Montana Blue, Page 4

  Finally, his words sank in through the fog of confusion and she zoned into the cruel twist of his lips. “How far, Miss Jones?”

  The slap across his face did not change his expression. Bethany's palm stung from it. “Think you have it all figured out don't you, Mr. Banks?”

  “I believe so, yes.” He arched a brow at her as if challenging her to continue in the game he believed her to be part of.

  Her lips curved upward. “I suppose this means I failed in my part then.” She snatched her arm and he released it. “You know what, Mitchell Banks. I am glad I won't remain in Alder Gulch. Because after what you've said, I don't ever want to speak to you again.”

  She stalked to the door only to stumble backward when he began to clap. “Bravo, Miss Jones. Perfect performance.”

  Bethany swung to face him and without thinking, rushed to him. “You arrogant bastard.” She lifted her hand to slap him again, but he was too quick for her and grabbed it. She'd lost all control of her temper and attempted to hit him with her other hand only for him to capture it, too. Finding herself pulled against him, she struggled and fought to pull away.

  “Stop it.” His voice remained calm and she glared at him.

  Both remained without moving, their faces mere inches apart. Chests heaving as neither refused to back down. Finally, she pulled her hands from his and stepped back not looking away from him. “You don't know anything about me, Mitchell Banks.”

  Fearing she'd cry when angry tears threatened, she stormed from the room past the startled clerk and straight through the mercantile until she burst out the door. Only then did she allow the tears to fall. Coming west with her parents was turning out to be a nightmare. Admittedly, she understood why Mitch was angry and suspicious. Her parents coming at him so aggressively about the mercantile and the house would put anyone on guard. She'd followed him in an attempt to assure him only to be insulted.

  The day had started off nicely. She'd met a couple who ran a small repair shop. She'd found instant kinship with Mr. Charles Witt, a tradesman from New York, who enjoyed photography. She'd taken her camera there for repair and ended up spending several hours visiting after meeting his wife, Louise. Curious for any news about changes and progress in the northeast, the Witts invited her to share their midday meal.

  Under the hotel's large overhang, Bethany stilled when her father waved from across the street. “There you are, Bethany,” her father called and hurried to her. He removed his hat and frowned. “I don't agree with you going about town on your own. A young lady does not flitter hither and yon without an escort.”

  She was not in the mood for him to attempt to parent her after being absent most of her life. “Things are much different here in the west, Father. Besides, I am a professional photographer. I often go about alone in New York all the time.”

  “This is not New York. I wonder how your grandmother raised you. Gave you too much freedom.”

  Bethany bit her tongue. If he'd visited more often then he would be more familiar with her life and upbringing. “What happened between you and Mr. Banks?”

  Her father's jawline tightened and he lifted his face to peer down his nose at her. “The young man is obviously overly proud. He turned down my offer.” He took her elbow and led her into the hotel to an empty table in a back corner. Her father's shrewd eyes scanned the room before he spoke again. “It is imperative you convince Mr. Banks to sell the mercantile. Your mother is devastated he won't sell his house, but I've already found a possible replacement.”

  “Mr. Banks was very angry when I last spoke to him. I sincerely doubt he'll change his mind.”

  “There are ways, Bethany. I'm sure a young woman like you is not without knowledge of ways to make a man like Mr. Banks change his mind about...things.”

  Her eyes widened and Bethany could only remain transfixed by disbelief. “I am not sure I understand you, Father. Surely you don't mean for me to...”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder and she came close to shrugging it off. “Now, now, don't overreact. What I am asking is nothing that would compromise your virtue. Just that you speak to him. Be sweet.”

  Bethany began to shake, the urge to sprint from the table held back, just barely. Her legs wobbled as she stood. “I am not here to be your pawn, Father.” She was grateful her legs carried her to the stairwell without buckling. The trek to her private bedroom seemed endless, but she managed to make it to the bed.

