Montana Skies

By Michael Kennard

Montana Skies is the story of two men, Jack Claymore an Englishman, fleeing from a past that he cannot accept and Wade Reynolds a Montana rancher, a man firmly on the slippery slope to self destruction. A chance meeting and the subsequent tragic death of Wade's best friend, throw them together. As both men fight for survival in the Arizona border town of Nogales, an uneasy bond forms between them. Forced by circumstances both men decide to head north to Montana, Wade to try and rebuild his life and return to his family, and for Jack a chance to forget the past and start afresh.Unbeknown to them, events buried deep in the past of Wade's best friend, slowly resurface and threaten their very lives and the lives of their loved ones.

Montana Skies is an epic tale of love and revenge. Sweeping across the plains and mountains of contemporary Montana like a cyclone.

Montana Skies crammed full of unforgettable characters, is the great novel of the modern American West.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 5, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469713083

Michael Kennard

Michael Kennard makes his home in the Oxfordshire countryside, where he spends his retirement writing, travelling, golfing, socializing and playing snooker. His latest novel, Jackal’s Tango, a deliberate switch of genre, but packed with his familiar brand of intricate plots, story lines and unforgettable characters, brings his portfolio of books to seven, all published by iUniverse.

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE AMERICAN AIRLINES 747 on route to London’s Heathrow had just started its climb into the darkening skies above Chicago. Jack shifted awkwardly against the restraints of the seat belt. It wasn’t only the restriction that troubled him, it was the thought that he was finally going home. Ten years was an awfully long time to be away, especially since for most of the decade he’d thought of Montana as his home.

Jack’s thoughts were momentarily broken as he listened to the differing engine sounds as the 747 continued its gradual ascent. His eyes darted back and forth as he familiarised his surroundings. Focusing in on the seat belt sign he waited for it to be turned off. Only then could he fully relax and enjoy the flight. It wasn’t that he was afraid of flying, on the contrary during his younger years he’d flown quite regularly. It was just that in the past ten years he’d flown very rarely, preferring the feel of a well-worn saddle and the sound of pounding hooves beneath him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the illuminated seat belt sign switched off. Jack slumped back in his plush leather seat and watched with amusement as the flight attendant nearest to him, unbuckled her belt and began to move about the first class cabin. Everything was done to such precision; the smile was warm, but plastic, the walk, something she must have trained weeks to perfect. He stifled a grin as he remembered why he was on board.

He’d driven into town to pick up supplies and bought himself a copy of the Billings Gazette. It was about the only paper he ever read these days, and that was usually on high days and holidays. How he’d spotted it, he couldn’t rightly say, except it seemed a mite unusual, a small town newspaper carrying an article about some society wedding in England. He almost missed it, just four lines about a politician’s son marrying a Miss Charlotte Claymore at All Saints Church, Marlow, Buckinghamshire. He read and re-read the article. ‘Was someone playing some kind of a joke? Could it really be my daughter? All Saints used to be my local church,’ he thought sadly, remembering the last time he had been there. How could he forget, it was for Debbie’s funeral; it seemed a lifetime ago.

With only a few days to the 29th June he acted on instinct, and made the monumental decision to fly home. It was too much of a coincidence not to be her. Within hours, carrying only a small duffel, he caught a flight out of Billings bound for Chicago via Denver. A few hours later he arrived at O’Hare International with a little over thirty minutes to spare before his transatlantic flight. Checking the monitors, he realised he’d have to step on it. Running the entire length of several concourses, Jack made the International terminal with minutes to spare.

‘Not bad for a horse-bound cowboy, pushing forty-two,’ he thought breathlessly to himself.

As the plane levelled out Jack began making plans for the coming weekend. His transatlantic flight would arrive in London on Friday morning, giving him just enough time to check into a decent hotel and buy himself a suit. His faded Wranglers and cowboy boots might be what you’d expect of a Montana horse breeder, but they sure as hell weren’t the attire to wear on his daughter’s wedding day. He’d already raised eyebrows when he breezed into the cabin and handed the stewardess his jacket and hat. He couldn’t think why, that was a $800 genuine Kirkpatrick from Wisdom, Montana.

His appearance had changed dramatically over the years. Though always fit, he’d shed at least twenty pounds, making him seem taller than his standing of six foot. His hair which he’d always kept neatly trimmed was now swept back and hanging a couple of inches over his collar. At the sides a touch of grey was creeping in, but most striking of all was the dark moustache that masked his weather beaten face. Only his dark blue eyes with their hint of mischief remained. It wasn’t only his outward appearance that had changed, his whole outlook on life had moved quite considerable. Life before Montana had been just that little bit too easy. Where once a crisis had brought him to the brink, he’d now learnt to deal with whatever life threw at him. He was quieter, gentler and more importantly he had become a contented man.

He was deep in thought when the flight attendant asked what he’d like to drink.

Sorry, guess I was miles away, I’ll have a large brandy.

Very quickly he returned to his thoughts, he had bridges to build, of that there was no doubt. How do you face a daughter you’d abandoned such a long time ago? Would she forgive him? She might not want to know? He couldn’t blame her, after all said and done; it was he who had left. The memories began to flood back, very painful memories. Jack was beginning to regret his moment of impulse.

So much had happened during the last ten years. Looking back, it seemed as if it was only yesterday. Jack, though an architect by trade, was a partner in a small building firm situated halfway between Henley upon Thames and Marlow. He’d bought into the business some two years earlier, having worked for the owner Tony Callahan on and off for a number of years. Business had been brisk, but it wasn’t booming. When given the offer of becoming a partner, Jack saw the potential.

In the early eighties’ house prices were still on the increase. Mortgages and home improvement loans were readily available. People moved more often, and a new trend in upgrading existing homes vis a vis an extension became the norm. Jack’s investment and vitality soon turned the partnership into a very successful business, growing in size and stature yearly. The work had been extremely hard, the hours long and arduous, but now it was paying dividends.

