A Bandit Creek Miracle
Page 13
Stacy gritted her teeth at well worn clichés and lies. She liked the truth, even if painful. She preferred being open and honest, but hardly ever blunt. Her voice was always soft and clear, like she bathed it in honey and chamomile tea.
At first appearance, she looked trapped in the 70's; a hippy chick/new age wannabe. Upon closer inspection, the tailoring became apparent. Gauzy or gently flowing dresses and skirts and shirts, always nipped in at the waist and perfect molding around her bust. A curvy 50’s pinup in a tailored 70’s wardrobe. West was a young man during the era, and the clothes were ugly then, and tacky now. Not on Stacy. Somehow it worked on her.
"I’m reverting back to my sixteen year-old self. Pretty scary, West.”
“We talked about this…”
He was cut off. “My head is aware I'm not being logical. You know the backwashy taste in your mouth? Not quite nausea, but close?" West nodded. Stacy continued, "I know I should be over it. I know I feel this way because that’s the way I reacted the last time I was in this hellhole. Putting that knowledge into practice are two different things though.”
West looked over at his Stacy and wished he could have done this trip for her. “Well, fake it ’til you make it.”
Stacy punched him in the arm, and her lips curved upwards, slightly. She knew he was pissing her off on purpose. Poking at the obvious buttons. West was putting her in cliché purgatory as a diversionary tactic. She forced a smile again, “Love you, you old bastard.”
West clasped her hand and squeezed with a brief pulse before he downshifted and took the first exit into her past.
Welcome back.
They turned into the Super 8 and Stacy silently let out her breath. This hotel hadn’t been here when she left, and she relaxed. They weren’t staying at The Golden Nugget, where everyone gossiped about your meal choice at dinner, who you ate with, and how many times you went to the bathroom.
They had only decided a week ago the trip had to be done as soon as possible. She’d never wanted to return or expected to.
She became a runaway at sixteen and for most this meant taking residence up on the streets. She had been lucky, she had somewhere to go. The new beginning turned out to be the best thing for Stace. She found somewhere she could be herself. Not be labeled a freak.
She had been trying to be inconspicuous and hadn’t paid attention when West checked in. As they were walking into the hotel room she asked, “Are we in two rooms or one?”
“Adjoining, sweet.” West made a Vanna White like move to illustrate the door. Much campier than his normal behavior. He was doing everything to lighten the situation. Stacy’s heart melted at that thought. He put his valise on the bed and stated, “If we manage to get what we want in a day or two, Tim won’t join us. If we take longer, then…”
Stacy nodded. Tim and West couldn’t bear to be apart for long. Tim, especially, suffered in West’s absence. “How about I go next door while you give him a call? A full five bars on my phone means the coverage isn’t bad here.”
West shook his head. “I’ve texted him. I'll ring him later; he's busy with the club tonight since we're away.”
That meant West was saving the conversation so the talk would turn into a long, lusty and private call. One with orders and maybe a little cock and ball torture in store for Tim. Stacy smiled, and added a bit of self pity to the ton of emotions all ready roiling inside of her. Wistful and hoping she would one day be rewarded with the type of relationship Tim and West had. They’d been together for over 10 years. A Master and submissive, who co-owned the club which Stacy managed the bar staff at.
They were the 'gag and vomit' type of happy 99% of the time. At other times they were committed and working out whatever they needed to. Stacy had benefited from their domestic bliss and was pleased for them. Except when she was navel gazing and self-pitying, anyway.
“After, we’ll demolish a bottle of wine and wait for Sarge. Then we can get a plan of attack.”
Stacy nodded, breathing in deeply. She centered herself, took her time and became calmer, trying to let go of the anxiety. Emulated her ‘Mistress’ mind-set by putting a steel rod into her spine, and bringing her shoulders back. Reasserted her identity. Stacy was Mistress S. Not forgetting who she used to be, but welcoming who she became.
