Crow Mountain (9 page)

H
ope woke to the light streaming through the open doors on to the balcony. Someone was trying the door handle.

‘Hope?' Meredith asked quietly.

Hope curled up in the cool sheet and turned on her side, back to the door.

The handle clicked again. ‘I thought we agreed we'd never lock our doors. Never shut each other out.' There was a pause. ‘I'll be back later, and we can talk then, before dinner.'

Can't wait
.

As her mother's footsteps retreated, Hope rolled over, then groaned at the memory of the previous evening, of coming round on the sofa and being forced to drink sweet tea while Meredith fussed and the Crows stood around awkwardly. Of stubbornly saying nothing and, as soon as she
could manage the stairs, going to bed without looking at any of them. She checked her watch. Just before seven.

Climbing out of bed, she padded down the stairs and went into the kitchen. She put the kettle on the stove, trying to work out how to get the gas lit.

‘Hey.' Cal came through the glass doors, looking fresh and smelling of the outdoors.

Hope concentrated on the stove. ‘How do I—?'

He clicked a button and a ring of blue flame appeared beneath the kettle. Hope put the heels of her hands on the edge of the counter, then realized she was only wearing her sloppy sleep vest and thin cotton shorts, and quickly folded her arms. ‘I'm really sorry about last night. You must wonder what you've lumbered yourself with.'

‘It's just jet lag. And you should see
my
mom in a temper. Hurricane Elizabeth. Dad hides in the storm shelter.'

Hope managed a weak smile. ‘Storm shelter? Want a tenant for the next month?'

‘You shouldn't let them put you between them.'

She looked away. ‘Easy for you.'

‘That was a stupid thing to say. Sorry.' He opened a cupboard. ‘What do you want to eat?' Taking out a box of cereal, he put it down near her. ‘You eat cereal?'

She shrugged. ‘I don't . . . like raisins, sorry.'

‘We have types without raisins,' he said, opening the cupboard wider to show off a row of boxes. ‘Or . . .' He picked up a frying pan, spinning it in his hand, then pointing it at her. ‘There could be raisin-free blueberry pancakes. But only if
you're good.'

Hope smiled at his teasing. ‘I'm always good,' she said primly, lifting her chin.

‘OK.' He passed her a box of tea bags. ‘Make the tea, then sit there.' He pointed at the stools beneath the island.

‘Tea! Oh, fantastic. We forgot ours.'

‘I guessed you might want some, so I looked online, then got Matty to order it into the store.'

‘Thanks.' Then she made tea and watched, fascinated, as Cal made American pancakes from scratch, adding frozen blueberries into the batter. ‘Who taught you to do this?'

‘Mom. She's a great cook. You'll meet her soon. She's due home sometime this week or next – we have a barbecue planned for next weekend and she won't want to miss that. Dad's sister married a rancher near Kalispell and took a fall from a horse last week. So Mom's staying there at the moment. Helping out. There's some strawberries in the fridge. Could you chop them?' He cooked the pancakes and bacon as Hope chopped. Then he served it up and they sat next to each other. The bacon was in a crisp pile on his pancakes, along with the fruit.

Hope stole a piece and bit into it as he poured maple syrup. He stared at her.

‘But you're a vegetarian, right?'

‘Kind of part-time.' Hope covered her mouth as she spoke. ‘After I discovered bacon. Please don't tell Mum.'

He laughed, shaking his head.

After the first mouthful of pancake, she put her fork down.

He eyed her. ‘You don't like them?'

She put her fingers to her mouth. ‘Bit sick, that's all.'

He bit the inside of his cheek. ‘How long since you ate?'

‘Last night.'

‘You ate last night? I didn't notice. Before then.'

‘At home.'

‘You got problems with food?'

Hope looked at him, startled. No one had ever asked her that outright. ‘No,' she said slowly. ‘I . . . can't eat when I'm stressed. I feel like I'm tied in knots in my middle.'

‘Yeah, well, you need to get a hold on that.' He stood and fetched a carton of milk from the fridge and two glasses, pouring it out and pushing one towards her. ‘Easy on the stomach.'

Hope took a sip.

He carried on eating. ‘So, your mom is taking one of the rigs and heading up into the hills today. What are you going to do?'

‘Think about the unbelievable lecture I'm going to get later?'

He smiled. ‘Through there,' he pointed, ‘there's a games room and the library.'

‘Library?'

‘Yeah, you know,' he teased, ‘books. All the classics. Like the Redneck Bible and
1001 Ways with Raccoon
.'

Hope was laughing now.

‘And you know about the TV and there's the internet.'

‘Thanks. I found a notebook, in a box of the stuff from the
attic. It looks like a diary. An old one.'

He paused in pouring out more tea. ‘Please tell me it's not my mom's.'

She smiled, shy. ‘No, I mean
old
old. It belonged to an English girl, in Montana in 1867.'

His eyebrows lifted. ‘The state was really young then, only three years old. I wonder where it came from, how it got in with our stuff.'

‘It was inside a writing box, in one of the crates. The girl, she's my age, well almost, and she's on her way to get married. They've just arrived at a hotel in Helena. I thought I'd read it, if that's OK.'

‘Sure.'

They talked as they ate. Hope noticed Cal brought the conversation back to her every time. She wasn't used to talking about herself and his focus was unnerving. They finished eating and cleared away together.

Hope turned from the dishwasher, turning her palms against each other one way and the other. ‘Thanks for breakfast. It was really good.'

‘Glad you liked it.'

They both hesitated. ‘OK, see you later.' She trotted up the stairs. When she looked down from the landing, he was gone.

