Lonepine

By Dave Sime and Connie Morse

"Lonepine, Montana Fall, 1962"

A gripping, suspenseful, historical, erotic, western romance filled with love, lust and a breach of trust. Lonepine Ranch in northwestern Montana and Tana must face the rigors of ranch life alone because of the transgressions and mysterious disappearance of her husband, Jake. Help arrives when Lance, a Montana, honky tonk bar musician, enters into her life.

Written by: Dave Sime and Connie Morse

Front and Back Cover Illustrations by: Connie Morse

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781619273412

Book preview

Chapter One: The Ride Northwestern Montana Fall 1962

Montana Morse Tana awoke early, well before dawn, as was her usual routine. It may have been the coyotes yipping and howling at the edge of the meadow but more than likely it was the excitement of her plan for the day. The faint light of dawn had just started to show through the upstairs bedroom window.

Her husband, Jake Morse slept in as was his usual routine and she would be long gone by the time he awoke. Why she ever married the son of the largest ranch owner in northern Nevada was a mystery to her. Maybe it was because she was only fifteen years old at the time and he was the best catch in the entire northern Nevada ranching community!

She thought about the early happier years of their marriage while stepping into her sheepskin slippers and pulling the terrycloth robe on over her flannel nightgown, she went down the stairs to the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror she ran a brush through her shoulder length, blond hair, washed her face and brushed her teeth.

Still sleepy, she went into the kitchen of their old log home. As she yawned, she wadded up some newspaper and gathered some kindling from the wood box. She filled the firebox on the old Monarch cook stove, opened the damper and with the scratch of a wooden match had a fire going in no time. She and Jake could have had an electric or propane cook stove years ago but Tana still preferred the soft crackling sound of a wood stove, the warmth it gave to the kitchen and besides it baked the best homemade biscuits and bread.

She drew some water from the kitchen sink faucet into the blue enamel coffee pot and placed it on the cook stove. Warming her hands over the stove she recalled that in the first years of their marriage they lived in the bunk house at Jake's family's Wildhorse Crossing Ranch in Nevada and her only source of water was a hand pump by the front porch.

A great improvement, running water for the kitchen and baths. she thought.

Back upstairs to the bedroom she listened to Jake snore while she traded her robe, nightgown and slippers for blue jeans, flannel shirt and cowboy boots. She resisted the urge to drop one of her boots on the wooden floor to wake him but knew he'd had a long night at the Red Dog Saloon in Hot Springs. Best let him sleep as he could be fairly vicious when suffering from a hangover, she thought.

Back in the kitchen, the first rays of light over the Mission Mountain range brought Rocky the rooster to life. Spooning some coffee grounds into the water she let it come to a boil and then set it over to the side to settle out. A little added cold water speeded up the settling process.

Taking her well-worn Stetson hat and blue jean jacket from the peg by the door, Tana poured the steaming hot coffee into a mug and stepped out onto the porch to greet the day. Sarge, her blue healer stock dog rose from his old blanket bed, stretched, woofed a welcome and wagging his bobbed tail, came to her side for an ear scratching.

You're a good dog Sarge, I love you boy! she stated as they sat together taking in the view across Lonepine Creek and the meadows.

As a young girl she had enjoyed camping in the rugged mountains of northern Nevada with her father, Dick Parker. He was a tall rangy, eccentric, mountain man, out of place in a more modern world. He trapped beaver and hunted deer, fought, drank and gambled with the varied residents of Mountain City, Nevada.

Together, Tana and her dad had fished for rainbow and brook trout in the clear cold mountain streams. They used a willow pole, six or eight feet of leader, a snelled hook, split shot sinker and a slow grass hopper. They cleaned the fish by the stream and Dad cut a willow branch with his pocket knife to string them on so they could bring them back to their camp. The branch consisted of a long stem with one of the side branches cut short so the fish could be strung through the gills and out the mouth, stopping at the short branch.

Tana felt there was no better breakfast than fresh caught trout, and fried potatoes with onions, cooked over an open fire in a cast iron skillet. The best memories of her childhood were times with her dad in the mountains.

Now at twenty years of age, Tana Morse was a tall, lean, beautiful woman with the strong sinewy muscles and wind weathered character that life outdoors on a working ranch bestows upon both men and women. Strong and independent, she knew that there wasn't a job on the ranch that she couldn't do as well or better than any man. The two possible exceptions: Cutting a stallion to make him a gelding and dehorning the cows. Her love for the animals made those painful operations difficult for her to accomplish.