West crinkled his warm hazel eyes, knowingly gazing at her. His look conveyed he believed in her. Confidence and confrontation happened to be a couple of her strengths, now. She hoped the surprise attack they planned to launch on "the bitch" would give them what they needed for Stacy to move on.
Sarge was a key component of the plan.
Stacy, with her balance intact, nodded and gave West the first genuine smile he’d seen from her since they’d decided on the trip to Bandit Creek. “I can’t wait 'til Sarge gets here. It’s been months. I wish he’d just move down to California with us and forget about the Powder Horn Saloon. I’m sure he would get a good price. He needs to sell and retire. Or something.”
West didn’t comment. Didn’t have to. Sarge would do what and when he decided, no sooner. All three of them had at one time tried to convince their favorite ex-army blowhard to move down. Sarge became intractable when questioned, and refused to tell them why he preferred to stay in Bandit Creek.
That continued to be a mystery, but to be tackled another day. There would be enough to deal with soon, without worrying over Sarge’s secrets.
Once they both settled, Stacy re-entered West’s room through the adjoining door and cracked open the bottle of wine.
They talked about nothing, avoiding the subject until Sarge came. They thankfully didn't need to wait long.
Sarge walked in with his usual air. Even without the name Sarge you saw he was or had been in some sort of military organization. His posture perfect, his walk had a silent cadence to it. Plus he had a no-bullshit demeanor almost 24/7.
Sarge went over the game plan. Starting tomorrow around 1 p.m. (aka 1300 hours) right before the Powder Horn opened. It happened to be payday and that guaranteed that Mary would be there.
Stacy asked, "She still drinking most of her paycheck?”
"Nothin' much has changed, 'cept she's getting older. Still looks pretty hot considerin' how much she's abused her body. More cougar-like now. Goin' after the younger 'uns."
Not surprising. "She have a regular guy in her life right now? And do we have to worry about him?"
Stacy referred to Mary's talent for playing the damsel in distress. A certain type of man liked 'rescuing' women. That was her mother's favorite flavor of man. Mary had a way of making the most ludicrous story plausible.
Which meant if Mary went into the Powder Horn to pick up her pay, and she had a knight-in-a-shiny-cowboy-hat in tow; the situation would easily become unmanageable. Mr. Cowboy Knight usually believed whatever Mary said.
Violence would ensue. The knight always fought for the maiden. Until he wised up, anyway.
The last thing Stacy, West or Sarge wanted was for the ‘reunion’ to devolve into a physical fight. Mary’s avoidance and getaway would be the only result. Stacy’s birth certificate was the goal. Mary’s drama had to be managed.
Sarge answered, "She just broke up with a guy. He got sick of her shit. They sometimes still hook-up. Billy shouldn't be there. And if he is, he won’t be any trouble."
The evening Stacy had left Bandit Creek, the decision and execution had been implemented with military precision and quickness. Life had never been fun, but on May 22nd, 2004 her whole life had changed. A red letter day. The day she lost her best friend. At the time, besides Sarge, he'd been her only friend.
So she ran away only with the items contained in her backpack. Along with the money Sarge gave her. Her birth certificate was not an item she carried. Or ever had seen. She assumed she had one. Who didn't?
Turned out, she didn't.
So "the bitch" aka her mother Mary was covering something up. If not, why was her birth record missing? Problem was, Mary hated being cornered. If the
male du jour position wasn't filled, she would revert to her alternate weapons; manipulation, lies, guilt, evasion and even cruelty.
Stacy had the ability to handle those. She'd had sixteen years of practice. In the intervening time, her natural dominance and self-assurance had been nurtured. She knew her hourglass shaped skin and wore it comfortably. But thought of confronting dear old Mom made her tired. The clock showed ten p.m., and she'd only had one glass of wine. Exhaustion filled her bones with an achy-ness which mimicked the sensation of 'flu.
Stacy stood and walked over to the two of them. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to go to bed."