In her room, Hope retrieved the black book from where she had left it on the desk and went out on to the balcony. The bluff fell away before her, clean-cut and dramatic in the morning light. She sat down on one of the silvery old wooden
chairs and turned to where she had left off.
It was then that I saw you . . 
.

Only a couple of pages later, Hope's laptop pinged a notification and she ended up in an IM chat with Lauren, who was up late trying to finish an essay. Then she came back downstairs to the smell of coffee slipping through the cool expanse of the Crow house. Hope explored, walking through the games room with its pool table, another TV and easy chairs, into a room lined with books looking out over the meadow at the back of the house. Hearing noises in the kitchen, she peeped from the edge of the living room, and saw Caleb Crow helping himself to coffee.

‘Hey there, Miss Hope. How you doing?'

‘Good, thank you, Mr Crow.'

‘We don't stand on ceremony on these parts, Hope. Caleb is just fine. Deal?'

‘Deal.'

‘Good girl. Help yourself to any type of breakfast you want. There's all kinds of cereals in that cupboard there, or eggs.' He paused. ‘Do vegetarians eat eggs?'

Hope smiled. ‘This one quite likes them. But I already ate, thanks. Cal made me breakfast.'

‘Ah, great. I'd tell him to take some time to keep you entertained some more but he's got to go upcountry now, to my sister's in Kalispell. Won't be back for a few days.'

‘Oh.' Hope's spirits fell.

Caleb poured himself a drop more coffee. ‘Elizabeth –
that's my wife – called, said my sister's a whole lot better now, and so he's going to collect her and bring back two of his aunt's horses too, take the load off her some. It's a way away. And he likes to go up through the national park.' He cocked his head to one side, looking remarkably like his son. ‘Why don't you go along with him?'

‘Oh . . . I'm not . . . I don't think I'd be much help.'

Caleb waved his hand. ‘He doesn't need help, but he might like company.' He glanced towards the window at the front of the house. ‘He's there now – why don't we ask him?' He strode out of the kitchen straight away, to the open front door. ‘Cal!'

Cal was loading a coil of rope into the back of the 250. ‘Yep?'

‘How's about taking Miss Hope here on your trip?' He turned to Hope. ‘He'll be cutting straight through the Glacier National Park. It's some beautiful countryside.'

Cal straightened up slowly, looking at them both.

Hope squirmed.
You don't have to
, she mouthed.

‘Are you sure she wants to come?'

‘Sure she would!'

Cal resumed shifting things around in the flatbed. ‘We'll be sleeping rough, in the back of here.'

Caleb put a hand on Hope's shoulder. ‘I bet she's tougher than she looks. And she doesn't want to see our finest scenery from some red tourist bus. You can take her up to Polebridge Mercantile for a lookaround. Get me some of those huckleberry bear claws they make up there.'

‘Dad, that'll add on half a day.'

‘But it's a fun trip, and you aren't in a hurry.'

‘What about your mom?' Cal asked Hope without looking at her.

Hope was getting more and more embarrassed. None of it had been her idea anyway.

‘I'll square it away with Ms West.'

Cal put his hands on his hips and looked at his father for a long time. ‘You're sure this is a good idea, Dad?'

Something unspoken passed between them, then Caleb patted Hope's shoulder. ‘Sure I'm sure! It'll be an adventure.'

Cal glanced up at the sky. ‘Can you be ready in an hour?'

An hour later, Hope brought her bag down the stairs, then thought she should probably take the opportunity to use the bathroom one last time. As she came out she heard voices out on the decking. It was Cal and his father. Cal was rubbing a hand through his chaotic hair.

‘Jesus Christ. Can you imagine what people would say? What
her mother
would say if she knew?'

Hope crept closer to the doors.

‘I don't give a rat's ass for what people say. It'll be good for both of you. I can see you like her, even with your grampa's poker face on.'

‘Doesn't make a difference if I
like
her or not, does it?'

‘Take a tip from your pa, you don't meet so many women in your life that make you sit up and take real notice the way you've noticed her.' Hope's ears pricked up even further. ‘And she shines fit to light a room when you're in it. Should have
seen her pretty face when I told her you were going away.'

Hope cringed.
I'm that obvious?

‘She's sixteen. And British.'

‘What's that got to do with anything?'

‘Three years and four thousand miles?'

‘All horseshit if you like each other. Look at me and your mother. The truth? We were crazy about each other, but I didn't know her from a hole in the ground when we got married. That's worked out pretty well.'

‘For the love of God, Dad—'

Hope's heart sank. He really didn't want her along. She picked up the diary, intending to sit and read until Cal was gone. Then she heard the single wail of a police siren.

The two policemen they had met in Fort Shaw had pulled up to the front of the house and were getting out of the car. Father and son were already walking forward to meet them.

‘What can I do for you, John?' Caleb Crow's voice was harder than Hope had heard it. His relaxed posture had stiffened and suddenly he looked very tall and imposing.

Officer Jones spoke first. ‘We've had a report you're employing illegals here.'

Cal stepped forward. ‘Says who?'

His father shot him a warning look.

‘Now, son, you keep your temper,' the police chief advised.

‘How many workers do you have here at the moment, Mr Crow?' the officer asked.

‘Twenty-four. All legitimate. As you know.'

‘What about that little Mexican I seen in town?'

Caleb Crow rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus has been here for four years. He's brought in his papers twice.'

‘Yeah, well, maybe he should bring them in again, just to be sure. And that big black fella too, that maintains your vehicles. He's been in the bar some, I'd like to see his credentials. There's a whole raft of illegals coming in here just now for the summer work. Gotta keep on top of it.'

‘Cal, go to the office and get the photocopies for Jesus and Sebastian.'

Cal turned on his heel and went off to the far wing of the house, banging into the offices.

‘Elizabeth well?' Chief Hart asked, a sly note in his voice.