Within eighteen months Jack was able to afford a delightful four bedroom detached house on the outskirts of the attractive riverside town of Marlow. He and his beautiful wife Debbie had been driving by, when they saw the ‘For Sale’ sign. Acting on a whim they phoned the estate agents. The moment Debbie stepped through the front door, she was captivated by its charm and beauty. A day later they put in an offer. Debbie had a great eye for design, and soon turned the house into a home; comfortable but very stylish.

Marlow epitomised a typical rural English town with its neat red brick cottages and its magnificent church overlooking the banks of the river. Its ornate suspension bridge dating back to 1836 spanned the Thames, allowing motorists a brief view of the river and its weir. Every Sunday during summer, men in their cricket whites would do battle on the village green. It was an idyllic setting, surrounded on all sides by green fields and rolling hills.

Life for the Claymore’s was good and getting better. So much so, that Jack surprised Debbie on the morning of her 29th birthday with a brand new red BMW 325i. It was the first new car she had owned, having until that morning been driving around in an old beat up Mini, which incidentally had a great sentimental attachment. Their beloved Charlotte had been conceived in it twelve years earlier. Jack knew that only the best would dissuade Debbie from her Mini.

Over the years Debbie had grown from a shy pretty young thing, into a beautiful sophisticated woman. She worked part time at the local estate agents, where she was thought of as indispensable. With her spare time, which didn’t amount to much, she did the school run and helped out with the PTA. Her only fault, it you could call it that, was her over indulgence with her hair and expensive clothes. Even that was down to Jack, who insisted she looked her best at all times. Her red hair now cut in a shaggy bob sent his heart racing every time he looked at her.

Jack’s other passion was football. He played for a local Sunday league team, supported West Ham and hated cricket. He enjoyed a Friday night out with the boys but always kept the weekend for his girls, apart from Sunday mornings. Which was okay with Debbie and Charlotte as it gave them the chance to indulge in a few sets of tennis down at their local club. Debbie had been an avid tennis player in her youth and played for the second team. Together they shared a wide variety of friends and interests. Life had never been sweeter.

*   *   *

It was strange looking back; Tuesday before the tragedy had seemed like any other weekday evening. Jack arrived home at his usual time. Debbie was busy preparing dinner, while little Charlotte was sprawled over the front room carpet struggling with her homework. Giving both his girls a quick kiss he hurried upstairs to wash and change.

It was over dinner that Jack noticed Debbie was pre-occupied. She wasn’t her talkative self, normally she’d ask him how his day had gone, but that night she hardly spoke a word. When she refused her usual vodka and slim line, Jack realised something was up. He ignored it at first, knowing Debbie would tell him when she was good and ready, but as he helped her clear the table he felt compelled to ask what was bothering her.

Sorry darling, I’m feeling a little off colour. I think I’m coming down with a touch of flu or something. I’ll probably be okay tomorrow.

It was the tone, something wasn’t quite right, Jack wasn’t convinced. He turned his attention to the exercise books scattered over the floor. Charlotte’s homework was becoming a nightmare. Jack soon gave that up in a hurry.

God am I that thick Deb, he called jokingly into the kitchen.

Debbie was in another world and failed to respond to his quip. A worried frown creased his forehead. Getting up from the carpet he walked into the oak veneered kitchen and put his arms around her. What’s wrong? Tell me.

It’s nothing; I just don’t feel on top form. That’s all.

Jack, frustrated by her obstinacy grabbed the evening paper and retired to the lounge.

Once Charlotte was safely tucked up in bed, Debbie joined him on the couch. She seemed brighter as she snuggled up close to him and began to watch the evening’s movie. ‘Perhaps she was feeling off colour after all,’ he thought reassuringly to himself. The evening passed uneventfully, apart from the odd gasp from Debbie at some of the violence on the screen. As the credits began to roll, Jack started to yawn. He was tired and an early night was called for, as he had to be at the site early the following morning.

Debbie retired to their bed ten minutes later. He blinked as she turned on her bedside lamp. Sleepily he sat up in bed, and watched her reflection in the dressing table mirrors as she took off her make up. Even after twelve years his desire for her hadn’t diminished. He needed his sleep but he was feeling aroused, he needed the reassurance of Debbie. Reaching out for her as she climbed into bed, he kissed her gently on the lips. She smiled sweetly and responded to him. Slowly he lowered her head onto the softness of her pillows. Her eyes filled with love and she flung her arms round his neck forcing his lips gently onto hers. Soon the gentleness gave way to passion as they began exploring each other’s bodies. He began by caressing her nipples until they became hard and excited. Her hand reached between his legs. Within moments they were locked in a wild embrace, making love with an urgency that had seemed lacking of late. Driven by a will to please, to excite, their lovemaking was swift and exciting. It’s intensity beyond words. Jack fought hard to control himself, until at last Debbie began to moan uncontrollably, her breath coming in short sharp bursts. The moment was upon them, the release, the pure pleasure, the ecstasy as they merged in climax.

Oh Jack, I love you so much, she cried breathlessly.

Laying back, their ardour spent, a sense of well being and peace wafted over them. Staring upwards at the ceiling, Jack listened to the beating of his heart as it slowly returned to normal. They lay there in silence, both lost in their own private thoughts, until Debbie broke that silence.

Have you ever been unfaithful Jack?

It was only a casual question, but it would haunt him for the next ten years.

Of course not, why would I! Alarm bells began to ring inside his head. I love you far too much. Why do you ask? He sat up in bed, his mood broken. Why have you?" He found himself saying.

Oh Jack, she laughed. Where in the world would I get a hunk like you?

She kissed him reassuringly; though he felt unsettled, it was enough to dispel any lingering doubts. Moments later, still cradled in each others arms they drifted off to sleep.

