A Treasure Concealed Read Free Page B

He needed something to wash down all the dust he’d eaten on the stage ride from Great Falls. Not given to hard drink, Caeden had little desire to head to one of the saloons. Maybe the mercantile would have a soda fountain. It was at least worth a look.
    He dusted off his traveling clothes as best he could, then madehis way to the store. The place wasn’t nearly as well supplied as he’d hoped. He looked around, disappointed to realize there was no sign of anything to quench his thirst.
    â€œHowdy, stranger,” a clerk said to him from behind a counter. “What can I do for you?”
    Caeden fixed the man with a look. “Just came in off the stage and hoped you might have some soda water.”
    The man shook his head. “Ain’t got any. You can get powdered lemonade made to drink at the hotel restaurant down the way. Sometimes they got root beer. ’Course, there’s beer and whiskey to be had at the saloons.”
    Caeden nodded and was turning to leave when an older man approached him. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll get you fixed up with a drink. Name’s Henry Carver.”
    The bearded older man smiled and waited for Caeden to say something. He seemed friendly, but Caeden hadn’t really come to Montana to make friends. “I, uh, don’t drink.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Carver asked. “Sounded to me like you were thirsty.”
    â€œI am, but I don’t drink alcohol.”
    The old man began to chuckle. “Me neither. Never did develop a taste for it. No, I was suggestin’ you join me for a bite down at the hotel. I was headed that way, and frankly, I’d enjoy the company.”
    Caeden was surprised by the old man’s openness. It had been his experience that a great many Montana men were more inclined to keep their own company, which generally suited him just fine. However, he was hungry and even more so needed something to drink—even water at this point.
    â€œI suppose I might as well,” Caeden finally answered.
    â€œGood,” Mr. Carver declared. He looked back over his shoulder. “Sam, I’ll be back to load up that stuff after I get a bite to eat.”
    â€œSure thing, Henry. I’ll have it ready.”
    The older man left the store without another word. Caeden glanced after him and finally followed. Henry Carver seemed to have little doubt he would and kept walking toward the northern end of town.
    Caeden had no trouble catching up and keeping stride with the older gentleman. He let the awkward silence stand between them until they reached the door, where Carver bounded in like he owned the place and motioned Caeden to a table and chairs by the back wall.
    â€œBring us two, Sarah,” Carver called out to no one in particular.
    Caeden looked around at the numerous people gathered there to eat, but he saw no one who fit the name Sarah. The place was full of older men and cowboys, not a single woman that he could see.
    â€œIt’s cooler back here,” the old man explained, pulling out a chair. “That big old window up front makes it feel like an oven when the sun comes bearin’ down. Back here’s much better.”
    Caeden did likewise, still not entirely sure why he’d joined Carver.
    â€œSo what brings you to Utica, young man?” Carver pulled off his kerchief and wiped his face.
    â€œName’s Thibault. Caeden Thibault.”
    â€œTee-bow. Now what kind of name is that?” He resecured the kerchief.
    â€œFrench, I believe. At least that’s what my mother used to tell me.” Caeden put his hat upside down on the chair beside him just as an older woman came to the table with two large mugs of dark liquid.
    â€œThanks for the root beer, Sarah,” Carver declared, takingthe mugs from her hands. He handed one to Caeden. “Best in the West.”
    Caeden didn’t bother to answer. Instead he put the glass to his mouth and drank