Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  “You talked to a lawyer, right?”

  “Yes. She seems great, but I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. Still weighing my options.” Sam needed to open the doors on the Queen before committing to any other financial obligations.

  “Shit.” Karen squeezed her hand. “Well, first things first. You have some money. We can identify the critical stuff, decide what we can do, and then find someone to help with the rest. Alan is a good guy. I’m sure he’d help on the weekends.”

  “No. Definitely not.” She shook her head firmly.

  “Why?”

  “He asked me out. I don’t even know if I like him. I can’t have him thinking that I owe him something. I won’t trade sex for labor.”

  “Okay, but I don’t think he’s like that.”

  “Have you ever slept with him?”

  “No. I slept with his sister.”

  Sam laughed despite herself. She was willing to have dinner with Alan, but that was not a promise of anything more. She didn’t want to confuse the situation even further by accepting his help.

  “I see your point, Sam. But we could ask him.”

  “I can’t date him if he does any work on the Queen.”

  “But you were willing to date him before when you planned for him to do extensive work there.” Karen looked confused.

  “That was different. I would have paid him. A lot. The boundaries of the relationship would have been clear.”

  “I still think he’d be willing.”

  “I’m not going to give in on this.”

  “Okay. No Alan. Got it. But we can still prioritize your list and set up some additional help, right?”

  “Help from where? I obviously cannot afford to hire a contractor.” Sam refilled her cup.

  “We’ll put a notice on the bulletin board in the town square. You never know. Someone might be looking for some temporary work.”

  “Like a day laborer?”

  “Exactly. I’ve heard there’s someone new in town. She’s done some work for Ava at Bitter Ink, and for George Randolf, out at his farm. From what people are saying, they’re both pleased with the quality of her work.”

  Sam pushed the heels of her hands into her forehead, something to counter the pressure of all these decisions.

  “Tell me more about this bulletin board.”

  ∞

  Olly picked up a red basket at the front of the store. She limited her purchases to whatever she could fit inside it. That kept her from buying more than she could afford and ensured she didn’t dally while Rampart was outside waiting.

  “Hey, you’re back.” The girl who’d helped Olly last time greeted her. She was far too cheerful for this time of day.

  Olly nodded politely and said, “Hey.”

  “You’re getting fruit, right? Grab some nectarines. They’re fresh in this morning and so good. You’ll love them. Promise.”

  “Thanks.” Olly grabbed a few as instructed. She also found some fresh green beans and asparagus, so she added those to the basket as well. George insisted that she eat dinner with him. “There’s plenty here,” he’d said with a gruff dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t argue with me.”

  And so, Olly had smiled and sat down at the table to enjoy a steak with George. His breakfast selections were pitiful, so she picked up some steel cut oats, a carton of eggs, and a bag of frozen mixed fruit. She preferred it fresh, but this worked well for smoothies and George had a blender sitting on his counter. It looked to be as old as he was, but she considered that to be a bonus in appliances. Odds were it not only worked, but was powerful enough to puree a pine tree. A package of ham steaks and a gallon of chocolate milk, and Olly was ready. She headed to the checkout counter.

  “Olly, right?” The cashier said as she unloaded the items from the basket and scanned them. “How’d the job at Bitter Ink go?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Small town. Everybody knows everything. Just like how you’ve stayed at George’s place the past couple of nights. He’s been in a couple of times. Can’t stop singing your praises.”

  Knowing George, that probably meant he’d said she was all right one time. By his standards, that was high praise, but it wasn’t exactly a hymn to her greatness.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Okay, you got me there. He almost smiled when he said your name. That’s basically the same thing, right?”

  Olly laughed. “For sure.”

  The girl finished scanning the items and looked at Olly expectantly. She hadn’t hit the total button yet, so Olly had no idea how much she owed.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You forgot my name, didn’t you?” The girl smirked.

  “I did.” She probably should have apologized, but couldn’t be bothered. She’d met a lot of people since she’d arrived. The cashier at the local grocery store wasn’t her priority when it came to memorizing names.

  “That’s okay. I’m Rachel.” She stuck out her hand.

  Olly shook it. “Rachel. Got it.”

  “Good.” Rachel pressed the total button, and Olly paid.

  As she was bagging up her groceries, someone entered, making the bell above the door tinkle pleasantly. Olly turned to look out of reflex. It was the kid from the motel, the one whose mom threatened to douse her with pepper spray. Beth.

  “Hey. I remember you.” Beth grinned at her. “Found a new place to sleep?”

  “I did. Thank you for asking.” Olly returned the smile. This kid amused her. She was cool enough to not care about being cool at all. It was interesting.

  Beth crossed to the small selection of office supplies and picked up a spiral notebook, a black pen, and a pack of index cards. She dropped them on the counter and said, “Can I get a pack of Marlboro reds? The box.”

  Rachel held out the handles of Olly’s bag, prompting her to take it. She studied Olly and then turned to study Beth. “You’re not eighteen.”

  Beth smiled. “Nope. But my money is.”