She kissed and hugged each of them and whispered "Love you" into West’s ear and "Thank you" into Sarge's.
After Stacy left, Sarge made eye contact with West and shook his head, “This could be a clusterfuck, Westcott. Mary an’ the truth don't reside in the same zip code."
West sighed, “I’m worried for Stacy's mental well-being. This is going to be difficult for her, but she needs a resolution to this. I hope Mary cooperates for Stacy’s peace of mind.”
"An' if you caint get the answers Stacy needs?"
West shrugged and replied, "Tim and I discussed this extensively. We will obtain a ghosted identity if this doesn’t work. We've got a lot of connections, it's a matter of paying the right money to the wrong people. Whatever happens, she'll get the privileges 'legal' papers can give her. I just hope that stupid cow gives her the emotional freedom.”
West remembered back to those first few months after Stacy had come to live with them. She didn’t even own enough belongings to fill an overnight case.
After a time, Tim started the process of ordering a copy of Stacy’s birth certificate. They found out no records of Stacy Jones born in Montana on or near her birth date existed.
Further investigation from a private detective revealed the same with a wider search. This weekend was about finding out the truth. No matter what. Either way West and Tim would take their own. Stacy was their family.
They had found ways around the situation. They had managed to get her into a high school with a bit of finagling. Work-wise, she worked under the table for them. But both he and Tim wanted their Stacy to have the freedom to do anything she chose to do. West and Tim both considered her their daughter.
Sarge stood. “Mary shouldn' have never had a kid. She's not a terrible person. She did some truly horrible things to Stacy. I hav ta get to work, make sure Mary shows up on time and Cotton don’t intimidate the customers.” He stretched and went to walk to the door. Stopped half way and turned back. Looked like he was turning something around in that stubborn head of his.
West raised an eyebrow at him.
Nodding as if he made a decision, Sarge walked forward, sat on the opposite bed and sighed, “There’s 'nother potential problem. Brendan's in town. Surer than farts from a cow he'll find out our Stace is in town.”
West expelled an annoyed breath and said sadly, "This is going to be even harder for our girl. My poor, poor little Domme. As if she doesn’t have enough to deal with."
About the Author
Brenda Sinclair is a writer of historical American West and contemporary romance, a member of her local chapter of Romance Writers of America, a healthy lifestyle advocate and past leader of her TOPS weight-loss group, a gardening enthusiast and dog lover. She is young at heart, regardless of what her driver’s license says.
Brenda was raised on a farm in southern Manitoba and taught school on a semi-remote reservation in northern Manitoba where, during frequent visits to a nearby town, she met her husband, a Treaty Cree member of the local First Nations band. She worked in the accounting field for over twenty-five years. A few years ago, she retired and traded in numbers for words when she decided to be a writer when she grew up. The latter part of the previous sentence is still up for debate.
Brenda and her husband have been married for forty years, and during that time they managed to raise two sons who are totally normal, productive members of society. She is extremely proud of her three wonderful, fun-loving grandchildren.
She is currently putting the final touches on a contemporary novella project, the “Escape to Alaska Trilogy’ and completing book three of a historical American West trilogy. During writing breaks, Brenda enjoys walking the beautiful Fish Creek Park trails near her home in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with her little dog, Kelly, checking out what Jack Abbott is up to on today’s installment of The Young and The Restless, or snuggling with Kelly on the sofa and enjoying a good book.
Brenda believes life is good, and for days that life isn’t so good, just get over it. There’s always tomorrow.
Thank you for reading my Bandit Creek Book, and visit http://www.banditcreekbooks.com to learn about more upcoming Bandit Creek releases.
Watch for Book One of my Escape to Alaska Trilogy, NOT WHAT IT SEEMS, being released June 1, 2012.
You can find Brenda at:
Website: http://www.brendasinclairauthor.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/brendasinclairauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/bsinclairauthor
Email: mailto:brendasinclairauthor@gmail.com
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE