re on!” Mary Kathryn pivoted, then froze and looked around warily before making her way forward to the water.

  He chuckled, he couldn’t help himself. She really didn’t like snakes. But his warning had fulfilled its intended purpose. She stayed within ten feet of his right, constantly looking around her feet for snakes and fishing like an experienced trooper with an OCD.

  “Do you come out here alone often?” He called.

  “Three, four times a week,” she said. “It gives me time to think.”

  “You’re retired,” He played his fishing line. “what do you have to think about?”

  Her disgruntled humph was heard even in the distance between them. “If my nipple clamps are level?” she quipped back. “Should I put diamonds in them? You know, stuff like that.”

  His head snapped toward her, his fishing pole jerking.

  “Close your mouth, serves you right.” She rolled her eyes as she turned her attention back to the creek. “Everybody thinks, even normal people who aren’t confused, that is—Oh, cool!” She was reeling in a trout and knew what she was doing.

  “What are you using for bait?” Garth felt almost jealous.

  “Corn.”

  He was righteously scandalized. “You should only use corn for bottom feeders in ponds and lakes.”

  “I just wanted you to think I was cheating.” She beamed as she held up the trout. “Sixteen inches, at least. Get on it, Fly Boy,” she exclaimed triumphantly as she waved the trout. “We need three more for dinner.”

  “Alison won’t want one.”

  “Two of them are for me,” she said greedily, hooking the trout on her stringer. Ten minutes later she hooted happily as her hook caught in a branch and she pulled it in.

  “What’s the big deal?” Garth was sitting on a boulder, enjoying himself.

  “Biggest catch!” she called, untangling then unhooking the river willow branch and holding it up. “Biggest catch. You don’t beat it, you cook.”

  He stifled a curse. Win b
y any means? Machination should be her middle name! He was about to protest but her smile was glowing. She was so pleased with cheating he didn’t have the heart to argue. Conniver! He’d roll that stick in flour, fry it, salt it, and feed it to her with snake meat on the side. She was competitive, but in an easy tongue in cheek way that made him want to kiss her. He had kissing her on the brain. He should have kissed her when they were in bed this morning. If he had he was fairly certain they still might be there. But then, in a few weeks he’d be back in California wondering what had happened.

  He’d always feel like he was scrambling to catch her. He glanced at the stick in her hand. And catch up with her. But when he did... He eyed her covertly, his lips quirking as he watched her attach it to her trout stringer. Mary Kathryn had met her match in him. He wasn’t going to give up even if they did end up in bed before she was ready.

  Sometimes action required taking no action. He’d design and adjust his tactics to gain and hold her attention, as she’d done to him. Then win her affections as he came to know her better. Last night at the pub had given him insights into her character months may not have. He knew women, and implicitly trusted his instincts. Mary Kathryn was unique; wonderfully so. She didn’t drool when she looked at him. She didn’t make him feel like he was a prize. Not since she’d sobered up after realizing she’d made a mistake about him being a burglar, that is.

  Patience, focus, and confidence. Confidence she would recognize, come to see for herself where he was coming from, and not clout him on the head for manipulating her. She’d accepted him for who he was—a jaded cynic where women were concerned—but she would come to love him in spite of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WHERE DID YOU GROW UP?” Garth called, moving closer to her as they fished. “Great Falls or Bennt?”

  She glanced at him then shrugged. “California. Ocean fishing from Noyo Harbor, then Big River and Noyo River. I love surf fishing in Cleone. At Chadburn Gulch, which the kids call Blues Beach, I think. We used to night fish at Wages Creek and then we’d go up to Howard Creek when the Indians came for the summer like they’ve done for centuries. We’d fish and camp with them, drink beer their kids pilfered out of their motor homes. I grew up in Mendocino, what is it, thirteen or so miles from where you grew up?”