  What happened? Why had her parents insisted on this move to Montana and that she accompany them? Nothing made sense. They obviously had not thought it through.

  Perhaps her grandmother had an idea, but it would take days to communicate with her. Nonetheless, Bethany sat at the small writing desk and penned a quick letter to her father's mother. It was too late to return to New York. She’d already made promises of enough pictures for a pictorial on the western frontier. Starting tomorrow, she'd dedicate all her time to her work pursuits and, hopefully, in less than a month she could return home.

  Whatever her parents did or planned, she wanted no part of it.

  Chapter Eight

  His clerk, Charley Witt, avoided looking at Mitch when he emerged from the back room. His cheek still stung from Bethany's strike and he was glad that Charley did not ask questions.

  Mitch went to a bin and helped an older lady. He lifted a bulk of fabric from her arms. Business was brisk for the next few hours and he was grateful for the distraction.

  Had he been too harsh with Bethany? It was impossible not to feel anger every time his thoughts went to her. The Joneses were not to be trusted. However, her reaction at his callous words seemed to come more from hurt than rage.

  “Looks like a busy day,” Charles Witt Senior’s voice shook him out of his musings. “I brought the scales back. They're in tiptop condition.” The older man smiled broadly and proceeded to scoop flour from a barrel into a sack for a customer. “How much would you like today, Mrs. Blakely?”

  When Mr. Witt weighed the amount, he motioned for Mitch to see the scales were in order. He then directed the woman to the other counter where Charley, his teenage son, stood.

  Mitch was glad to have recently hired Charley to help him at the mercantile. The Witts were poor but honorable. If there was someone perfect to take over the mercantile it was them. But with five children, they could scarcely afford to keep their repair shop open and the family fed and clothed. Much less purchase the mercantile.

  “You're acquainted with Bethany Jones are you not?” Mr. Witt walked toward a shelf and leaned forward to inspect it. “She is from New York and we spent several hours talking earlier today. The wife was intrigued at Miss Jones’ independence. Working as a photojournalist. Who would believe that?”

  “Yes, well...things are changing, Charles.”

  “Oh, that's the truth.” The man narrowed his eyes and looked to the shelf again. “I may have to come and reinforce these. I don't want them to fall. After all, everyone knows I installed them.”

  Mitch's relief at the change of subject was short lived. Mr. Witt smiled again. “What makes Miss Jones more intriguing is that she agreed to travel here with her parents. They asked her to accompany them west to help with her mother. She agreed even though they did not raise her. Said she barely knows them. The Joneses rarely visited her, it seems.”

  “How long will she remain here?”

  Mr. Witt shrugged. “I don't believe she said.”

  Mitch looked past the older Witt to his son. It was time to close for the day and he considered if, perhaps, he should visit Bethany and apologize. What if she really did not have anything to do with whatever her parents intended?

  But then again, what if she did?

  The puppy barked as if prompting him to make a decision. “How about I feed you and then decide.” He headed to the back of the store where he'd set up a crate with a blanket along with food and water bowls.

  Mitch lifted the collar of his jacket against the wind and walked to the town's hote
l. A cowboy headed toward him and he waited for Matt Corson to approach. They'd grown up together and Matt was as close to a best friend as he could hope for. The man seemed to always be there when needed.

  Hazel eyes met his. “Headed to the saloon. Care to join me?” Tall and broad, Matt was also reserved. Although a quiet man, Matt was easy to be around, never a need to hold a conversation. “It's probably a good idea.” Mitch turned from the direction he walked to stroll alongside his friend.

  Once inside the saloon, the familiar tinny piano music and laughter fell over him like a hot blanket and Mitch’s shoulders fell. They found an empty table and sat. Almost immediately, a saloon girl approached. They ordered drinks and then leaned back, not feeling the necessity for conversation.