Waking before the alarm, Jack dressed quietly, trying not to wake Debbie. He had a big construction job on and his usual roofing contractors had let him down at the last minute. He’d been recommended another local firm, but until he was satisfied these guys knew their stuff he intended keeping a discreet eye on the proceedings.

Going out without giving me my morning kiss? Meanie, came a husky retort from beneath the sheets. Jack smiled, then lifted the sheet and bent over and gave the culprit a swift kiss on the cheek.

See you tonight sweetheart, I won’t be late, he said softly. Faltering at the door he glanced back. Debbie looked up sleepily and from beneath that tousled mop of red hair smiled up at him. Jack thought himself the luckiest man alive.

*   *   *

Bob Claymore hurriedly took a last swig of steaming hot tea, spilling it in the process. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he leaned across and gave his wife a kiss on the top of her head.

Must dash Sheila, can’t keep Alan waiting, he’ll be freezing his nuts off.

Sheila looked up and gave him a rueful smile, I sometimes wonder who the boss is.

Bob was halfway out the door when he turned, There’s only one boss, and I’m looking at her, he countered with a cheeky grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Get off with yah, laughed Sheila.

Bob was the joker of the family, always ready with a witty, sometimes sarcastic, but well meant quip. Brought up in the school of hard knocks, he was never one to take life seriously.

You’re only here once, he was forever saying.

Unlike his younger brother Jack, he quit school at fifteen. A succession of dead end jobs followed, leading inevitably to petty crime and a stretch at Feltham detention centre. Loss of freedom and the death of a fellow inmate made him determined to get out and never return. On release he found it harder than he’d thought and began drifting back into his old ways. Then his luck changed. Sheila entered his life and the transformation was truly remarkable. A month into their relationship and Bob secured a job as plumber’s mate. The pay wasn’t up to much, but he found the work to his liking. Over the next five years he learned his trade, and not long after getting his papers he brought his first van and went into business for himself. Earning a decent wage was all that he asked that and no hassle.

The contract he was working on at the time was all that, and more. In is own words the job was a doddle, fitting bathroom suites into a large block of flats at the far end of town. He reckoned the job would probably see him through until a little after Christmas. He was a skilled plumber and could have been every bit as successful as his younger brother, except he wasn’t the ambitious type. Ambition he left to Jack.

Bob turned the corner into Alan’s road, instantly spotting the lanky apprentice propped against the newsagent’s window. As the van came to a halt the youth looked up, then nonchalantly flicked through the remaining sports pages of the Sun.

Picked any winners, yelled Bob good naturedly, sliding open the door of the van. Alan just shook his head, folded his newspaper and climbed up beside Bob without speaking. He’d just turned nineteen and mornings weren’t his best time, especially when he’d drunk too much the night before. A bit on the cocky side, ‘But weren’t we all, when we were his age,’ thought Bob in his defence. ‘He reminds me of me.’

It was barely light when they reached the entrance to the flats. Alan jumped down and unlocked the wire gates, then pushed them open and trudged back through the mud. Bob crunched the gears and drove onto the site. He hated dark mornings, especially as the drizzle was coming down harder. ‘At least we’re inside,’ he mused.

It was near lunch-time, Alan had just made a brew and was about to bring a mug over to Bob, when he happened to gaze out of an upstairs window.

When ya gonna start paying me decent wages, he cried, I’d really look the business driving one of those, he indicated with his head as he handed Bob his tea.

Cheers, said Bob as he glanced though the window to the street below. A gleaming red BMW slowed to a crawl in the lunch-time traffic.

You’ll never have enough money, all you do is piss it up against the wall, jibed Bob. At that moment he realised it was Debbie’s car. She was waiting for the flow of traffic at the roundabout to ease. He could just make out her shock of red hair through the windscreen, she was certainly a stunner, he thought. He mused to himself how successful Jack had become. He wasn’t envious; on the contrary he was very proud of his younger brother. As he turned away, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Debbie’s left indicator start to flash. Why he turned back and gazed out of the window, he couldn’t hazard a guess, unless it was plain old curiosity. She negotiated the roundabout and pulled into the kerb.

Even at that distance, with the rain pouring down it would have been impossible for him not to recognise the familiar figure standing waiting on the grass verge. It was Dave Bryant, big Dave; Jack’s best mate. They had known each other since school, where after their first altercation became inseparable. Bob’s face dropped as he watched Dave get in beside Debbie. He hated himself for the involuntary thoughts that entered his head. ‘Dave and Debbie, surely not,’ in his heart he knew there was a simple explanation. Yet he still watched her pull away from the kerb and head off in the general direction of Wycombe.

*   *   *

Jack needn’t have worried about the roof contractors after all. From what he’d seen of their work, he was sure he’d be using them in the future. It had threatened rain first thing but held off long enough for them to make a good start. Satisfied with their performance he left them to it.

Despite the steady drizzle that hampered the three sites he visited that morning, everything was proceeding on schedule. He phoned Tony just before lunch and brought him up to speed. Happy that he’d put his senior partner in a buoyant mood, Jack hopped in the van and joined a couple of his lads for a quick beer and sandwich at a local pub.

It was really pouring down when Jack and the boys left the pub. By the time they’d raced across the car park they were soaked to the skin. Pat quickly opened the doors of the truck and launched himself inside, followed closely by Jack as he hurriedly climbed up beside George, his young labourer. Pat reached beneath the driver’s seat and retrieved a dirty towel which he used to dry his hair. It was covered with cement dust, and in seconds his hair had turned a yellowish grey. George looked at Jack; and like kids, they shrieked with laughter. Pat looked at them as if they were mad, then turned on the ignition and concentrated on the windscreen wipers as they groaned into action. It had been threatening to rain on and off most of the morning, but now it was like a monsoon. Pat drove slowly through the rain splattered streets; suburbia had turned an ominous grey.

Approaching the site, Jack caught a glimpse of two rain-coated policemen standing at the entrance.

