Argosy Junction (6 page)

Lane’s head shot up. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, I’ve read about the whole brother in sin thing, and Paul said to treat them like an unbeliever.”

Lane waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “And your point is?”

“They don’t—treat you like a brother in sin I mean. They’ll sit with people who don’t attend their church, they’ll talk to people who aren’t in the super-exclusive-club of theirs, but they won’t even acknowledge your existence except to snub or offend you. That’s not how you treat an unbeliever. Who would want to be a Christian if that was how they were treated?”

Their meal arrived before he could respond. Taking a bite of his first taco, Matt’s eyes grew wide with amazement and then rolled back into his head in sheer bliss. “This is the best—Oh man! When you ordered soft tacos, I thought flour tortillas and spicy ground beef. This—”

“I know. Who expects potatoes in their taco, but isn’t it good? I’ll order some filling to take home to Tad, and we’ll have a truce for forty-eight hours.”

Something in her voice caught Matt’s attention. “What did you do now?”

“Just sweetened up his life a bit.”

He almost asked. It was overwhelmingly tempting, but he managed to keep the question stifled. Lane was dying to tell him, and he wanted to make her squirm a bit. After all, if he encouraged her too much, he might be the next person on her torture list. Matt almost forgot that she’d already inflicted severe torture on him, and if he forgot again, he’d remember next time he bent to tie his shoe.

Lane finally saw through him. “Fine. You win. I put honey in his boots this morning.”

To Matt’s consternation, he spewed his mouthful of taco across the table and all over Lane’s sage-colored turtleneck, giving it the unflattering appearance of abstract southwestern art. His mind immediately questioned why he couldn’t have coughed, choked, or at the least, caught the food in his napkin. People in books and even most movies didn’t shower attractive women in partially masticated Mexican food, regardless of the hilarity of the moment. Mortified, he tried to apologize, but couldn’t; he was laughing too hard at the shocked look on Lane’s face. As she wiped a potato from one cheek, he lost all self-control and toppled to the floor in helpless laughter.

Mrs. Montoya rushed to the room, carrying a clean spoon and handed it to a confused Lane. “For his tongue. The episioto—no that’s birth. The Caesar!” she shouted in triumphant jubilation of finding the right word so quickly.

Lane howled. “He’s not having a seizure. He’s just laughing.”

Utterly confused, the poor woman left the room with occasional glances at the panting man on her floor as she went. Matt struggled to get to his feet and failed. Tears streaming from his eyes and still laughing between gasps, he held out his hand for help.

“I’m not sure I should help you. You ruined my favorite sweater.”

“Who filled boots with honey? Did it override the stink from Tad’s feet?”

Matt’s artwork instantly forgiven, Lane grabbed his hand and effortlessly pulled him to his feet. At first, he marveled at her strength until he realized that height probably made more difference than strength. It gave her leverage. “How tall are you?”

She shrugged and dug out her driver’s license. “They measured me when I got this. It says five-eleven.”

“You don’t know your own height?”

“I’ve never paid attention.  Every time someone measured me, it was different, so I gave up keeping track.”

Half an hour later, they wandered up and down the street peering into shops and discussing souvenirs. Well, Lane wandered.  Matt did a half-limp hobble. “I know I want a sweatshirt for my dad. He’ll get a kick out of people asking about it. The guy down at the coffee shop will ask if Dad got it on eBay, and Dad will have a chance to tell about his son’s adventures in the wilds of Montana. I have to warn you…those sheep will probably be changed to a heard of thundering buffalo, and you will probably become a petite little thing that couldn’t help a kitten across a slick floor.”

Lane led him into The Jct. Trading Post and to a display of t-shirts and sweatshirts. As she followed him as he perused a wide array of cheesy options, she pulled out her phone and made a quiet call. Matt hardly noticed the shift in atmosphere. He wasn’t finding what he wanted. Everything for men was either tacky or something related to college sports. The women’s clothing was exactly what he wanted, but nothing would work for a big guy like his father. He’d have to try the airport.

He turned and did the “in your way shuffle” with Lane for a moment, before placing his hands on her shoulders and rotating them manually. As she returned to her phone, he sought out Christmas ornaments on clearance by the register. He found one with a bear wearing a Santa hat and paddling a canoe that would be a perfect gift for his Aunt Judy.

