Chapter 5: Montana

After seeing Yellowstone National Park, I knew that I wanted to come back in warmer weather. A few of the side roads through the park that looked interesting were closed to traffic. I headed for Livingston, Montana for an overnight stop before getting on Interstate 90 and heading west to Coeur d’Alene where I had an ex-Army friend. The day had started sunny, and according to the forecast, clouds would roll into the region before a small front swooped through with a chance of light snow flurries at the higher elevations.

Two things affected my route to Livingston. First, Bart Kenesis was still following me according to the tracking device I had put on his car. Leaving Vernal, Utah, I’d gone out of my way to leave him well behind me, yet to my surprise, he’d tracked me down again and showed up outside the private home the morning I planned to leave from Jackson Hole.

The second thing that affected my route to Livingston was the light snow flurries. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about a light snowfall, probably the first to dust the area that season; however, I rode a motorcycle, and two-wheeled vehicles do not do well on snow – not well at all. At first, there were only a few flakes, so few that I didn’t even slow down. Their numbers multiplied until there were millions of them and probably billions of them blowing around and across the road. A few had started to stick to the surface and the facemask of my helmet. I slowed down, careful not to use my brakes and not to make any sudden movements in steering or shifting. I thought about turning back; however, I’d gone more than forty miles or so from the last town. I thought if I could make Livingston, even at my slow speed, I could wait out the storm in the comfort of a motel room.

The more the snow came down; the more it coated the two-lane asphalt road. The heavier the coat of snow on the road, the slower I went. I’d ridden thousands of miles in the past few months and knew the bike and how it handled as though we were Siamese twins. I could feel the subtle slippage of the front and back tires on the slippery surface as I rode, even as my speed dropped below ten miles per hour. I started to worry about getting run into, but since I’d gotten on the road, I hadn’t seen another vehicle. The tracking signals from the black car that followed me still didn’t show on my monitor, so I thought that Bart Kenesis might have abandoned tailing me when he saw the snow knowing I’d be forced to a crawl. Maybe he’d already gone ahead to Livingston to await my arrival.

Eventually, I had to drop my speed to little more than a walk. At that speed, if the bike had slid out from under me, neither the bike nor I would be hurt significantly. The bike and I crept along the road at maybe two or three miles per hour. I figured at this rate; I’d make Livingston sometime in the following year.

A rare car passed me, and then another. I tried to ride in their tracks, but the tire tracks were as slippery as the other parts of the road surface. I weighed in my mind, just pulling off to the side of the road, pitching my tent and camping out until the following day. The weather would have changed, and maybe the snow would have cleared from the roads as it does at high altitudes on sunny days. The flaw in that plan was that I’d be in the open to my stalker – the man I believed had shot at me. I kept going, inching along the highway on the right side of the travel lane.

A heavy-duty dually truck pulling a long horse trailer passed me. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road to look at it closely, but they had a clear passage and left me a good set of tire tracks to follow for a mile.

At the end of the mile, I slowly came upon the truck and horse trailer pulled off the side of the road with flashers blinking. A figure in western boots and hat, jeans, and a Logan coat with the collar up, leaned against the back of the horse trailer as I approached. A gloved hand came up and indicated I should stop behind the trailer; I did.

“Are you nuts?” a feminine voice yelled from inside the jacket’s tall collar as her head came up. There was a touch of humor in her tone.

I’d stopped and turned off the idling engine, glad for a rest from the tension of keeping the motorcycle balanced on a slippery road. I lifted my facemask and shrugged. “Got caught in this stuff that the weatherman had said would be ‘light flurries.’ I had started to think about stopping, but wasn’t sure where I’d find a safe place.”

I took my helmet off, and she sized me up, and then asked a little more politely, “You want a dry place overnight. I’ve got a stable with a bunkhouse you could use just down the road. This storm will probably be gone by tomorrow. By the way, up here ‘light flurries’ might mean as much as a foot or more of snow.”

I nodded enthusiastically, “Oh, yes; that’s a really welcome offer. Thank you.” I thought how this unexpected stop would further confuse the man following me.

