On cooler evenings, Marion liked to take her bike out and ride into town. She cycled down dirt roads past dried up grassland and little streams, and pictured how cool the water must feel in the nearby canyons and creeks. The air was crisp and smokey after a small season of wildfires, and when she stretched out her arms, she swore the wind rushed to meet her halfway.
Sheâd been in Montana for some months now, maybe two or three, but she already knew she would always love summer most of all. She didnât like the isolation much, but compared to the little towns of Indiana, it felt like emancipation. She could become invisible in an instant in the treeline, and cause a stir the next day with just a miniskirt. It was power unlike anything sheâs ever known. Here, her freckled, tanned-up shoulders sent men into a frenzy. Her hair had lightened up in the sun over the course of the summer in a way that lit up all the boys in town like matches. They whistled out of their dusty old trucks at her and it was music to her ears.
By the time she reached the main street, the sky had turned milky soft, and the storefronts gave off a warm yellow glow in the light of the setting sun. She made her way down the line of shops, leaving behind her the smell of coffee and spice. She rode past the convenience store once, and then again, and peered through the glass. Pat owed her a good night out, but his absence didnât phase her. His brother was practically a stranger, and she could tell by the looks he gave her every time she trickled into the store that he wasnât too keen on her. But Jack was a rough-and-tumble man with sturdy arms and big hands, and she will always choose those over the roughnecks and truckers that their little town had to offer. With a twinkle in her eye, Marion was quick to abandon her bike, shaking out her hair as she sauntered over to the store.
Marion knew the moment she set foot inside that getting a nice conversation out of the man would be like pulling teeth. All right, then. She wrinkled her pretty nose at the music and swiftly made her way to the wine, without as much as a look at him. âNice seeing you, too. Is that how you normally greet your patrons?â she said. âPatronâ was sugarcoating it: she lost count of all the times sheâd made Pat fork over some smokes and six-packs. Something told her Jack wouldnât find it so funny, though.
Her fingers slipped over the labels as if she wasnât going to go for the cheapest bottle in a minuteâs time. âNo. But your brotherâs promised me a ride over to Missoula, so here I am.â Marion turned back around with a slow smile, and within a few steps had hopped onto the counter (Patrick never seemed to mind much as long as she wore a skirt). Her eyes lingered on Jack for a beat.
The store smelled of cigarette smoke and sawdust, and she was grateful for the breeze rubbing up against the thin cotton of her top. Swinging one leg up and leaning back, she watched her surroundings before settling her gaze back on him. She looked him up and down before nodding to the space at the back of the shop. âYou got any Lucky Strikes left in that back room of yours?â
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