Free Montana by Debbie Macomber Page A

a face she would have remembered, too. Appealing, boyish, blue-eyed. His blond hair was tousled as if he’d forgotten to comb it. He stood well over six feet.
    â€œI’m Russell Letson,” he said, stepping toward her, his hand extended. No wedding ring, she automatically noticed. His eyes darted away from her and she realized he was actually rather shy. This was something she didn’t expect from the rough, tough cowboy types she generally associated with Montana.
    They exchanged handshakes as Molly mulled over where she’d heard the name before.
    â€œI’m your grandfather’s attorney,” he added.
    Gramps’s letter. That was why the name was familiar. Her grandfather had mentioned him when he’d told her about having his will updated.
    â€œWould you have time for a cup of coffee?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got an hour before my next appointment and there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.” He seemed slightly ill at ease about this.
    Molly wondered what he could possibly have to say to her; she couldn’t help being curious and, to her surprise, tempted. Russell Letson was one of the best-looking men she’d seen in a while, and what amazed her was that he didn’t seem to know it.
    Russell added, “It won’t take long.”
    Just when Molly was about to agree, Sam walked into the bank, and she experienced a twinge of disappointment. “I’m afraid I can’t today.”
    â€œDinner then?” he suggested. “Tomorrow night, if that’s agreeable?”
    â€œI…” Too stunned to respond, Molly stood in the middle of the bank with her mouth hanging half-open while she struggled for an answer. A date. She couldn’t remember the last time a man—an attractive single man—had asked her to dinner.
    â€œI don’t know if Walter’s told you, but there’s a decent steak house in Sweetgrass now. We could talk there.”
    â€œSure,” she said, before she could find a convenient excuse. “That’d be great.”
    He set a time for dinner and promised to pick her up at the ranch, although it was well out of his way. Handsome and a gentleman, besides. She could grow to like Russell Letson, Molly decided. He was a pleasant contrast to the surly foreman who’d driven her into town.
    â€œI’ll see you tomorrow evening, then,” Russell said, giving her a small salute before walking out of the bank.
    It had happened so fast Molly’s head was spinning. She walked over to Sam, who leaned against the lobby wall, waiting for her.
    â€œWhat was that about?” he asked with a scowl.
    After the silent treatment he’d given her all the way into town, she wasn’t inclined to answer him. “Nothing much.”
    â€œYou’re letting Letson take you to dinner.”
    If he already knew, why had he asked her? “As a matter of fact, I am,” she returned, and enjoyed the rush of satisfaction she felt at letting him know she had a date.

Four
    I t felt good sitting on the porch, rocking and whittling, Walt Wheaton mused. Molly’s boys sat on the top step, sanding a couple of carvings he’d fashioned from canary wood. The yellowish wood was one of his favorites. He hadn’t worked on his carvings for at least six months. Molly and the boys had renewed his energy. Gladdened his heart. He might not always remember what day of the week it was anymore, but that didn’t matter. Not now, with Molly and the boys here where they belonged.
    It wouldn’t take much to imagine it was his own Adam sitting on that step, forty or so years back, with a school friend. Or to imagine his Molly in the kitchen getting dinner ready to put on the table.
    Walt’s fingers skillfully moved the sharp knife over the wood, removing a sliver at a time, cutting away everything that wasn’t the bear. He’d chosen oak for this piece, and