Okay which of you two’s been nicking lead off the church roof again, he laughed none too convincingly.

It can’t be Pat, with all the Guinness he puts away, he’s got enough lead in his pencil already, bellowed young George. Jack didn’t laugh; he knew the serious expression on the faces of the police officers could only spell trouble for someone.

Pat pulled on the hand-brake as Jack jumped down from the truck. The older of the two policemen stepped forward.

Excuse me gentlemen, would one of you be Jack Claymore?

That’s me, what’s up? Jack replied cautiously, his heart racing.

In a rehearsed speech he’d made several times already that day, the police officer replied, I’m sorry to inform you sir; your wife’s been involved in an accident.

Jack’s heart hit rock bottom. What happened? Where is she? His voice seized, the pounding of his heart became deafening. Afraid, he willed the policeman to be a bad dream, almost knowing, dreading the next words he would utter.

I’m afraid she’s dead.

Jack’s face changed colour as the blood coursing though his veins turned to ice.

No! Not Debbie! It’s a mistake, it can’t be Debbie. He looked desperately towards the heavens. Rain beat mercilessly across his face as he pleaded to the dark unfriendly skies, Please God. No! Losing the power to stand, he fell to his knees and sobbed.

The older policeman had seen grief many times before; it was something he could never get used too. Crouching down beside the stricken man, he placed a sympathetic arm across his shoulder.

Sir, you’d better come with me.

Meekly Jack allowed the officer to help him to his feet. George and Pat helpless to intervene stood solemn faced in the pouring rain and watched as Jack was led trance-like into the patrol car. In stunned silence they continued watching until the police vehicle disappeared from view.

The warm interior of the car brought Jack out of shock. Tell me it isn’t so, tell me it’s a dream, please tell me it’s not happening!

The constable sitting next to Jack looked down at his feet. There was nothing he could say. It was times like this when he regretted becoming a policeman.

Jack’s mind searched for answers. ‘How! He hadn’t asked how? Maybe it was a mistake.’ Looking at the officer Jack steeled himself. How to you know it’s my wife?

The policeman tried avoiding eye contact; he knew that after the initial shock, reality soon set in. He always hated these moments the most. He remembered his Hendon training. What to say at the right time. Only this was real life, not an exercise in a class room.

Your wife drives a red BMW 325i registration number DEB 29. She was involved in a multi-vehicle pile up on the M40 earlier today. We haven’t got all the details yet, but I’m afraid there’s no mistake. He hoped Jack would be satisfied and let it be. He didn’t want to go into chapter and verse, the man would know soon enough.

Take me to her, I must see her.

‘Why does it always fall on us beat cops to tell the gory details?’ thought the officer. That won’t be possible sir; not yet at least, he took a deep breath then continued, I’m afraid she was very badly burned. Her car was in collision with a petrol tanker. I’m sorry.

Jack reeled back in horror. The thought of his beautiful wife burnt to death it was too much to take. No! No! No! It can’t be. Why her? Suddenly through all his grief and turmoil he remembered Charlotte. My daughter, what do I say to her. She’s at school.

We’re taking you home sir; your sister in law has already picked her up. They’re at your house.

Jack slumped back in the seat. He’d always been in control. Charlotte knew her daddy could fix anything. Realisation came to him at once; this was something he couldn’t fix.

It had started to get dark as the patrol car pulled up outside the house. Emerging from the vehicle the officer turned towards Jack and held out a helping hand. Jack declined his offer of assistance. He had to be strong; Charlotte would be counting on him. Stepping out he was momentarily blinded by the reflective glow of the street lamps as they bounced off the wet pavements. At last the rain had started to ease. With head bowed he began the slow walk up his driveway, reflecting how life could never be the same again.

The familiar bulk of his brother Bob stood framed in the doorway. Flinging their arms around each other Jack sobbed, She’s dead Bob! Debbie’s gone!

I know, I know. Bob was numb with grief. He’d always been there for his brother, ready to lend a hand, to support, but it was no use. Never in his life had he felt so helpless.

Wiping away the tears, Jack released himself from his brother’s vice like grip. There’ll be plenty of time for grieving in the days ahead; I’ve got to be strong for Charlotte’s sake. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the house.

Sheila was holding Charlotte as Jack entered the room. Tearing loose, she flung herself into his arms. Tell them! Tell them it isn’t true! I want my Mum, I want my Mum! Jack held her tightly, forcing back the tears.

She’s gone to heaven Charlotte, Mum’s with the angels.

But I want her back, she sobbed. It isn’t fair!

Jack was faltering; nothing in life had prepared him for this. Gathering Charlotte into his arms he carried her through to the lounge, silently closing the door behind him.

Bob looked across at Sheila not knowing what to do.

Leave them, they need time alone, advised Sheila caringly.

The constable made a polite coughing sound, Look I know now is not the time, but we will need someone to formally identify the body. He hated red tape, the bureaucracy. Why it couldn’t wait a few days was beyond him. Not now of course, sometime tomorrow perhaps?

Yeah sure. If she’s as badly burnt as you say, will I do? I’m his brother.

I can’t see a problem; just give us a ring to let us know what time. For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry for your loss.

Pacing the hall nervously, Sheila looked at her watch. She didn’t want to intervene, but earlier in the day the doctor had given her sedatives for Charlotte. The kid had gone through so much and needed her rest. Sheila ventured into the lounge.

Jack I think one of these will do her good.

Through bloodshot eyes he looked up, Why Sheila, why did it happen to us?

I wish I knew Jack, I really do.

How did it happen? What was Debbie doing on the M40?

Sheila looked away and handed Charlotte the sedative with a glass of water, Take this darling, it’ll help you sleep. Without question the little girl obediently took the sedative.

I’ll take her up to bed. Bob’s just brewing a cup of tea, I’m sure you could use one.