  Two hours later, Mitch stumbled toward home. He missed the edge of the walkway and fell to the dusty road. The puppy came out of nowhere and began to lick his face. Laughter erupted from his throat when the dog jumped on his chest and sat. “I can't breathe with you on my chest, dog.”

  “Mr. Banks?” a woman called from the walkway and he blinked toward the silhouette framed by the doorway.

  Bethany Jones neared and bent to peer at him. Mitch laughed again when she straightened and wrinkled her nose. “You are drunk.”

  “Why else would I be laying in the street with a dog on my chest?” He frowned at her then at the dog. The dog was the friendlier of the two.

  “Let me help you.” She pushed the puppy off and grabbed his arm. “You should be embarrassed.”

  “In the morning, I will be,” he replied and hiccupped. “I was coming to see you. But ended up in the saloon.”

  *

  Bethany struggled to pull the large man up. She'd planned on a short walk in front of the hotel and had been shocked at spotting Mitch Banks lying in the street. At first, she'd thought he was injured or, worse, dead. But when he'd laughed, she realized he was inebriated. Now he stood before her, his hat tipped to the side and a crooked grin on his face. It was hard to remain angry. “Why were you coming to see me?”

  They moved closer to the building when two men ambled by, both tipping hats at Bethany. Mitch frowned and took a breath. “I don't remember.”

  “Well then, good night.” She looked down when the puppy plopped down next to her. “Please take your dog with you. He's leaning on my leg.”

  Mitch blinked down at the pup. “He's not mine. You can have him.”

  It was clear he was not in any condition to get home unassisted. Bethany grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the mercantile. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” She walked, pulling him along. The puppy barked and followed.

  They entered the dark space behind the mercantile. Mitch's unstable steps made their trek toward the back more sideways than straight. The puppy led the way to the back and she wondered how they'd manage the stairwell. “Can you make it up on your own?”

  He turned to her and smiled. “Of course not. I need your help.”

  “Mr. Banks...”

  “Call me Mitch.”

  “Mr. Banks, I can't help you to your bedroom.” She wondered if anyone had spotted them walking in and would talk about it. “I have to get back.”

  He took a step away from her and wobbled. “I am sorry.”

  “For?” She moved back when he neared.

  “For what I said earlier. I don't like them. But I like you.” As if he'd explained everything, Mitch gave her a sharp, single nod and his unfocused eyes lingered at her lips. “When I see you again, and if not drunk, I am going to kiss you.”

  His steps were somewhat steady as he headed up the stairs, the puppy right behind him.

  Chapter Nine

  “Father?” Bethany walked into her parents’ bedroom the next morning and found they'd gone. She wasn't surprised they'd not invited her to join them for breakfast. They continually seemed to forget she traveled with them.

  She noticed her mother had tossed the ribbons she'd purchased into a box on the floor and she went to retrieve them. The woman would never use them and she'd not miss them, either. Bethany bent to retrieve them when a letter on the side table got her attention.

  It was from New York. From an attorney. It was not in her nature to invade another person's privacy, but it was addressed to her and her father. With shaky hands, she managed to open the letter.

  Her parents sat at the same corner table they seemed to prefer. Both looked up at her then at each other when she approached. Bethany sat and did not greet them, but instead poured coffee into a cup placed before her by the hotel worker.

  “How are you this morning, Bethany?” her mother asked in an icy tone. “Is there something wrong that you cannot greet your parents properly?”

  Somehow, she had to find strength to remain civil with them until she could find out what they planned. “I went to your bedroom to find you. It occurred to me that you don't invite me to most meals. It's as if you'd prefer I wasn't along.”

  Her father coughed and covered his mouth with an oversized napkin. “Of course we want you along. Otherwise we would not have invited you.”

  “You left the door unlocked.”

  Her mother paled and looked to her father. “Oh, my goodness. I can't believe we left it unlocked. Someone can rob us. Barnabas, dear, you must lock it immediately.”

  Her father left and Bethany bided her time, not wishing her mother to suspect anything. “Mother, do you think you will enjoy settling here?”

