Love, Montana:
Love, Montana is a story of romance, commitment and eternal love. Set against the backdrop of the majestic scenery of Montana, this novel tells the story of western fiction novelist, Montana Joe and the love of his life, Rose. From their first tempestuous meeting, you will be drawn into this smart and funny story and will find yourself rooting for these two lovers as they realize that they are each other’s destiny.
The sequel to the popular western romance Love, Montana. In this installment, author Deb Martin-Webster reacquaints the reader with the characters who weaved the story of Rose and Joe, an epic love that could not be diminished even by death. She also introduces us to new characters who come into Rose’s world and turn it upside down. Twists and turns abound in this tale about the famous Montana Joe and his high-spirited family.
Chapter 1
"Excuse me Ma'am, I don't mean to interrupt your bitch session; however,
you do realize your hair is on fire?"
Joe’s been dead for
two years, and he still makes me laugh.
He was so relaxed in front of an audience. Unlike me, who would panic at the thought of
giving a five-minute PowerPoint presentation, Joe loved entertaining his fans
for not only was he a renowned author and accomplished writer but a prolific
storyteller as well. The video was from
a charity event he attended in Princeton, New Jersey. Some affluent donors weren’t very happy about
the lack of seating. Joe was famous for
drawing large crowds. He noticed a well-dressed, older woman sitting by the
exit door complaining about the seating arrangement. Joe, being the gentleman that he was, excused
himself and headed toward the back of the room.
She was so engrossed in her own bitching that she failed to notice that
he was standing directly behind her.
Inadvertently, she leaned into the table’s candle centerpiece and set
the front of her hair on fire. Without
blinking an eye, Joe gallantly grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table and
doused the flames. Needless to say she
was humiliated, but ever so thankful for his quick action.
Joe flashed his
infamous shit-eating grin and said, “You’re welcome, Darlin’. Now, how about
you come up front and sit with me. And by the way, that’ll cost you another
thousand dollar donation for my heroic firefighting service.”
The audience gave
him a roaring round of applause. He
informed the guests that his tip jar was in the back and that it was
pathetically empty – nothing her thousand dollar donation couldn’t fix. Joe knew how to work a crowd and please his
fans. He was good at what he did, and he
knew it.
I turned my computer
off and continued to tidy his office. Funny, I still called it his office. Has
it really been two years since his death
– seems like yesterday. I thought if
I left the room the way it was, it would in some way comfort me. Regrettably, it did just the opposite. It
irritated me beyond belief. I’m a
neat-freak, and he was an incurable pack rat.
Receipts from gas stations, fast food restaurants, numerous coffee shops
and illegible crib notes on discarded manuscripts littered his desk.
There was still the
matter of scattering his ashes. I
couldn’t bring myself to do it, but I knew it was time to honor my husband’s
last wish which was to scatter his remains at the place where he proposed. In my mind, I knew I needed to let go and
move on, but in my heart his untimely death still hurt like hell. I’ve heard people use the term heartbroken or
heartache. I’d never experienced either
– until Joe died. It was an endless,
helpless, hopeless pain. I needed to
let go. I needed to move on. No matter how painful the task, Joe’s ashes
had to be spread.
When the time was
right, Raymond said he would accompany me to the spot Joe designated. He was
very patient and understanding when it came to my grieving.
“Joe was a
procrastinator in life so why would he change in death—always needing to be in
control,” Raymond would joke. “He still annoys me from the grave—arrogant son
of a mangy coyote!”
I knew it was
Raymond’s way of expressing his grief and how he too missed Joe. To be honest, in some strange way, it made me
feel better. I missed being referee to
their incessant bickering. They had a lot
in common. Their inimitable friendship
was cherished more than they were willing to admit.
Charlotte was now in her terrible-twos and quite skilled at navigating herself around the
house. She was becoming quite a
beautiful little girl. I know all
parents think that their children are beautiful and talented, but Charlotte was
truly a beautiful child. I called her our little golden girl because of her
glowing olive complexion and curly, sandy brown locks. She had my focus and temper and Lash’s (Joe
as his fans knew him) curiosity and smile.
She toddled into the
office and climbed onto his rawhide leather chair. I remembered him gloating when he finished
assembling it. He wasn’t patient when it
came to following directions or handling tools.
He called it his one-and-only successful IKEA achievement. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that if
I’d given Charlotte an Allen wrench she could have put it together.
Lord, I miss him. I miss those final edit nights when I’d come
in with coffee and sit in his lap. It
saddened me to think I’d never see him sitting at that desk again. I picked up Charlotte and gave her a big hug.
I turned away to
keep her from seeing my tears. She
placed her small hands on my cheeks.
“Happy . . .
h-a-p-p-y Mama,” she whispered.
Her attempt to
console me brought a smile to my face. I
kissed her tiny palms.
“This one’s from me
and this one’s from Daddy.”
Charlotte
instinctively knew when I needed her happy reminder. She was wise beyond her years. Raymond called her “Nadie”. Blackfoot and
loosely translated, it meant the wisdom of an old soul.
Keough cracked the
office door and peeked inside.
“You gals okay? Both of ya’ need to get some rest. It’s long past your bedtimes.”
Charlotte climbed
off my lap and ran over to Keough and latched onto his leg. He picked her up and swung her onto his
shoulders.
“It’s time for this
little cowgirl to hit the hay. Come on let’s get you into your bunk. Lou and I will tell you a story about the
time I tried to lasso and ride an ornery wild mustang. Would you like
that?”
She bounced up and
down on his shoulders squealing, “Pap-Pap, horsey!”
“Don’t worry,
Rose. It’s a very short story. It took me three seconds to lose that
man-versus-beast battle.”
I chuckled at
Keough’s honesty and said goodnight.
“Okay, Baby Girl –a
quick story then bedtime. That goes for
you too Mama.” He paused for a moment
and whispered, “And don’t think I haven't notice you sneaking into this office
in the middle of the night. It ain’t
healthy for you to deprive yourself of sleep.
And it ain’t good for this baby to see you so dang sad all the
time. Now, don’t make me tie you up and
drag your ass to bed.”
“I promise I’ll go
to bed. Just a few more minutes,
okay? Thank you Keough.”
“You’re welcome, Darlin’ and goodnight.”
I was leaving the
office when I noticed something on the side of the door jam. Funny, I’d never noticed it before. There were two perfectly shaped hearts carved
into the trim with the initials MJ loves R.
I rubbed my finger over them. When did he do this? What
other little treasures has he left behind for me to discover. I went back to his desk, picked up some paper
and a pencil and rubbed it over the carving and then tucked it into my shirt
pocket. We miss you too, Joe.
Meet Author Deb Martin Webster
Biography
Originally from Pennsylvania, Deb and her husband Pete moved to Western North Carolina and live on a small farm in the Blue Ridge Mountains
She enjoys the simplicity of their country lifestyle and takes pleasure in the daily antics of their horse Colonel, half dozen rowdy barn cats and a large but friendly black snake they’ve affectionately named, Licorice.
After retiring from a successful career in Art Administration, Deb has taken on a new career as a novelist and humor writer. In October of 2012, her novel Love, Montana was selected and published by HumorOutcasts Press. The sequel,Always, Montana is published by Shorehouse books. Her other books include, A Hot Dog Stand in the Himalayas a daily diary for their granddaughter Sammie that develops into a collection of heartwarming fictionalized short stories and The Adventures of Annie Banana Bread and Larry Cranberry a tale that teaches the acceptance of children with disabilities and diverse health conditions.
Deb is one of the original writers forming the successful online humor magazine, Humoroutcasts.com. 