Sheila walked Charlotte to the door and stole a glance at her confused grieving brother-in-law; Jack was struggling with what had happened. Those questions, those damn inevitable questions, Sheila knew he had to be told. She didn’t envy Bob the telling. Perhaps he could put off the whole story until the morning. Even before the thought had fully formed, she knew that would be impossible.

Bob brought in the tea and sat down.

She’s gone Bob, I can’t believe it. I keep thinking I’ll hear her key in the front door. He gazed around the room. He looked at the beautiful photo of his wife on the wall above his head, willing it to be nothing more than a bad dream. What happened?

Bob stood up and looked nervously across the room, Let’s have a large one. He walked over to the timbered bar, grabbed some ice and put a handful in each glass. His hand was shaking as he poured the scotch.

Okay, tell me what happened.

Bob could sense Jack’s frustration. His hand steadied as he handed him his drink. Right, I’ll tell you what I know. Bear with me, I’m finding it hard to take in myself. Debbie was driving up the M40 towards Stokenchurch.

Stokenchurch?

Yeah, anyway most of the cars were going too fast, considering it was belting down with rain. As far as I can tell visibility was almost impossible. A black Nissan Micra pulled into the fast lane, just as this idiot in a Jag was passing. Bob watched his brother carefully. The police reckon the driver of the Jaguar was doing well over a hundred and ten. The Nissan was hit side on and sent spinning out of control into Debbie’s car. Within seconds her car crashed into a petrol tanker. Cars just kept piling into them. The force of the BMW, followed by the other vehicles must have ruptured one of the compartments of the tanker. Petrol gushed all over. It could only have been seconds before it blew. The look of anguish on Jack’s face was getting too much to bear; Bob didn’t have the heart to go on. Just at that precise the doorbell rang. Sheila hurried to answer it. Moments later Tony Callahan walked in. He was as white as a sheet.

What can I say; I’ve just come from Julie’s. I’m so sorry Jack. She’s devastated; I don’t think she’ll every get over it.

Puzzlement etched across Jack’s face; Bob looked nervously towards Sheila.

Jack looked from one to the other, the nervous twitch, the averting of eyes, it was all too much.

Will someone tell me what the fuck’s going on?

It was left to Tony. Oh no, I thought you knew! Debbie wasn’t the only one killed. Dave… Dave Bryant was also killed in the crash!

Chapter 2

WADE REYNOLDS PAUSED AT the door to the saloon, kicked the dust off his boots and strolled in. Kind of silly really, there’s more dust in ‘Kate’s Place’ than in all Nogales, he mumbled. Old habits, he added. Accustoming himself to the dimly lit cantina, he stepped up to the bar.

Miller Genuine, he ordered.

Sure thing Senor Reynolds, said the bartender as he slammed the frothing longneck onto the brass and mahogany counter.

Obliged. ‘Señor Reynolds,’ thought Wade, ‘it’s been a long time since anyone called me that. I guess sleeping with Kate has its advantages.’

Wade took the ice cold beer and drank it down greedily. Despite his heavy drinking, he didn’t look his fifty-five years. In fact without his steel grey handlebar moustache he’d look a good ten years younger. Alex had told him time and again about shaving the damn thing off, but that was Wade, stubborn to the last. As he began to relax he nonchalantly tipped his hat back, revealing a shock of grey hair, which somehow complemented his tanned granite like features, only his pale blue eyes betrayed a hint of sadness.

Garcia, another beer and a large bourbon. It’s been a mighty dry spell.

Sure thing Señor Wade.

Since he arrived in Nogales some eight months ago, he’d been staying at Kate’s. He’d known her for nearly thirty years. Back then of course she’d been married to Tom McKenzie. Matrimony for Tom and Kate had been stormy, to say the least, moving from town-to-town, running from one bad debt to another. If Tom’s gambling was bad, his taste for the ladies was even worse. He was known in cat houses from Butte to Sonora. No one knows why Kate stayed with him and no one asked. She just turned a blind eye and got on with running the business. Kate wasn’t a saint either. Over the years she’d had her share of lovers, but none could hold a candle to her Tom, except Wade. If the truth be known she’d been in love with him since Miles City.

Tom made Kate a widow some years back. He got himself stoved up by an old paint horse, and lingered in hospital for two months before he finally died. After all the hospital bills were paid Kate didn’t have much left, other than the bar and the bank was leaning on that. If nothing else, Tom had taught Kate to fight for what she wanted. She fought tooth and nail, and against the odds clawed her way back. Within a couple of years Kate’s Place was a going concern. In her life she’d only lost but one battle, and that was with a woman she’d never met. Wade drifting back into her life might change all that.

Aside from knowing the reason behind Wade’s drinking, Kate was there for him, she always would be. He was still a ruggedly handsome man, standing six one in his socks, despite a slight stoop which he’d sustained from a riding accident many years before. While most men his age had put on the extra pounds, he’d still retained a wiry but muscular physique. He owed that to years of hard work on the open plains of Montana.

He tried not to think of Montana. Whenever he did so, he was reminded of Alex. To Wade, they were one and the same. He’d lost them both, and despite the ache in his heart, there was no going back.

Another beer, por favour.

He was rescued from another bout of self pity when the grinning face of Johnny Johanson appeared on the stool beside him.

Make it two beers.

Johnny J as he was known by all and sundry smiled through a mouthful of pearly white teeth, made to appear even whiter due to his swarthy, weather-beaten skin. His dark brown eyes danced with excitement and warmth at seeing his old friend.

Seems like you been away a month.

Nope, it aint been more than a couple of weeks. Just feels longer, is all

Looks to me like you need to tie one on, said Johnny disappointedly. It was a forlorn hope, but he always expected to see the old flame back in his friend’s eyes. One glance was enough to realise things hadn’t changed. Johnny above all others, knew pain and anguish. He’d suffered more than most and had paid the price by dwelling on the past. It was best to forget, to close the book. How successful he’d been, remained locked inside his head. His immediate concern was for his best friend. It had been almost two years since Wade and Alex parted, yet there was still no sign of Wade getting over his grief. Johnny was now beginning to recognise Kate was his friend’s only real chance at happiness.

