Montana Darling(6)
“I’ll be back when I have the proper documentation. I suggest you talk to your brother. Find out why he sold the place without telling you.”
“He’d never do that.”
She shrugged. “I believed my husband when he said our marriage vows…including the part about sticking together in sickness and in health. Look where it got me.”
She turned and marched to her car. Inside, she was quaking. She couldn’t believe she’d shared something so personal with a complete stranger. A beautiful vagabond with a soulful way about him, but a stranger nonetheless. One who was living on her land. She climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine and made a wide circle, conscious of Ryker Bensen watching her. Her SUV’s large tires pressed down the yellowing autumn grasses, marking her territory in a very real way.
Mia Zabrinski had lost enough. This was one battle she planned to win.
*
Ryker paused at the base of the wide stone steps leading to the doors of the Marietta Library. The building had become a sort of sanctuary for him. He’d hated libraries as a kid—until the day he stumbled into the photography section. He’d eschewed the boring How-to titles, immersing himself, instead, in the prismatic colors of the nature photographers and the crisp angles and haunting images of the black and whites. As his interest for image grew, he began to read biographies of the greats, the path-breakers. Stieglitz. Man Ray. Adams. Arbus. Gradually he came to understand that his passion would take him places on a journey he’d never completely get right. There was no place for perfectionism in nature photography. There might, on occasion, be a “money shot,” but there would always be a thousand others you wished you could re-take.
Life offered no re-takes, either.
Something a perfectionist like Mia Zabrinski wouldn’t understand.
She’d been on his mind all morning.
He’d met women like her before. Nitpicky. Hypercritical. First when he’d briefly tried his hand at studio work and then later when he assisted a fashion photographer in New York, women like her had driven him mad. Obscure that blemish. Shorten my nose. Lighten the bags under my eyes. He’d heard so many complaints, at one point he asked a client, “Is there anything about your body you do like?
“My eyes,” she said. “They’re my best feature.”
He’d found them nondescript to say the least, but when he narrowed his focus, she responded like a coy flirt and the photos improved. She even gave him a bonus.
He blew out a tight, sharp sigh. Butting heads with a beautiful but prickly woman wasn’t how he’d seen his day unfolding. And now he couldn’t get her out of his head. He’d seen more than she probably wanted. The telling gauntness of someone who had been ill. A bone-deep sadness or disappointment most people probably mistook for anger. Yes, she was angry, but women like Mia Zabrinski wouldn’t allow themselves to display fear, so anger had to do.
He stepped to one side to allow a woman with three young children past. The family unit gave off a happy vibe that tugged on his heart. In all his weeks of travel and introspection, he hadn’t felt lonely. Until now.
He slowly followed them up the steps.
“Hello, young man,” the woman behind the checkout desk said in her librarian whisper. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of days. Have you been in the high country?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ve been to heaven and back. Want to see?”
Louise Jenkins, a kind, intelligent woman with a keen knowledge of all things Montana, motioned with both hands for him to bring his camera. He turned on the screen and pointed to arrow advance. “Caught a few keepers.”
She glanced up, smiling. “Exactly how my husband, Oscar, put it when he was fishing.”
Over the past few weeks she’d shared the story of her famous—some might say infamous—“fish whisperer” husband, OC Jenkins. Despite what certainly qualified as the man’s serious failings if the local gossips were to be believed, she’d stuck by his side for forty-odd years. Long enough to raise a beautiful daughter who was poised to marry the hardware store owner, Paul Zabrin… “Louise, does Paul Zabrinski have a sister named Mia?”
“Yes. A few years older. Her twin brother, Austen, was involved in politics in Helena but just moved back home to run his ranch.” She looked up, her lips pressing together tightly as if what she was about to say probably should be left unsaid. “According to Bailey, Austen is cowboy-hat-over-boot-heels in love with Serena James, his neighbor who raises alpacas. Nice girl.” She looked around before adding sotto voce, “Just goes to prove love can work miracles on even the biggest P.I.T.A around.”