  Amanda huffed. “I don't know. It’s very rustic.” She slid her eyes toward other people in the room and then leaned forward to whisper. “The people here are nothing like my friends back home.” She shook her head. “Very common.”

  Bethany pretended to agree. “That's why I'm surprised you agreed to move here.”

  “Oh, well that.” Her mother bit her lip. “It's your father's idea. I mean with my asthma, it's for the best.”

  “I've not seen you have any difficulty breathing. So it must be agreeing with you. How about your heart?”

  Her mother frowned then her eyes widened. “My health is better here I think. Of course it's a good idea. It's the best place for me. Once we find a home and get settled, I will love it here.”

  Barnabas returned and sat across from her, his large frame settling onto the chair. “I must ask you to accompany me to the bank this afternoon, Bethany.”

  “Whatever for, Father?” Bethany kept her voice even. “I am planning to take more pictures. I will not return until later today.”

  “I have to insist.” Her father attempted a smile, but it was hard to pull off with the glare in his eyes. “It's imperative that you take part in this, Bethany. You are our only daughter and I have decided to make you our beneficiary. Whatever property we purchase will also be in your name.”

  “Isn't that wonderful?” Unlike her father's, her mother's wide smile seemed genuine. “Your father is so caring.” She leaned to her husband and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “I thought Mr. Banks turned you down. What are you going to buy?”

  “Oh, there's good news,” her mother exclaimed. “There is a house on the edge of town that stands empty. It's not as nice as the white one, but I can't imagine living in this hotel much longer.”

  “Another house?”

  “We'll be building a proper house, of course.” Her father pinned her with a hard look. “It's best if you plan to remain here for at least two years.”

  “Two years?” Bethany hissed, not wanting to get others’ attention. “I have a job to return to.”

  “You don't need a job.” Her mother frowned. “It's ridiculous to return to the city and that crowded house your grandmother insists on living in.”

  “My grandmother's home is small but it's perfect for the both of us.” Bethany wiped her mouth and placed the napkin next to her plate. “I will accompany you father, but not until tomorrow.”

  Her father's eyes bulged. “It will be today, Bethany.” He stood and left without looking at either of
them.

  Bethany could not breathe. She couldn't believe what she'd read. Her parents planned to rob her. The money they planned to spend was hers. According to the attorney's letter, her grandfather left nearly his entire estate to her. He'd left his daughter, Amanda, a smaller amount, which was a sizable sum. But the amount left to Bethany was astounding. Why did they not inform her? The attorney should have known where she lived. Perhaps her letter arrived soon after she left.

  Somehow, her parents received their notification before she got hers. They'd come up with a plan to travel west and purchase property with her money. It made little sense. Her parents had no need for money. At least that's what they led her and her grandmother to believe.

  Not wishing to waste time cloistered indoors, she hired a wagon with plans to ride to the same location she'd visited before. She wondered how Mitch fared this morning and was tempted to go to the mercantile to see him. It was hard to remain angry with him now. Unlike her, he'd seen her parents for what they really were.

  She pulled the buggy to a stop in front of the Witts’ repair shop. Part of her wanted to ask them for advice. Unfortunately, Mr. Witt had two other customers and she had to take her camera, pay for it and leave.

  Mitch stood by her buggy when she emerged. The sight of the handsome man made her heart skip a beat. She cursed under her breath.

  “You don't look happy to see me.” He extended his hand. “Let me help you with that.”

  She allowed him to take her camera and hovered over him to ensure he placed it with care in the case she'd put in the back. “I suspect you're not feeling too well today.” Bethany said, noting how his muscles move under the shirt.

  “Not too bad.” He straightened. “Thank you for escorting us home.” He looked to the pup who'd been sitting on its haunches next to the wagon wheel.

  “You've decided to keep him?” she couldn't help but smile and bent to scratch the dog behind its ears.