Wade looked around the bar thoughtfully, but Kate was nowhere to be seen. He knew he should have called, after all she wasn’t expecting him until Saturday.

Garcia, what time did Kate say she’d get back?

Sorry Señor Wade. Miss Kate, she over at Maria’s. One of her kid’s took sick, I think she be gone sometime.

‘It was typical of Kate, always there to help the sick and needy. Damn,’ he thought woefully.

Handing his friend a beer, Wade threw a weak smile, Yeah Johnny I guess we might go see the elephant. He was ‘in his cups’ and knew it. I’ll give Kate an hour to show, if she ain’t back, then what the hell. Self pity didn’t sit well on his shoulders, he needed a woman to talk to; he needed Kate. Johnny meant well, but Wade knew the answer wasn’t in a bottle; all it did was help numb the pain.

Long hours in the saddle with only his thoughts for company, didn’t help either. The Circle R up near Tucson provided Wade with an income. Over the years he’d seen the old ways eroded, his traditional way of life changed, some for the good, but mostly they weren’t to his liking. Now he spent more time herding guests than cattle. Pack trips into the Saguaro’s was the latest venture. Nursemaid to a bunch of dudes from back East. He was often heard to say. Weekend cowboys. Right at that moment it was a job, and despite everything else, cowboying was in his blood.

Wade kept looking up every time someone entered the bar, willing it to be Kate. Johnny smiled half-heartedly, it was clear he was looking forward to a night over the border. Wade was torn between waiting for Kate or disappointing his best friend. Finally he took a last swig from the bottle and stood up; he’d waited long enough.

Let’s go.

Johnny’s face broke into a grin. He loved the night life, the excitement, the noise, the gaudy neon signs. They were his Las Vegas. It was a place where he could try to forget the past; a past so laden with guilt.

Tell Kate I’ll see her later, Wade shouted across to the bartender.

*   *   *

By day, Nogales was like any other border town. By night it could be hell on wheels. It had always been a tough neighbourhood, and some bars like Lucy’s, were just plain suicide to walk into. Not that it worried the two friends, Wade was on his way to hell and Johnny was already there.

They drank, they ate, they talked of old times, the hallucinogenic effects of the whiskey and mescal turning them into young men again. Back then they were real hellions, everyone they knew treated them with respect, those that didn’t soon learned. Even now a few still trod warily when Wade was in town.

The evening ended like so many others, Johnny J slumped forward in his chair, his head resting on the table, already asleep. Wade starred bleary eyed at the wall. He knew he should have waited for Kate, she’d have made the pain better. Tossing back the remains of his mescal he sat back remembering better times.

*   *   *

Cheyenne’s Frontier Days celebrations were about over, and young Wade was feeling mighty pleased with himself. He was now the proud owner of seventy head of prime horse flesh. Last night he was just another drifter, until fate in the form of a smooth talking horse trader dealt him a hand. It was too late to have any regrets, his army pay plus the little his folks had left him, had all but gone. Wade was in the horse business whether he liked it or not.

His face glistened in the early morning sun, as he inspected his future. On the surface it wasn’t a bad deal. Wade knew horseflesh better than most. He knew he could get a good price for them in Miles City. Select twenty of the best and sell the remainder. It was a good plan, except Miles City was five hundred miles north. Wade checked his pockets; he had seventeen dollars and thirty cents to his name.

How in the hell am I going to drive them to Miles City, he said out loud.

You want maybe to sell me paint horse?

Wade spun round, shielding his eyes from the brightness. Perched on the corral fence, silhouetted by the sun, the voice spoke again. You got problem, I want paint horse, we make deal. Yes?

No! Who the hell are you? Wade was getting madder by the minute. What he didn’t need was some smart ass looking for a hand out.

The silhouette jumped down from the fence.

The name’s Johan Johanson. You need to drive these horses north, you got no money, I got no money, but I want paint horse. Deal?

Wade stared into the dark face before him. The man was clearly a Native American, his high cheekbones and Roman nose laying testimony to that very fact. But it was the honesty in his dark brown eyes that told the young cowboy this was a man that could get the job done. Wade’s face broke into a broad smile.

Deal.

Spitting on his hand he extended it to Johanson. Shit, Johan Johanson, you look all Injun to me.

Half. Norwegian on my pa’s side; Crow on my mom’s. Johan cracked a smile, exposing a row of tombstones any undertaker would be proud of.

One thing we need to get straight, if we’re going to spend the next few weeks together, hell-shit, I can’t keep calling you Johan, now can I.?

Make it Johnny J!

*   *   *

Torrential rains greeted their first days on the trail. A mini stampede at the end of the first week cost them three days and two horses. Biting cold winds made them search their very souls and a dust storm hit two days before they reached Miles City. The two men fought all the elements that nature had to throw at them. Hard work, grit, determination and a fair amount of luck saw them succeed where others would have failed. It was all a matter of timing, a month later and they wouldn’t have made it. The drive was a hard task-master, forgiving nothing, and promising very little in return. Trail hardened and weary, they rode triumphantly into Miles City. Five hundred and eighteen miles in a little under six weeks, no mean feat for a poor half-breed and a young man of twenty three just back from the Korean War.

Wade made a quick sale, and showed a small profit. The string of horses he kept were mostly Mustangs, although there was a pair of Quarter horses and a mangy looking Morgan amongst them. The Morgan as it turned out, was good breeding stock and sired many of Wade’s future horses. Johnny J got to keep his paint horse and received a generous bonus.

