He hoped she was right. He could find no resort or any hotels in the area she would have stayed in. And the deeper he drove into the valley the more he dreaded night travel through the mountains.Many questions hammered him over and over. Already he was losing his nerve on the marriage issue. In fact if he were honest it was the silent treatment she put on him that had him ditching a gig and driving through Montana to find her. She was his. Not a day since he’d met her was he ever denied access to her love and forgiveness. It was going on two weeks since they last spoke. Carlton took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel. The next turn off the highway drew him closer to Mission Creek, home of the Blackfoot Confederation of Native Tribes. So the sign read. His gaze dropped to the digital display on his dash. It was a quarter past three. He’d gas up and find this rental office. Wheeling into the small station he threw the car in park and looked around. A young man in a grease-stained shirt with faded jeans walked out.