As the sun rose over the mountains it cast a golden glow over the ranch meadows. The cows and horses were haloed with the brilliant light.

Sarge, there's no time to dilly dally drinking coffee and gazing at the sunrise. We have chores to do.

Mornings on the Lonepine Ranch in Northwestern Montana involved completing these chores:

Checking the hen house for eggs and scattering some hen scratch, although most of the Rhode Island Red and barred rock chickens were still on the roost. One clucking hen was in the nest box, guarding her fresh laid eggs. Tana ignoring her pecking reached under the hen to find two more warm eggs to put in the wicker basket.

Come on gals! Let's do your best, because I've sold or given away all the eggs and I'm going to need some for this morning's breakfast.

Rocky the rooster was on his favorite fence post letting the whole world know it was time to wake up! He was a small, white, feather footed rooster with a bigger than life attitude and presence. He ruled the roost and managed to keep a lot of hens happy.

Tana moved with a quiet grace and confident presence among the animals as she went about the daily chores. Rosy, the Jersey milk cow stood waiting at the barn door, ready for her morning milking. Tana greeted her with, how you doin' old gal? and opened the barn door so Rosy could go to her stall. She threw a pitchfork of hay and a coffee can of rolled oats in the manger, then fastened the stanchion around the cows neck. A pair of strong hands, a stainless steel bucket, and an old, worn wooden, three legged stool provided the only tools needed for milking. She always enjoyed this part of the morning chores with the warm smells and sounds of milk hitting the bucket.

Two cats, Sunny and Chang waited patiently for an occasional squirt of milk direct from the source, sent their way. Like that don't ya, she said.

With contented purring and an occasional meow they licked the milk from their whiskered faces. Expertly she drained the last milk from Rosie's bag, filled the cat's pan and turned Rosy out to pasture

She took the bucket of fresh milk back to the kitchen and poured it into one gallon glass jars. The thick rich, yellow cream will rise to the top and be skimmed off; she will churn it into butter.

Back outside she can't forget to slop the Yorkshire hogs, Hammy and Pork chop! She gave them each a scratch between their ears while they noisily rooted in the trough.

I shouldn't have named them. It will only make it harder when it's time to send them to the butcher, She thought.

Then to the tack room which smelled of horse sweat, leather and the rough sawn cedar board walls. She felt a sense of belonging here, almost like coming home. From the pegs on the wall she chose a halter and headed out into the pasture. The sun was just poking over the mountains when she found Duster, Sea Biscuit and Amigo resting in the brush along Lonepine Creek. Duster was a handsome, tall, dark blue, gelding. He nickered as she approached and he accepted the halter.

We've got some serious riding to do today, Duster, and I know you're ready for it, She said as she led him back to the barn and tied him to the hitching post.

Back in the kitchen she made a breakfast of side pork, eggs, and homemade bread, washed down with another cup of coffee and packed her lunch. She then wrote a short note to Jake:

Checking for strays on Mount Baldy. Back in the late afternoon. Tana

Returning to the tack room, she grabbed her bridle, saddle and blanket and threw them on Duster's back as he pranced excitedly at the hitching post. Packing the lunch and a canteen of water in the saddle bags, she made a check of the cinch to be sure it was just the right tightness, and just in case, tied a yellow rain slicker on the back of the saddle. Tana knew mountain weather was notoriously unpredictable.

She mounted the horse with the sure confidence of one who has spent a lifetime on horseback and with Sarge by their side they rode out into the cool, early fall morning.

The Lonepine Ranch consisted of 1200 acres of hay and pasture land at the base of Mount Baldy. The ranch was bordered on three sides by National Forest land with Lonepine Creek meandering through it. A grazing permit allowed Jake and Tana to graze 525 head of their Black Angus cattle on national forest land from May through September. This arrangement worked well, assuming there were not too many losses of stock to coyotes, mountain lions, wolves and the occasional poacher. Another problem was getting the herd through the long hard Montana winters as well as calving in the cold, wet spring weather. They had to be sure to have enough hay to last until the grass greened up in the spring as this was critical to success. No hay, no cattle. It was that harsh and a simple fact of ranch life.

A red tailed hawk called, circling over the meadow as Tana, Duster and Sarge entered the pine forest at the base of Mount Baldy. This was the moment she had been waiting for as the soft pine needle covered forest floor padded Duster's hoofs. The quiet was broken by the chattering of a squirrel that Sarge had chased up a tree, and a trio of three mule deer bucks bounced across a clearing.