In the Range Riders bar on Main Avenue, Wade prepared to say his goodbyes. He hadn’t been home for two years, and a lot of things had changed during that time. He’d received news of his parents’ accident a little over a month before he bought the horses in Cheyenne. The horse drive and his friendship with Johnny had helped take his mind off his grief. Now that he’d decided to go home, it started to sink in, that he’d never see his folks again. Worst of all would be the loneliness.

What’s with this goodbye shit! How’s some white boy gonna manage to drive twenty head of horses to Big Hole Pass before winter? Guess I better go along and hold your hand a while. Wade shook his head and grinned, and so began a friendship that would last a lifetime.

*   *   *

Wade worked hard, spending many long hours in the saddle during those first few years. He was ambitious, even single minded in his pursuit of his goal. During his spell in Korea he’d dreamed of turning his Pa’s spread into the best horse ranch in Western Montana. If his Pa was looking down he could be justly proud. Within six years Wade had over two hundred horses grazing on the lush grass lands of Big Hole Pass. It was a hard life, summer droughts, winter snows, yet this was the life Wade was born for, he was the Old West.

Johnny J stayed over that first winter, then drifted south, showing up again months later. A bond had begun to form between them, the drive had created a friendship of steel, yet Johnny J was a drifter, happy to work for months on end and then to disappear as the whim took him. No explanation was given nor one asked for, he was as mysterious as his Crow ancestors.

Wade was happier than he thought possible, considering the carnage he’d witnessed during the Korean War. All that was good and decent was in his valley, nestling beneath those towering peaks. To watch the sun glistening off the snow-capped mountains almost year round was his idea of heaven. In Wade’s eyes this was indeed God’s country.

*   *   *

It was billed as Montana’s biggest weekend. The small cowtown of Dillon was holding its 5th annual PRCA Rodeo. Wade was coming up to his twenty ninth birthday, still living the single life, working hard and playing even harder. He always competed at the district rodeos and had built himself a bit of a reputation with the local gals. Many a young girl had had her head turned by this tall rugged horse breeder. He was wild as all hell, and good looking to boot, though the bull he was drawn to ride that week-end might take a notion to change all that.

It was a hot and sultry Saturday night that Labor Day Weekend of `59. Wade and Johnny J left the Moose bar and headed across the railroad tracks to the Metlen Hotel. Wade had tomorrow’s bull on his mind, that and a few beers. By the time he’d walked the length of the Metlen’s long bar, all that was forgotten. His mouth involuntarily dropped open. She was sitting drinking beer at a table nearby. In his own words, she was a vision of loveliness. Her long silky dark hair flowed across her shoulders, contrasting and complementing the red satin shirt that adorned her upper body. Her jeans fitted her like she’d been poured into them. Her figure was of an angel’s that only the Devil could have designed. She had a cute turned up nose, and soft kissable lips but it was her eyes he noticed the most; deep brown, sparkling like diamonds in the reflective glow of the neon signs.

Wade felt as if Chavez his favourite stallion, had kicked him. His heart beat rapidly, he didn’t know whether he was in love or was it plain lust, and at that precise moment it didn’t matter a hoot. He knew the two girls she was sitting with, but he’d never seen her before. They smiled across but Wade didn’t seem to notice, he was too pre-occupied. His mouth felt drier than sun baked rawhide. He felt he was in danger of choking. Johnny as ever came to his rescue and handed him a beer. The cool liquid felt good as he swallowed. Still unable to take his eyes off her, he spoke quietly to Johnny J.

Order up another couple of beers, I think I’m in love.

Wade looked around the dance hall, and to his alarm he noticed other young cowpokes had started taking an interest. He knew he had to act quickly, before somebody else asked her to dance.

Two tequila shooters here bud, ordered Wade quickly. ‘Christ sake,’ he thought, ‘since when have I needed Dutch courage.’

Johnny looked on with incredulity as Wade systematically downed both tequilas. Oh shit Wade!

Wiping his sweating hands down the sides of his jeans the lovelorn cowboy took a deep breath and strolled over to her table.

Excuse me ma’am would you do me the honour of this dance? Wade hardly recognised the sound of his own voice. She looked up at him and smiled. His heart was pounding fit to burst.

I’d be honoured, she replied in a West Texas drawl that could melt the snow off the nearest mountain. Without another word Wade lead her gently onto the small dance floor. Holding her like she was made of glass, they sashayed around the floor.

My name’s Alexandra but call me Alex, what’s yours? She was amused at the effect she was having on him. She already knew his name. Rebecca had told her two minutes after he entered the bar, no way was she giving up her advantage.

One dance led to another and then another. He was afraid to let go. His worse fears were about to be realised. A young cowboy who Wade had seen eyeing her previously, plucked up the courage to ask for the next dance. If looks could kill the cowboy would be lying dead at his feet. Alex flirtatiously accepted, giving Wade a flash of her dark brown sparkling eyes as she laughed her way back to the dance floor. Wade’s heart sank; he thought he’d lost her. To his surprise she returned and grabbed his arm, five heart stopping minutes later.

Okay cowboy, how’s about buying this little lady a beer.

Wade couldn’t believe his luck. Finding an empty table and two chairs he called a waitress over and ordered a couple of beers.

How come I ain’t seen you in these parts before now?

That’s an easy one. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle in the Big Hole Valley, been there almost three months. The Pendleton spread. Do you know it?

Wade knew of old Bill, but had never met him in person. Pendleton owned a big spread, right in the heart of Big Hole. It was real prime cattle country, stretching all the way up into the pines beneath the Bitterroot mountains.

Yeah sure, who hasn’t, he replied.

Mesmerised by her accent and easy going personality, he listened while she told him she came from a small town much like Dillon. The only difference being, during summer months the heat became unbearable. The air was so stifling it hurt to breathe.

I really love it here. From my bedroom window I can see the Bitterroots. Every morning since I’ve been here I’ve ridden up through the timberline just to breathe the cool clean air.