“I like that. It’s cute. Is that for your mom?” Lane’s voice at his sleeve almost made him drop the ornament, but he passed it across the counter to a scowling man on the other side.

“Can you wrap that in some tissue or bubble wrap or something? I’m afraid it’ll get destroyed on the plane.” Matt turned to Lane and shook his head. “No, my Aunt Judy. I just hope she makes it another Christmas to use it. She loves Christmas.”

“We’ve never celebrated it—” A derisive snort cut her off. Lane turned to the source and stood towering over a short squatty woman. “As you well know, Mrs. Peterson. Maybe we should try it this year.”

Lane stalked out of the store as though angry, but Matt could see that she was not as immune to the snubs and subtle attacks as she pretended. He smiled at the woman before him, and reminded himself that being rude was no way to combat rudeness. “Do you know where I can find some snack foods?”

The pudgy woman pointed to a corner of the store he’d not visited yet. Twenty minutes later, they wandered up the boarded sidewalks of Argosy Junction with bags of chips, nuts, and boxed donuts on one arm, and a few post cards and an ornament in a smaller bag on the other. “I need something for Mom. I just don’t know what to get. I’ll try to find Dad a sweatshirt at the airport.”

“Oh! I forgot! That run-in with Mrs. Peterson unsettled me for a minute. Dad says we have lots of Argosy Ranch sweatshirts and t-shirts if you want one. They have a big sheep head on the front with ‘Argosy Ranch’ arced around it and then it says ‘Argosy Junction, Montana’ on the back. We’ve probably got a few hats like mine too if you want one.”

Grinning, Matt nodded. “Thanks. It’ll be perfect. Dad can’t start on bison or buffalo when he’s wearing a sheep on his chest. Talk about making a guy feel sheepish—”

“That was a very bad, yet predictable, pun. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Not in the least, “Matt said nonchalantly, “I found it very apropos.”

“An inner city thug who reads Shakespeare and uses words like apropos. What next?”

~*~*~*~

After a stop at the local grocery store, Matt and Lane sat on Matt’s bed eating sour cream and onion chips dipped in cottage cheese. Lane protested at first, but after the first bite, grabbed the carton of cottage cheese, and held it hostage, allowing him only occasional dips. With the door and curtains open to protect Lane from any further gossip, they played rummy, war, crazy eights, and old maid.

Josiah Gideon paced the courtyard for most of the visit until something in him snapped. He knocked briskly on the door and then stepped inside. “Mr. Rushby, may I have a word with you please?”

Lane’s shoulders slumped. She climbed from the bed, grabbed her purse, and slipped between Josiah and the door. “It’s not worth it, Matt. I’ll go. Feel free to come out any time.”

Glaring at Josiah, Matt tried to stop her, but Lane drove through the entrance before he made it outside. Josiah crossed his arms and tried to stare down his guest. “The Argosy family is not welcome here. I will have to ask that you refrain from allowing any more of that family in our cabins.”

The temptation to remind him that a member of “that family” slept under their roof every night was keen; however, he refrained from yielding and kept his response civil. “That’s not in the terms of agreement that I signed. I agreed not to have any overnight guests without registering them, but nowhere did I sign anything saying I wouldn’t allow anyone in particular or in general in the cabin.” Matt’s jaw took on a hard edge as he worked it trying to keep his cool.

“Then we’ll refund your money immediately and ask that you be out by five o’clock.” Josiah saw the involuntary glance Matt gave his cell phone, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t attempt to find another room in this town. I can assure you that they’ll be closed to you.”

~*~*~*~

“He was right. I’ve called everywhere, and no one has a vacancy. One irate woman actually said that she’d never have a friend of the Argosy’s as a guest.” Matt stood shuffling his feet, disappointed that he had to leave. “I just couldn’t go without saying thanks and telling you how much I enjoyed meeting you. Here’s my address—”

Warren Argosy slammed his fist down on the table and strode from the room. Lane offered an apology. “He almost moved us when this all happened. He knew it’d be like this, but our land—”

Martha rose silently and followed her husband. Patience stood, looked from Tad, to Lane, back to Matt’s disappointed face, and stomped her foot in frustration. “I hate those mean people. I do! I hate them!” Tears exploded, and she rushed from the house.