“Well, drive that thing into the trailer.” With those words, she lowered the tailgate of the horse trailer. Inside were two empty horse stalls, except for some hay on the floor. I started my engine and with some difficulty gaining traction, rode up the ramp into the trailer. I stopped and secured the bike with some ropes hanging in the trailer. The van smelled like the horses that it usually carried. I expected that my luggage would smell a bit horsey for a few days.

My female rescuer followed me into the van; “My name’s Jesse.

I said, “I’m Jim. Should I ride back here or come up in the truck?”

She curtly said, “Truck.” She waited while I secured the bike, and then closed the large ramp door after I’d come out of the trailer. I followed her to the dually, walked around the front, and hoisted myself up into the passenger seat. I found it unusual to be so high off the ground. Jesse explained where we were and talked about the weather for about two miles, and then turned right through two huge gates that opened automatically when she pressed a garage door opener attached to her visor. There were two signs that caught my eye: ‘Emerson Horse Ranch’ and ‘No Trespassing. Violators May Be Shot.’ I felt a little safer and more distant from Bart Kenesis as the electric gates closed behind us.

A quarter-mile up the one lane road we came to a complex of buildings. A large horse barn or stable along with a couple of other sheds stood about a hundred feet from a sprawling ranch house. Also between the buildings were several other pickup trucks, a car, a camper, a tractor, another horse trailer, and some other farm equipment. A corral formed a part of the yard; two large mares with alert ears watched our arrival amid the swirls of snow as we drove up and parked.

Before she got out of the truck, Jesse said, “We’ll just leave your bike inside the trailer until tomorrow, if that’s all right with you. We can figure out what to do with it ... and you ... then – unless we get more snow.” She laughed at her dark humor.

I again expressed my gratitude for my rescue and promised not to be a bother. I asked her to aim me at a corner of the stable or the bunkhouse she’d mentioned, or someplace where I wouldn’t be a bother; I promised I’d just slip out of sight until it was safe to leave. Jesse laughed again and said, “Oh, no. Now that I’ve caught you, I get to keep you. Come on inside, I’ll introduce you to the others.” She took my hand and pulled me to the house. Others?

We went in a side door that opened into a mudroom and a large country kitchen. Two other women stood preparing dinner, and clearly Jesse and the two were sisters. Jesse shed her coat, and now I could draw the same conclusion about each of the three: pretty, lean, endowed, and later I’d find out, smart. At Jesse’s suggestion, I worked at getting out of my leather riding clothes, until I finally got down to my jeans and a t-shirt from the Dave Matthews Band. I stood barefoot.

“Jim, these are my sisters Jean and Josie. As you might guess, my parents were on a kick with the letter ‘J.’ My mother’s name is Jillian. My dad’s name was James, like yours, but he died three years ago; he was much older than mom.”

I greeted the sisters, and almost immediately their mother, when she flowed into the kitchen carrying a laptop computer and sheaf of notes. Each greeted me warmly. The mother was a slightly more solid version of her trim daughters, and I could see the sharp intelligence in her sparking eyes.

The daughters deferred to their mother as she politely grilled me about my background, why I’d been traveling the road in such terrible weather, why my mode of transportation was a motorcycle – particularly this time of year, and whether I had a job somewhere? I could see her evaluating the ‘motorcycle thug’ her daughter had picked up on the way home.

I leveled with her as the others listened in rapt attention. I gave the abbreviated version of my recent history. I mentioned that I worked in the music industry because I seemed to have some skills in that area. I think each of them saw me as someone who might work behind the scenes in that area or that I might fill in on weekday nights at third-rate honky-tonk bars; I didn’t reveal my celebrity status. I told of my friend in Idaho who I intended to see.

The sisters were sympathetic that I’d lost my wife; Jean asked a couple of polite questions that elicited the details of her passing. Josie, the youngest, verified that I’d already ridden through forty-one states since I started in New England around early May. She had me talk about some of my experiences, and I kept my answers to a travelogue.

I turned the tables on the women and asked about their ranch. Jillian answered in an increasingly friendly tone, talking about how the ranch had been in the family for seventy years. Currently, Jesse, the oldest at around thirty-two, ran the ranch that focused predominantly on breeding, grooming, and training quarter horses.

