Matt gave a little grunt before saying, “Yes ma’am. Hard to believe you never visited when Mr. Bartok was alive.”

“It wasn’t something my mother was keen on.” Matt—no last name offered—had worked for her father for years as caretaker, mechanic and driver. “I know that may sound odd. Does it help explain a few things if I point out that when I was born my given last name was my mother’s, not my father’s?”

“Sounds like she’s a strong woman then.”

“If anyone could get that river down there to run backward, it would be her. Continental Divide be damned.” She gazed up at the sprawling house. The only real property she had inherited was this place and its contents, including the vehicles. She had been thinking “rustic” but the word simply didn’t apply.

They came to a halt in a large garage where a second car, an Outback, was housed on the far right. In between the spot where the Range Rover evidently belonged on the far left were stacks of bottled water and bagged wood pellets.

“This is just the handy emergency storage, ma’am. There’s more in the shed.”

“The shed—is that the building I saw behind the house that could sleep six?”

Matt cracked a smile. “We do things large here in Montana, ma’am.”

As Matt showed her the six bedrooms, kitchen and large study where her father had spent his days cataloging local flora, Linda was aware of the new shine of her boots squeaking on the hardwood compared to the worn softness of Matt’s as he moved quietly and quickly from room to room.

“I really didn’t know him,” Linda said as she looked over the stack of bound volumes where he’d fastened dried leaves and blossoms then labeled them with their Latin and common names. “But because of him I tried to learn about the same things. Limited success.”

“Well, he was good people. He has a few scrapbooks about you in here. Was real proud of you being so beautiful.”

Not wanting Matt to see how that idea hurt rather than pleased, Linda made herself smile. It stung, the thought that her father had only known her from photographs. Nobody ever expected how backward “normal” had been in her life. “I wish my mother hadn’t been keeping us apart. I’m glad to be here now. You’ve kept the place so well.”

“Thank you. You’re provisioned for two months of fuel at maximum consumption and as you saw a lot of drinking water should the well pumps fail. Solar panels will keep the backup batteries full, though. We get sun most every day.” Linda followed him back to the garage where he pointed out skis, boots and snowshoes neatly arranged in cupboards, fuse boxes and reset switches plainly labeled, then helped her carry up her suitcases and most of the boxes until Linda insisted she could carry the rest herself and waved him home to his “missus” and his supper.

The picture window at the north end of the great room framed the still white-capped Gallatin Mountains. Stark white gave way to deep greens in patches and the peaks stood bare in shadowy blues as the day waned. The sun would be lost behind Lone Mountain in a few more minutes. She’d seen beauty like this before but never with a choice of six comfortable bedrooms and a fully-stocked kitchen and pantry at hand. In some ways she missed the tents and bedrolls.