Matt stood. “May I?” Lane nodded and Tad lowered himself back into his chair. Jude and Levi exchanged confused glances.

Matt found Patience sobbing into Boozer’s fur in the barn. Unfamiliar with little girls, and as uncomfortable as any man around feminine tears, he sat beside her and stroked her hair. She turned to him and clung to his shirt, wailing about the injustices of life and declaring her undying hatred for the
Brethren
.

“Shh—don’t, Patience, don’t.”

“But—” Ready to defend her beloved new friend, Patience wasn’t one to be hushed, even by Matt.

“I mean it; you’ll be the one hurt in the end if you do. Hate is a cancer. It eats away at you until you rot and die, but the thing that you hated is untouched by it.”

“They hate us and we’re not untouched! It’s not fair!”

Using his sleeve, he wiped tears from her face and nodded. “You’re right, life isn’t fair. But, we have different injuries from their hate. We get scratches and cuts and if we let them, stabs with a knife, but these are wounds that can heal. The only way to get rid of cancer is to kill it with other poisons, or to cut it out of us.”

“And hate is cancer?”

Smiling, he nodded. “It’s emotional cancer. So is bitterness and jealousy.”

“But, I don’t want you to go. You just got here. You saved for all those years and missed all those wonderful movies, and now you don’t get to stay. That’s just mean.”

“He doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to.” Lane’s voice drifted in from the barn door. “Dad said to invite you to stay here. We have plenty of room, and you’d get a more realistic picture of life on a Montana ranch here than at Gideon’s anyway.”

Matt would have demurred. Truly. It was on his lips to make some sort of weak protest at the least, but Patience squealed, jumped to her feet, and practically dragged Matt back into the house. Seeing her father, she rushed to his arms and jumped into them.

“Thank you, Daddy!”

“Well, I didn’t issue the invitation for your benefit, but you’re welcome. Sorry, Matt, looks like you don’t have a choice on the subject. Impatience here already accepted for you.”

With the grin that they all were growing to love, Matt tugged Patience’s hair. “She was a bit misnamed wasn’t she?”

“Oh Patience wasn’t named to reflect her personality, but as a reminder to my wife.”

Martha blushed and scuttled to the kitchen where the sounds of banging pots and pans immediately followed. Warren winked to Matt as he followed. “She kept whining about wanting it all over, and I kept telling her to be patient. When the baby finally arrived, the midwife asked her name and we both blurted, ‘Patience’ in exhausted disgust. Poor thing.”

Patience spun around the room sending her dress flying out and looking like a bell. “I like my name. I get a new Pilgrim costume every year because of it. I bet I wouldn’t get one anymore if my name was Lane or Carrie. I got the best name ever!

“Matt, can I go get your suitcases from your car? I’ll be careful with them.”

He started to protest that he could do it himself, but Tad shut him down. “Let her. It’ll keep her out of trouble. I’ll go help.”

~*~*~*~

Saturday passed, then Sunday. Each day was a different adventure with the Argosy family. They inoculated lambs, fixed fences, checked for injuries, and generally prepared for the shearing process the next week. Matt couldn’t believe how everything worked out for a better vacation than he could have ever imagined. His flight was early Friday morning. He’d have to leave Thursday night, but he intended to enjoy every day to its fullest from now until then.

Four

Sweat trickled down Matt’s back and temples. He wiped ineffectively at his forehead with his sleeve; shearing was hard work. The professional shearers were fast at their job, but the boys and Matt helped gather sheep, pen them, run them through the chute, and then released them to pasture again.

It was hot grueling work, and Matt now understood how ranchers could put away mounds of food in no time flat. His jeans were already getting looser. He’d pulled his belt a notch tighter that morning giving Lane the opportunity to tease him. “You’re going to waste away to nothing—or is that w-a-i-s-t away?” she’d said.

He felt good. His job at the metal works was as a welder. It too was hard, hot work, and he came home dirty and sweaty each night, but this place was different. Even his lungs felt alive and full of what seemed to be the freshest air in the world.

At night, he rode back to the stables on Cardiff and unsaddled her. He’d learned to do it all and loved it. His westerns hadn’t betrayed him after all; life in Montana was everything he’d dreamed it could be. He’d already decided that his vacation to California was cancelled if the Argosys ever invited him to come again.