Jean, the middle sister, had a two-year old MBA from Wharton, and said she used her skills to manage the family’s investment portfolio and various trust funds. Josie, the youngest at nineteen, had worked as a ranger over the summer season in Yellowstone, and had been thinking of college and a more lucrative profession – maybe even something such as I’d done with computers and web development.

Jillian, whom I surmised was in her mid fifties, pointed to her laptop computer: “I’m an author. I write romance novels under the nom de plum of Jessica Walters. So far, I’ve written twenty, and my publisher says he wants more, more, more.” She laughed and pointed out that there was yet another ‘J’ in the family.

Without asking Jean had poured me a California Merlot. She thrust the glass into my hands with a twinkle in her eye. As she turned to go back to the counter, she let her fingers trace down my arm in a flirtatious manner. She also gave me a lingering gaze. I’d just been flirted with.

I got an invitation to dinner, and accepted provided I could get some things from my motorcycle so I could properly clean up and look presentable for such lovely company. All the women beamed that I’d honor them that way. I slipped my boots on and ran out to the trailer, went in a side door, and grabbed my travel guitar and one of my saddlebags. Once back in the house, I was shown a bathroom where I shaved and put on a better shirt.

Dusk came early, and as I looked out the window, it seemed as though the snowstorm had intensified. Since I ran into the storm, at least six inches of snow had fallen. I wondered if I’d get out of here on my bike before spring. Josie came up and took my arm. “Don’t worry. This is the first storm of the year. It’ll stop in the night and start melting pretty quickly once the sun comes out. It might take a day for the snow to clear off the roads, but they’ll dry off for you soon.” She’d read my mind.

I turned and smiled at her. Her face was so close to mine, and she looked so pretty. I wanted to kiss her; however, I resisted the urge though I felt she wanted me to. The two of us hung in that pre-kiss position for ten seconds staring into each other’s eyes. The others were right behind us in the kitchen putting dinner on the table.

We ate accompanied by lively conversation. After dinner, Jesse persuaded me to use my travel guitar and play some songs for them. I sat beside their fireplace and tuned the guitar. In a low voice, I sang the song I wrote ’The Wolf On Lone Wolf Mountain.’ I segued out of that into my solo version of ’Texas Dawn.’ As I ended, I looked up at the women; they were spellbound, and slowly they all started to applaud.

Once their modest clapping had stopped, Jean said, “You’re him, aren’t you? You’re not just Jim, you’re Jim Mellon – the singer.”

I nodded.

Jillian looked puzzled; a sign I took to mean she wasn’t as tuned into contemporary country music as her daughters.

I explained in a low-key tone, “Yes, I’m Jim Mellon, but please don’t do anything special because of it.”

Visibly impressed, Josie asked, “Why are you here ... on our little back road ... in Montana ... of all places?”

Jillian interrupted, “Will somebody tell me please who this young man is?”

Jesse told her mother, “Jim Mellon is the hottest male country music singer in the business today, right up there with the best of ‘em. Right now, he happens to have the top two country music singles for a male artist, and he just sang both of them for us.”

Jillian’s mouth fell open; she looked at me and asked, “Is this true?”

I nodded again, but had started blushing over the awe and excitement the women exhibited. I could see that Jillian had finally given up her ‘motorcycle thug’ theory.

Jesse went on, “He got discovered about three or four months ago by Crystal Lee, the top country diva, and skyrocketed to fame. I’ve read dozens of stories about you ... and Crystal. I’m a big fan, and I thought I’d recognize you if I ever saw you in person ... and, well, you looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure why.”

Jean asked, “How did you rise to stardom so fast?”

I responded, “Crystal helped, and so did some folks at Sony Music that took a shine to me and promoted my albums, even accelerated them to market. All that, and being on the cover and in a feature article of People magazine didn’t hurt either.” I paused and added, “This has all taken me by surprise. I never expected this to happen to a computer nerd, such as I was until this.”

Jean said to her mother, “He’s really good, and so is Crystal. I’ve downloaded all their music. Everyone loves the pair, and they’re in all the magazines and gossip columns. I thought I would have recognized you too, but I didn’t.”

