Page 19 of Montana Justice

I told myself I was just making sure Piper didn’t cause any more trouble. That this was about protecting the town, not protecting her. But as I watched her approach the front desk, something twisted in my chest at how small she looked, how carefully she moved.

Mrs. Aldridge looked up from her paperwork with a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon, dear. How can I help you?”

“I’d like a room for the night, please.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Aldridge’s gaze dropped to the baby carrier, and her expression warmed further. “What a little sweetheart. They’re just precious at that age.” Mrs. Aldridge pulled out the registration book. “I’ll need to see some ID, and we’ll need a credit card or cash deposit.”

Piper fumbled with the wallet, her movements clumsy with exhaustion. When she handed over her driver’s license, I saw Mrs. Aldridge’s expression change, her welcoming smile fading as she read the name.

“Piper…Matthews?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Aldridge’s face went stone-cold. She set the license down on the counter like it had burned her fingers. “Matthews. As in Ray Matthews?”

Piper’s shoulders tensed, but she nodded. “He’s my father.”

“Your father.” Mrs. Aldridge’s voice was flat, controlled, but I could hear the anger simmering underneath. “Your father who convinced my Gary to invest our retirement savings in some bogus land deal nine years ago. Who took forty thousand dollars from us that we never saw again.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and venomous. Piper stood perfectly still, her face almost ghostly white.

“Gary worked thirty-five years at the railroad,” Mrs. Aldridge continued, her voice growing harder with each word. “Thirty-five years of twelve-hour shifts and overtime and missing Christmas mornings because the trains don’t stop for holidays. We were supposed to retire to Arizona, buy a little place with a garden where Gary could grow tomatoes.”

“Ma’am, I?—”

“Instead, Gary worked until the day he had his heart attack. Died at sixty-eight years old in the railroad yard because we couldn’t afford for him to retire. Because your father stole our future and left us with nothing.”

The baby began to fuss, picking up on the tension radiating from Piper’s body. She swayed automatically, trying to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to be working this time.

“I have money,” she said quietly. “I can pay for the room.”

“I don’t want your money.” Mrs. Aldridge slid the driver’s license back across the counter. “I don’t want anything to do with Ray Matthews or his family. Find somewhere else to stay.”

“Please. I have a baby with me. I just need one night.”

“Should have thought about that before you came back to a town your family destroyed.”

The words hit Piper like physical blows. She stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, the baby’s cries growing louder. Then she picked up her license with trembling fingers and turned away from the desk.

She walked past me without even glancing in my direction, her face a mask of humiliation and defeat. The automatic doors slid open, and she stepped out into the cold afternoon air.

I followed her back to her car, anger rising in my chest. Not at Mrs. Aldridge—I understood her pain, her need for justice that would never come. But at Piper, for putting herself in this situation. For coming back here and expecting anything different.

“Well,” I said as she fumbled with her car keys, the baby still crying in the carrier. “What did you expect?”

She didn’t respond, just opened the back door of the Honda and began the careful process of transferring the baby from the carrier to a car seat that had seen better days. Her hands were steady despite everything, practiced in the motions of caring for an infant.

“Choices have consequences, Piper. Your family made their choices nine years ago, and you made another one when you ran out last year.”

She still didn’t say anything, just buckled the baby into the car seat and closed the door. When she turned to face me, her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her voice was steady.

“You don’t have to worry about seeing me again.”

Something about the quiet finality in her tone made me irrationally angry. “Good. Because if I did see you again, I might remember that the statute of limitations hasn’t run out on theft. I might decide to press charges for what you stole from me a year ago.”

She flinched like I’d struck her. “I’m sorry about that. I know it doesn’t make it right, but I am sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t give me back my three hundred dollars. And it sure as hell doesn’t give me back my favorite coat.” I gestured to the jacket she was wearing. “That coat has sentimental value. It was my grandfather’s.”

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