Each buck sported trophy sized horns but the last to cross the meadow was truly magnificent. Mule deer had what often proved to be a fatal flaw. Unlike a spooked white tailed deer which would just keep running, the mule deer would stop and look back, providing a hunter with a great opportunity for a shot.

Jake would be interested to know about these bucks as it is getting on towards hunting season, she thought.

As they rode through the pines the forest changed to scattered groups of aspens interspersed with open meadows. The aspens were just beginning to change color and the sun cast a golden glow through their leaves. She heard the distant sound of a ruffed grouse drumming on a log trying to attract a mate. They climbed higher and the aspens became smaller, their limbs twisted and contorted from the heavy winter snows. The open meadows and aspens gave way to fields of bear grass and huckleberry bush. An occasional dried cow pie gave proof of the strays she searched for but not a cow was to be seen.

Tana had ridden several miles since breakfast and she saw a perfect spot for lunch. A spring had opened from the slide rock top of Mount Baldy and clear, cold water cascaded down through the alpine meadow. She let Duster graze in the meadow and after Sarge had explored the meadow he came to her side.

Tana knelt by the stream and drank long gulps from a pool so cold that it made her teeth chatter. (real cowboys and cowgirls never carried water, preferring to go thirsty or even drink from a cow track rather than choose that more reasonable and intelligent option) She splashed cold water on her face, rinsed off her hands and settled back against an aspen in a patch of warm sunlight.

She enjoyed her lunch of homemade bread with hand churned butter and slices of elk salami and a dill pickle. She heard the cawing of the ravens circling overhead and the raucous sounds of a nut cracker in the short limber pine forest farther up the mountain. A gentle breeze stirred the aspen leaves and the sun warmed her body as Tana finished her lunch. She could hear Duster munching on the meadow grass, Sarge lay asleep by her side his head resting on her lap.

Tana closed her eyes, and with a sense of contentment from the breeze as it rustled the aspen leaves, turned her thoughts to her early years growing up in Mountain City, Nevada.

Chapter Two: Dreams of Mountain City Spring, 1950

Tana had risen early for her ride and the combination of warm sunshine and pleasant sounds lulled her to sleep as she lay back against the aspen tree. Her mind drifted to pleasant memories of her childhood.

Mountain City, Nevada was a town with eighty four full time residents and four bars. The town was located on the main road between Boise, Idaho and the nearest town, Elko, Nevada eighty two miles to the south. The Duck Valley reservation was close to the town and was home to the Paiute/Shoshoni Indian tribe. The local residents included cattle ranchers, Indians, and miners who worked the Rio Tinto Copper Mine southwest of town.

Folks just passing through, many of whom stopped for a meal or a drink at the Mountain City Hotel, Bar and Café added to the mixture. The combination of unique, colorful and fiercely independent characters made for some very interesting and exciting experiences in Montana's young life.

Grandma Parker took care of Tana, Brother Bill and Sister Cindy (Grandma Parker always preferred to shorten Montana's name to Tana) because their parents, Sue and Dick Parker were busy running the hotel, bar and cafe.

The Saturday night dances at the hotel were the best, with the local ranchers bringing their families decked out in their western duds and rough looking miners enjoying a break from the dirt and hard work of mining.

Mountain City residents, Elmer and Margaret Hall kept the dancers on their feet with two steps and waltzes until the early morning hours. The youngsters would dance and play until they were worn out and then fall asleep on the benches surrounding the dance floor. Tana would stand by the piano, watching every move of Margaret's fingers on the key board, trying to determine how the chords made the melodies. The sound of the Elmer's fiddle, the piano and happy laughter still resounded from the dance hall below when she finally fell asleep in her upstairs hotel bedroom.

The next morning she would try to duplicate what she had seen and heard on the piano in the now dark and deserted dance hall.

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In Tana's peaceful dream, she saw Grandma Parker looking out her kitchen window while washing the breakfast dishes. A short, stout, happy woman, grandma always had a smile on her face. Finishing washing the dishes, she dried her hands on her apron and parted the flowered cotton curtains. She couldn't believe her eyes! Her granddaughter, Tana was running around on all fours on the road with small, empty carnation milk cans in her hands.

She went out on the porch and said, Montana Parker what on earth do you think you are doing?

I'm pretending I'm a horse Grandma.

"Well get back in the yard before someone shoots you for