I nodded an acknowledgement of what she said and added, “I’ve had a member of the paparazzi chasing me across the country. He’s become a stalker instead of just a casual member of the press looking for a story or a photograph. I took your secondary road because I thought it might throw him off my trail; he seems to always know ... where ... I’ve stopped.” Up to that point, I’d decided not to mention getting shot at.

A light bulb went on in my head as I said those words: ‘He seems to always know where I’ve stopped.’ Just ‘how’ did Bart Kenesis know where I was staying. How had he found me in Wyoming when I was inside the lodge along with my motorcycle? I frowned suddenly.

Josie said, “What’s wrong?”

“I just realized that through many states he’s been behind me, he has always known where I was. I think he’s tracking me somehow.” I stood. “Can I borrow a flashlight; I’ve got to take a close look at my motorcycle. I have a bad feeling.”

Everyone started to talk at once. Questions about my singing mixed with ideas about how the paparazzo might have figured out where I was. Jesse put on her coat and came out to the trailer with me. She lowered the tailgate, and helped me back the bike out of the trailer and push it into the horse stable where there was more light. She didn’t want me to start the engine lest I spook the horses with the noise.

She turned on the stable lights, and found me an automotive trouble light. I took all my travel gear off the bike and piled it in front of one of the empty horse stalls. I started to go over the bike, inch by inch. I found it. Unlike the self-contained transponder unit that I’d put on Bart Kenesis’ car, a transmitter of some sort had been placed on my bike behind the engine and between some of the exhaust pipes where I was unlikely to see it. A hair thin wire taped to the frame attached to the box as an antenna. He’d wired the unit to the bike’s electrical system. Having battery power from the bike, also meant that the device could be more powerful and provide more information about my location over longer distances.

I pointed to the small plastic device and showed Jesse. “Shit. I’m being tracked. This is how this thug has managed to find me at every turn.”

Leaning over my shoulder, Jesse asked, “What are you going to do, cut it out of there?”

I pondered that idea, but had a further thought. “No. Before I do that, I think I’m going to consult an expert. I have a friend that’s a private investigator; let me see what she thinks.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

I phoned Mils Cartwright. After our introductory pleasantries, I explained my call and the tracking device.

Mils said, “Take your phone and take a picture of it and send it to me. Also, read me any markings or words on the unit. Don’t touch it just yet.”

I sent her a quick photo. There were no markings on the black plastic.

Mils had me describe how it had been secured. I could hear her turning pages in some catalog as she looked up the tracking device. A minute later she started telling me about the device. She explained that the transponder might have a trigger to alert the tracker if it lost power, so she suggested that when I removed the device, I keep it powered with batteries. Her idea was to strap the batteries to it and attach it to some other vehicle heading in a direction opposite to my path. I liked the way she thought.

After a few more moments of chat, we ended our call. I explained to Jesse what I needed and why. She produced two new six-volt lantern cells that we duct taped together and attached some long wires. I broke into the circuit from the device to the motorcycle’s battery, and carefully bridged the lantern cells so that they powered the device in parallel. Only then did I cut the attachment to the motorcycle and carefully lift the small transmitter and its thin antenna from its hiding place. We set the device on a workbench in the stable.

“Now what?” Jesse asked staring at the small black box.

“I need to find someone heading any direction but to Coeur d’Alene to carry this thing with them. Sometime after I’m far enough away they could just pull the power to the transmitter or toss the thing.”

Jesse thought and suggested we ask the others back at the house.

We walked back to the house leaving the small transmitter working away on the workbench.

Jillian had the best answer of any the group came up with. She would phone a friend who was a mechanic in Livingston who made regular runs further north in Montana to some of the farms to service their equipment. I’d drop off the device to him and explain what needed to happen when he was miles away. Meanwhile, I’d head to Coeur d’Alene. Josie suggested that her friend drop the device at one of the farms to fake that I’d taken up temporary residence there, just as I had done with them. I liked that idea.

Shortly before ten o’clock that night, Jesse and Jean took a couple of horses and went for a ride around the perimeter of the ranch to see whether my nemesis had made a showing. I’d checked once on my monitor; however, there was no sign of Kenesis’ car. When they got back, they announced that someone had stopped along the road by the electric gates to the driveway. They also saw footprints in the snow around where the car had stopped. I guessed that there was little I could do that evening, and so I shelved my worry about Kenesis until daylight returned and the snow left the roads.

