Jackie Merritt - Montana Fever

“Then say yes right now and we’ll avoid all that. You name the time and place.”

“Thanks for the leeway,” she drawled with some sarcasm.

He grinned. “You’re welcome. I’m a very fair fellow.”

“You know, for some reason I can’t quite bring myself to believe that. I think when you see something you want, you don’t stop until you get it.”

Laughing, he walked a small circle then leaned on the counter. “Guess you understand me.”

“Does my understanding present a problem for you?”

“Nope. You see, I understand you, too.”

“You only think you do,” Lola retorted.

He reached across the counter and flicked the collar of her blouse. “Name the time and place, Lola,” he said, his voice low and sensual.

She sucked in a quick breath. Two men were walking through the door. She couldn’t stand around and bandy words with Duke Sheridan any longer.

“I can see you’re not going to give up,” she said quietly. “Make it Friday night. A movie, not dinner. I’m living with Charlie, so you can pick me up at his place at eight.”

Duke straightened from the counter with a satisfied expression on his face. “I’ll be there. Now, ring up those sales, Lola, my sweet. I’ve got to get back to the ranch.”

The woman occupying room 116 in the redbrick Sundowner Motel checked the Rocky Ford telephone directory, located Fanon, Charles A. and wrote his address, as listed, on the small phone pad provided by the motel. Closing the directory, she set it aside, then stared at the pad. 805 Foxworth Street. Her heart thumped nervously, anxiously. She finally had his exact address. It didn’t seem possible, and now that she had gained so much ground, it also seemed a little too easy.

But she had come this far and couldn’t start digressing just because one step in her plan had been simple when she’d expected difficult. She realized, in all honesty, that she hadn’t really taken the first step yet. Up to now, everything had been a backdrop for what was to come.

Breathing deeply to calm herself, she got up for her purse, left the unit and walked to her car. Right now she would take a look at 805 Foxworth Street. Maybe she’d do more than that today, maybe not. It wasn’t that she was lacking in courage, but this was so vastly different from anything else she’d ever done in her life, with so many emotional ramifications—why wouldn’t it demand caution?

It surprised her, when she found the address, that it wasn’t just a house. Foxworth Street had obviously been rezoned from residential to commercial some time ago, because there was both ordinary homes and businesses on each side of the street. Number 805 was a huge old structure that appeared to be a business and a home. It bore a sign over the front porch: Charlie’s Place. Driving slowly past, she could see people through the windows. Frowning, she went to the end of the block, turned around and returned to park on the opposite side of the street so she could study the building.

There were other signs, which she thoughtfully read: Best cup of coffee in town. Pastries. Newspapers. Magazines. Her frown went deeper.

People were going in and coming out. Her stomach churned. She hadn’t anticipated a business at the address, and it felt like a setback to her goal. After about fifteen minutes of uneasily watching the activity at Charlie’s Place, she put the car in gear and drove away.

Charlie had dinner ready when Lola walked in at 6:30. “Something smells very good,” she remarked after a cheery hello.

“Homemade vegetable beef soup,” Charlie proudly announced.

“Wonderful. Let me get rid of my purse and wash up. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Just walking through Charlie’s big old house brought back memories for Lola. She passed the doors leading to Serena’s and Ron’s bedrooms, and fondly remembered when the three of them were youngsters and squabbling over the bathroom to wash up for supper. Serena and Ron were Charlie’s daughter and son, Lola’s cousins, but she loved them as though they were her sister and brother.

Now Ron was in the military, stationed in Germany, involved in something called Special Forces—which meant, to the family’s dismay, that whatever he was doing was too secret to talk about. He was married to a beautiful, petite woman named Candace, and they had a young son no one had seen except in snapshots and photographs. The last time Lola had seen Ron in person was at his wedding. He had been stationed in South Carolina at the time, and the whole family had traveled from their various locations to attend the wedding. It was also the last time she had seen Serena, Lola recalled with a sigh. Serena was completely immersed in the study of law at Georgetown University. Mesmerized by Washington, D.C., and politics, she also held a part-time job in a senator’s office. In one of her letters, she had humorously described herself as a gofer for a secretary to the senator’s main secretary. I’m all but invisible to anyone important, but how I love it, she had written.

Would either Ron or Serena ever return to Rocky Ford? Lola wondered while washing her hands. It would be so great if they could all get together. Charlie would be beside himself if his kids all came home at the same time, if only for a brief visit.

Well, at least she was here, Lola thought, running a brush through her hair. She had mentioned getting her own place when she came home, and Charlie had actually paled. “No, honey, no! I’m so glad you’re home, you have to stay here. Humor an old man, Lola.”

He wasn’t an old man, but he was a crafty one, Lola thought with a small laugh. As Duke Sheridan had said, everyone knew Charlie Fanon. What she could have added was that everyone liked Charlie Fanon. He was a character, no two ways about it, but thinning hair and slight paunch aside, his infectious smile and kindly nature made him a lovable character.

Anyway, she hadn’t looked for an apartment, and she loved living with Charlie again. Her old room was exactly as she had left it, which she planned to do something about one of these days, as high school decor didn’t do much for her anymore. But it was so special to know that her own little domain had always been here, even when she’d been on the other side of the globe.

Returning to the large country kitchen, she asked, “Anything I can do, Charlie?”

“Nope. Everything’s ready.” He placed steaming bowls of soup at her place and his.

They sat down, and Charlie said grace. Smiling at his niece then, he said, “Dive in, but be careful. It’s hot.”

Lola took a cautious taste. “Hmm, delicious. I knew it would be.” She broke off a chunk from the loaf of crusty French bread in a basket between her and Charlie. “So, how’d your day go?” she asked.

“Great, just great,” Charlie answered.

Lola smiled. Every day was great to Charlie. He found something good in everyone he met and something good in every day. Most of his customers were old-timers who came in for coffee, doughnuts and gossip. They bought their daily newspaper from Charlie, and their favorite magazines. His business certainly wasn’t a high-income venture, but he had started it—renovating the large front parlor of the house—after retiring from the telephone company, where he’d worked as a lineman ever since moving to Montana from California.

“How was your day?” he added after a moment.

“Business was very good, one of the best since I opened the store. Most of it was due to one customer. Charlie, do you know Duke Sheridan?”

Charlie nodded. “I know him. Why? Was he in the store today?”

“He sure was. Uh, Charlie, what do you know about him?”