With an enthusiasm that Wade found refreshing she told him how she looked down into the valley at the cattle grazing on the plentiful grass lands of the Big Hole.

Oh Wade, you don’t know how lucky you are, living here.

Maybe so, but it sure as hell aint fun being snowed in for weeks on end.

Guess I’ll miss the first of the snows, I’m heading back home end of next month.

Wade’s heart skipped a beat. Never in his entire life had a woman had such an effect on him. Moved by panic he asked her back onto the dance floor. He was just in time; the penultimate dance of the evening was a slow one. He held her close, closer than he dared. She didn’t pull back. His cheek buried into her cheek. Slowly he started to kiss her neck, gently at first, then sensing her response he kissed her on the lips. It was a slow sensuous lingering kiss that curled his toes. Breaking from the embrace they looked into each others eyes, and knew.

Wade and Alex quietly made their way through the crowd of revelling cowboys, then out the front door. Quickly they made tracks to a dark secluded parking lot. One solitary yellow light was the only source of illumination. Stealthily they moved into the shadows between an array of parked cars. He gently pressed her firm body against the side of a pick up truck. For the longest of moments they starred at each other in the darkness, then he kissed her. Softly at first, then as the fire in their hearts began to spread, the kisses became more passionate, their movement more urgent. His hands were over her like a man possessed. He nibbled at her neck, and she let out a stifled cry. Excitement coursed though her veins. Wade frantically worked on the buttons of her red satin shirt and found himself in cowboy heaven. He nuzzled at her breasts, kissing and caressing them until the nipples grew hard and erect. Her excitement grew as he switched his attention to her jeans. She stiffened momentarily as he tugged gently on the zipper.

No Wade. Her hand gripped his hand.

Oh Jesus Alex, he cried. His lips found hers and renewed the passion. Again he tugged at the zipper, this time there was no resistance. Alex sucked in her breath as his fingers explored between her legs. She wanted him, she wanted him more than anything in her entire life. He gasped involuntarily as she ran her hand over his inner thigh. She could feel his hardness, now fully exposed, pressing against her soft white flesh.

Wade have you a rubber, she panted.

Panic set in. ‘No darn rubbers, I always carry them,’ he thought. Its okay, he replied, I’ll be careful.

Sorry Wade. No rubber, no way.

It was enough to reduce any man, but not Wade Reynolds, his button had been pushed. Alex sensing her predicament began to struggle and resist. No Wade, I’ll get pregnant! In that briefest of moments Wade saw fear and panic reflected in her deep brown eyes. He wanted to pursue his advantage, yet her vulnerability caused him to pull back from the brink.

Later that night in the quiet solitary of her room Alex lay awake thinking. She’d come close, she’d taken risks, he could have forced her. A lesser man would have taken advantage. In her heart she knew Wade Reynolds was anything but….

*   *   *

Wade jumped for the safety of the arena fence and stared up into the bleachers. No one was clapping and hollering louder than Alex. It made him feel good and proud that she was in his corner. Coming third in the Bull riding couldn’t wipe the smile from his face; he was like a dog with two tails. He couldn’t get her off his mind; she was like no other girl he’d dated. Something told him she was a whole lot special, and when Alex told him he’d better start some old fashioned courting he tipped his hat in ready agreement.

Alex wanted to get to know the real Wade Reynolds, not just the Saturday night cowboy. Which was fine with Wade, he couldn’t think of anything nicer than learning about Alexandra Pendleton too. It wasn’t long before it became known that Wade Reynolds was off limits, much to the chagrin of many of Western Montana’s female population.

They had been going out about three weeks, when Wade brought up the subject of Alex leaving. Listen Alex I been thinkin, are you stringing me along until its time to head back to West Texas? He hesitated before continuing, Because if you are we’d better end it right now." It was a gamble he didn’t want to lose.

Listen here you big galoot, I’m waiting for the right moment. I might not go back, it depends. She had baited her hook. On the spur of the moment Wade made the most important decision of his life.

Alex, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Don’t ask any questions. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, bright and early, say around seven.

Alex looked puzzled, but responded, Make that eight.

On the drive home that night, the North Star seemed brighter than ever. Wade felt compelled to stop. Turning off the engine, he breathed in the cool night air and leaned back in his seat. In the comforting silence of the darkness he studied the night sky and thought about his decision. In a fit of youthful madness he shouted his secret to a cluster of stars high in the heavens.

Alex Pendleton, I love you!

*   *   *

Eight o’clock the following morning, Wade was at the front porch of the Pendleton Ranch. Alex was waiting for him. Call it female intuition; she just knew it would be a day to remember. An hour or so later they drove down into the valley at Big Hole Pass.

It ain’t big compared to some of the ranches in the area, but I make a decent living out of it, plus it’s all paid for.

He put his boot down gently on the brake as they approached the cabin. As the dust settled around the pickup, Wade walked Alex towards the corral fence. A jet black Morgan stallion came trotting over to greet them.

I’d like you to meet an old friend. Chavez say hello to Alex.

Alex knew horseflesh, and what she saw in front of her was as magnificent a specimen. as she’d ever seen. She patted his nose and stroked his mane whilst he nuzzled his head along her arm and shoulder.

See, he likes you.

He’s magnificent Wade, I love him.

He’s yours, replied Wade. Don’t leave this valley, I think I’m in love with you. he blurted out.clumsly.

Only think! She cried. You’d better damn mean it, you dumb ox" Turning towards him she looked into his eyes and hugged him tightly. Swiftly Wade reached under Alex’s legs and in one smooth motion picked her up and carried her towards the ranch house. Kicking open the front door he stepped quickly towards the bedroom. Frantically they tore at each other’s clothing, kissing and caressing as they moved ever closer to his bed. Alex couldn’t help noticing what a fine physical condition he was in, all sinewy muscle and wide shoulders. He was to her as magnificent a specimen as that horse outside. Wade looked