One by one Jillian, Jean, and Josie abandoned the living room for their beds. I’d been assigned the living room sofa and provided with pillow, towels, and blankets. A small guest room with no bed served as my dressing area. As the last of the three left, Jesse dimmed the lights and gave me a coy smile over her shoulder.

Jesse came and sat next to me on the sofa watching the tongues of flame in the fireplace dance in the darkness of the room. I loved roaring fires; they always made me feel romantic. Kissing Jesse seemed to be a natural thing to do, and apparently, she thought so too. Jesse moaned, and I felt her melt in my arms. We kissed again, and Jesse started to unbutton her western shirt, pulling the pearl snaps apart one at a time. I started to say something like ‘Are you sure... ‘ but Jesse put one finger on my lips to quiet my words. I kissed her finger and then her lips.

Jesse whispered to me, “You are the nicest person I’ve met in ages. Every one of us is touched by you ... every one of us wants to be touched by you.” After a pause to kiss, she added, “We hope you will ... share yourself with each of us. We want to extend to you our feelings of attraction and hope you feel attracted to us.”

I nodded although I was having trouble digesting that in the short time, I’d been with them that the three sisters found me attractive and likeable enough to want to sleep with me.

Jesse bared her breasts to me in the dim light of the fire – full, round, firm globes taut with desire and excitement. I made love to each breast with my tongue and hands. After a few minutes, Jesse stood and slowly allowed her shirt to drop from her torso. Watching my eyes in the reflection of the fire, she kicked off her shoes, and slowly unbuckled her western belt, unzipped her jeans, and pushed the denim off her hips. She shimmied her legs and hips, and the jeans fell away, leaving only a delicate white thong.

With a demure smile, she turned her back to me and bent over at the waist, pushing the thong to her ankles. Even in the shadows I could see the puffy lips of her sex and the glistening moisture of her excitement. This was an invitation.

She turned back to me and said, “I’ve been excited about you, since I met you on the road and you took your motorcycle helmet off.” She came close to me, so close I could smell her arousal. “You are a hunk ... a gorgeous man, and I felt desire for you before I knew who you were.” She started to unbutton my shirt, adding, “Now, get these clothes off and make love to me.”

I stripped down in seconds, but I didn’t immediately honor her request. The sweet aroma of her sex made me lust to taste her feminine juices. We’d stood, naked, and kissed, fully enjoying the sensation of nude body against nude body, breasts against chest, and groin against pubes. I turned Jesse, and helped her sit so that her hips hung over the edge of the sofa. I knelt in front of her on a couch cushion, and then with tongue extended sank my face into her sweetness. After ten minutes of my assault, Jesse came with a little shriek that I thought might alert the others.

When I glanced up at the small balcony that led to the ranch’s bedrooms, Josie and Jean were both standing there nude, the contours of their bodies barely visible in the dim light from the fire but visible enough that I could see their hands massaging each other’s clits. I felt sure they saw my glance in their direction. I turned my attention back to Jesse; I assumed she knew her sisters were watching since she needed to only open her eyes to see their lithe bodies above her.

Jesse leaned forward and embraced my hard shaft, pumping it with one hand as she brought her mouth into play. She sucked on me as she masturbated my dick, occasionally taking most of me into her mouth and throat. I watched as the tendrils of saliva dangled from her lips at times when she elected to pull away from me in some erotic visual display. Eventually, she looked up at me and said, “Now, fuck me.”

I did. I pushed her back, rubbed my cock around her slit, teasing at the entrance to her vagina, and then I took a long, slow, solid plunge into her depths. Jesse threw her head back as she took a sudden deep breath as I penetrated her, and then let the air out slowly. She whispered, “Oh, this is so much better than the fantasies I’ve been having since we met.”

Knowing that Jean and Josie were watching, I put on a bit of a show for them, knowing that my actions would be foreplay for the eventual unions I presumed I’d have with them. Jesse and I changed positions several times, and remarkable woman that she was, Jesse had at least one orgasm in each position. I felt she was primed for our meeting like this.