“Pitta?”
A pretty touch of rose colored her cheeks. “Pain in the…um…arse.”
“Got it. I’ve been away from society too long.”
She reached across the desk to touch his arm. “Don’t say that. You’ve been following your passion. I see it in every photo. This is beauty, Ryker. Doing something you love to do is much better than Facebook, TV and all the other distractions we call normal life. Don’t apologize for taking a road less traveled.”
Her words sounded like something his father would have said. Ryker swallowed hard as emotion swelled in his chest. While he’d been actively mourning Colette, his father had slipped to the back of his mind. Ryker hadn’t thought of Dad in a long time…until Mia Zabrinski brought up the issue of land ownership.
“I need to use the library’s Internet,” he said. “Seems hiding my head in the sandy, less-traveled roadbed might have created a problem only my brother can help me sort out.”
“Your brother the firefighter?”
Ryker nodded.
“Since you mentioned him the other day, I started paying attention to the news about the fires in California. Bailey didn’t live too far from a couple of the worst spots. The whole state is suffering from a drought, so everything is super dry.”
“That means I probably won’t be able to reach him, but I’ll try leaving a message.”
She held up the camera. “May I finish looking at these before I give it back?”
He trusted her more than he would his own mother. “Sure. You know where to find me.”
He settled into the sturdy, metal and plastic chair at one of the computer stations. He quickly logged into the account he’d signed up for right after arriving in Marietta. Since he was from out-of-state, he’d had to pay an extra fee to get a library card, but Louise had assured him the money would be refunded when he left.
“Holy crap,” he muttered, his heart thudding unpleasantly in against his chest the moment he spotted his bank balance.
His bank account was nearly empty. A cursory review pointed to the fact his monthly stipends from his trust account hadn’t been deposited in three months. Since he’d been spending so little, he hadn’t bothered to check his balance, but all the normal, automatic withdrawals for health insurance, rent on the storage unit in Pittsburgh, and his retirement fund had continued—even without new money coming in.
“What the hell?”
He emailed his stepfather. “What’s up with my trust? No $ for 3 mos.?! What’s going on?”
He dug around the bottom of his backpack for the cheap, low-tech phone he’d bought for emergencies. The battery was dead, of course, so he plugged it in.
He didn’t waste his time calling his mother. Mom had abdicated any free will she might once have possessed while married to his father when she married Howard Margolis. In truth, Ryker had blocked the majority of his memories of his mother from his conscious mind. Occasionally, she’d wander through his dreams, especially when Ryker was thinking about Dad. But his mother’s defection—desertion—after Martin Bensen’s death, and her sudden, jolting defection to Camp Margolis, had caused a Grand Canyon-size rift between them. A void neither seemed inclined to acknowledge, much less heal.
He scrolled backwards through his email and found two old messages from his brother.
Headed to California. Sounds ugly. Will keep you posted.
The second was even shorter. Sucks 2 b me.
Flynn didn’t take shortcuts.
He’d just opened his phone to try Flynn’s number when an email came in from his stepfather. “Yes. Sorry about that. Ran into some problems. Better not use that acct for awhile.”
“What account would you have me use, asshat?” Ryker muttered under his breath. He looked around, hoping no kids were nearby.
He jotted off a furious reply, demanding a full accounting today. Like that’ll happen. His fingers shook as he closed his account and signed off the computer. The image of his overdrawn bank balance flashed neon red in his mind. How could I be broke? Broke. The word made no sense. The last time he looked, he’d been rich.
He grabbed his stuff, jumped to his feet and started toward the main entrance. Maybe fresh air would help him think. His Trust had been the one constant in his life—even when Mom failed him and Flynn took off to do his own thing, Ryker had been able to count on his safety net. Now, apparently, for some reason, it was gone.
“Ryker,” a voice called.
He swung around, searching until his eyes spotted Louise walking toward him, his camera in hand.