“Sure, he is.”
“And so handsome,” she continued.“Not beautiful, the way you are.But very masculine.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not masculine enough?”
He still wasn’t annoyed.He knew how attractive he was, and that Andy didn’t compare.Only Beau Jones could get under his skin.
“When do you suppose Beau and Belle will return from their honeymoon?”she asked, because that was guaranteed to get a reaction.
His right eye twitched.“How should I know?”
Her heart wasn’t in this.She liked Jayce, despite his moroseness and determination to cling to his honor.If only he could be more like Andy—just a wee little bit—they could have fun together.
But he would never be able to lie to Adeel.And she would have a difficult time lying to Mavis.
More screams from the cemetery rang through the night.
She stood and brushed wisps of hay from her skirt and the light jacket she wore.
“If you really don’t mind holding Callen, I think I’ll go check out those ghost stories,” she said.“They sound very exciting.”
Chapter Eleven
Jayce
“This is suchbullshit,” someone said.“Still oppressed by the great father, still expected to do all the grunt work, and still expected to cede our traditional hunting grounds to the white man.”
Tradesmen by day, David McAllister and a group of his Salish-Kootenai friends from a nearby reservation were providing the expertise for the bank’s renovations.During client adventures they moonlighted as marauding natives, and during one memorable raid, they’d burned a barn to the ground.Benny followed up by requesting no more flaming arrows for all future invasions, to the town’s relief and secret disappointment.
Jayce was on his knees, spreading mortar for the new marble flooring, carefully following Dave’s instructions, while trying to ignore the complaints flying around him.Blaming everything on the white man seemed harsh.Dave was the one who insisted his friends couldn’t hunt while the researcher roamed the area.Hunting with rifles might attract unwanted attention, and they weren’t as good with bows and arrows as their ancestors were, meaning no one knew who or what they might hit.Besides, their current discontent centered more around the traditional costumes Benny insisted they wear while they were working onsite.They complained that nineteenth century breechclouts without professional twenty-first century knee pads made installing the floor hard on their knees.
The renovation itself was shaping up nicely.
Wild West banks were designed to project an image of wealth and instill confidence in investors in an era that gave birth to Ponzi schemes and bank notes were often worth less than the paper on which they were printed.Since Burning Scrub needed to impress a client who was spending a million dollars on a one-week adventure, they were going all out.
The bank’s exterior was plain, with a false wooden front that opened onto the boardwalk.The inside was different.Small but luxurious, with a teak countertop and gold railings instead of the more traditional brass, Dave’s friends were in the process of laying white marble floors and installing a wagon wheel crystal chandelier with a wrought iron base.
The casino on the reservation had agreed to print the notes for the safe Adam said was on order.
“We get paid,” Dave reminded his hard-done-by companions.“We can go hunting this winter, after the bears hibernate and the researcher returns to his university.Besides, you don’t hear me whining, and I’ve got more to complain about than you guys.I’m the one dressed up as Sitting Bull and wearing this stupid eagle feather headdress.”
Sitting Bull was a Hunkpapa Sioux spiritual leader who Benny greatly admired.Dave admired him too, but cultural appropriation was a sore subject, and Dave’s buddies were already on the brink of rebellion.
“It’s too cold to hunt up here in the winter,” another man grumbled.“No one likes wading through hip-deep snow.Even the horses hate it.”
Jayce’s dad walked in, his hands balled into fists, and a thundercloud on his face.
Just what the day needed.
“Hey, Dad,” Jayce said, glancing up from his task.“I wasn’t expecting to see you back here so soon.”
“Your mother has been serving afternoon tea to conservationists on the patio every day.It was either go for a ride in the mountains, or I start taking potshots at ferrets.”
His dad was a born rancher, and he didn’t always understand the academic world his mom came from.Jayce had spent enough vacations with his maternal grandparents to appreciate their desire to protect Montana’s indigenous species.
“No need to take it out on the ferrets,” Jayce said.
“No need to take what out on the ferrets?”Mavis asked.She entered carrying a jug of freshly pressed serviceberry juice and several tin cups.She looked tired.