After about thirty minutes, I sped up my thrusts into Jesse until my body must have been a blur in the firelight. Jesse had her largest and most pleasurable orgasm in a huge explosion of fireworks, pulling me into her for a lustful kiss.

She said, “Oh, thank you. You are my hero – my superman. I have to stop or I’ll be so sore tomorrow I can’t do this again – and I want an ‘again’ and more after that.” Jesse looked beside her, and Jean stood there in the dancing light of the fire. I held out my hand to her as I pulled my rod from her sister. Jesse rose, and the women kissed in a most un-sisterly way, their tongues dancing together for a minute as they toyed with each other’s nipples. Jesse kissed me again, whispered goodnight, and then disappeared upstairs into the darkness.

After Jesse had left to go upstairs, Jean said, “You saw us watching you, didn’t you – Josie and me?”

I said, “Yes. You were both beautiful up there: so sexy and erotic in the shadows. I performed for you with Jesse; I made sure you could see a lot of what we did. Did you cum?”

Jean shook her head, “No, we were just exciting ourselves. We do that sometimes, often to each other.”

Jean came into my arms, and we kissed. I savored the different taste of her kisses, and the differences in style. She had long hair that she allowed to flow down onto my chest as she pushed me back on the sofa. As her mouth neared my cock, she wrapped my shaft in the tresses of her hair and then slowly stroked my shaft through the hair. Eventually, she brought her mouth into play. After a long oral suck on my shaft, she rose and looked me in the eye, “I love the taste of pussy juice on a man’s cock, particularly my sister’s. Josie will get a treat later when she finds my juices here too.”

With that, Jean straddled my body and lowered her pussy onto my shaft. Whereas Jesse had a hefty crop of pubic hair, Jean was smooth shaven. Even in the dim light, I could see the details of her slit and the nub of her clitoris peeking out of its female haven seeking stimulation. I zeroed in on her nubbin with my thumb, delivering a peak experience to my partner.

Jean’s large breasts flopped up and down in my face as she rapidly rose and fell on my cock. Occasionally, I would catch one nipple in midair with my mouth, and she’d stop so I could suck hard on her tit. The first time I did that, she started to talk dirty to me, sometimes asking me questions; my answers surprised and sexually excited her.

“Have you ever had sex with so many women in one night? I bet fucking sisters is something unique for you. We love your cock – your big long beautiful cock.”

I brought my hands up and pinched her nipples; “Yes, I’ve been in a few group situations, and I’ve loved every one of them. I love to bring my partners to orgasm, sometimes when I’m fucking one, another is sitting on my face. I’ve even done that and been fingering two others trying to bring them to orgasm too, and I’ve even been with sisters.”

Jean looked surprised, yet continued, “Well, I’d like to be in one of your orgies. Maybe tomorrow if the weather doesn’t clear, we’ll all take you on at once and you can do those things to us. Meanwhile, did you like my hair wrapped around your cock. I read about that in some torrid novel; you’re the first person I’ve tried it on. Maybe sometime you could cum in my hair, and it’d be like the best hair conditioner ever. You could cum on my sister’s cunt hair too, and we could groom her to look beautiful down there.” She giggled.

Jean popped off a climax about that time, her mouth forming a perfect letter ‘O’; I think she’d excited herself into it. I helped sustain it with cock and fingers. About then, I thought I’d give some dirty talk back to Jean. As she leaned over me, her breast swaying above my face, I started, “Imagine you’re doing just this, getting fucked by me as you lean over me so that I can suck on your breasts. But you have another lover, and he’s come home, and caught you fucking. Instead of being mad, he undresses and brings his hard shaft up behind you.”

About that time, I reached behind Jean, and gently pushed my middle digit into her ass. She moaned wildly, and I continued; “Your lover shoves his big dick up your pretty little ass. You’ve been DPed by two people that care about you, and right now they want you to have a big orgasm.”

Jean climaxed – big time! I could feel her vaginal muscles clench my cock as her anus surged against my finger. She wept in those seconds. Tears of pleasure rolled down her cheeks, and she had this look of heavenly ecstasy on her face. I continued to pump my cock into her as I stroked in and out of her ass with my finger; these actions seemed to prolong things for her.