  “Cheeky.” Olly laughed and picked up her bag. She made her way to the door. “Good luck with that.”

  No matter how entertaining the scene might have been, Olly had work to do. She’d promised George she’d return to paint the spindles on his porch in an hour. After her routine stop at the bulletin board in town, followed by Red Barn, she would be cutting it close. He’d been kind to her, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  An errant thought about Mrs. Vernon popped into her head. She wondered if they’d get along, George and Mrs. Vernon. She liked to think maybe they would.

  ∞

  “Here.” Beth handed Sam the index cards. While she was a bit abrupt, she was at least civil. Her attitude had improved drastically when Karen left for work.

  “Thanks.” Sam slipped the small knife she kept in the console of her car under the cellophane wrapper around the cards. She sliced through the long edge and left the rest intact. With a little bit of luck, the pack would hold until she got home. She only needed one for the job notice, after all.

  “Mom,” Beth said, her voice soft, almost timid. “Can we talk about school, please?”

  Sam dropped her head against the steering wheel and sighed. “Beth, I know you don’t want to go, but school isn’t something you can opt out of. You have to graduate.”

  “I know. I agree one hundred percent. But there are alternatives to public school.”

  “I can’t afford private school, sweetie.”

  “No, of course not. But what if there’s a free option?”

  “Free private school? That requires a scholarship. Your grades haven’t been so great lately,” Sam hedged. Beth’s grades had been horrible actually, with mostly Ds and Fs. When she got an occasional C, Sam said a prayer of thanks. Even so, she didn’t want to tell Beth that she wasn’t good enough or smart enough to get a scholarship.

  “No. Free school online. There’s a program called K-twelve. They do everything online and are totally accredited. They
send out all the books and supplies that you need. And it’s free. Did I mention that?” Beth said in a rush.

  “Seriously? Where did you hear about this?”

  Beth smiled for the first time that day. “Online. I searched for alternatives and found this. They work with the school district. I could do this, Mom. Really. It’s legit.”

  Sam weighed what Beth was saying. Would it hurt to let her go to school online? “What about friends? You need to meet people in order to make friends.”

  “I will.” Beth grew even more excited. “There are a bunch of community classes offered at the college, and even more through the rec center.”

  Bitterroot was small. Even with the influx of students each fall, the town maintained a feeling of closeness. How many classes could they possibly offer?

  “How is that better than going to school?”

  “Because, don’t you see, everyone in a class like that will want to be there. I’ll have something in common with them.”

  “What about grades?”

  “I’ll work really hard. I promise.”

  Sam looked at her, skeptical. “How hard?”

  “Really, really hard.”

  “Nothing below a C?”

  “As and Bs. I can do it.”

  “For now, you can create our job posting.” Sam handed Beth the index card and started the car. She needed to think about this. “When we get home, you can show me this K-twelve program and I’ll look it over.”

  Beth squealed. “Yay! Thanks, Mom.”

  “I’m not saying yes.” Sam pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward town.

  “You’re not saying no, either.”

  “True enough.” Sam laughed, letting Beth’s excitement draw her in. Maybe this would work. And maybe they’d find some qualified help for the renovations that wouldn’t bankrupt her.

  A girl could dream.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam studied their living quarters. The only thing that made the place almost livable was the mural Beth had been working on. Everything else was in various stages of functional, ranging from good working order (the coffee maker and the shower) to disaster (pretty much everything else). Until they figured out what to do about the floors, she refused to move anything into the apartment. Besides, Karen’s bed was too comfortable for her to bust out the air mattress.

  “So, tell me more about your plan for school.”

  After they’d finished in town, Beth had given her a tour of the virtual school she wanted to attend. While Sam still had her reservations, she had to admit that Beth’s research was thorough. She’d tentatively agreed to let her pursue it, providing that she delivered on her grades as promised.

  “What do you mean?” Beth asked, distracted by the flow of paint from her brush to the wall.

  “When do you plan to do your school work?” Sam expected Beth to blow her off. It was Saturday after all.

  “Oh, that.” Beth rested her paintbrush atop a can of paint and went over to Sam. She turned on her Surface and logged into the K12 website. “I started it this morning. All I have left is this one assignment. I have to outline a persuasive essay. I’ll finish it later.”

  Sam stared, mouth open. She’d been outside long enough to dig their gardening tools out of the storage container and then spent a couple of hours pretending to be a landscaper. When she’d stepped out, Beth had been painting, and when she returned a few minutes ago, she was standing in roughly the same place, staring at the wall.

  “What—wait. Who are you and where is my daughter?”

  Beth laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. I started early this morning, before you were up, did a little more while you were outside, and am rolling ideas for the essay around in my head while I paint. I’m antisocial, but that doesn’t mean I’m not smart.”

  “I know you’re smart,” Sam said. “Of course I do. But think of this from my perspective. I’ve seen your grades from your last school. Can you really blame me for being surprised?”

  Beth’s gaze hardened for a moment and then she relaxed. “No, I guess not.” She clicked a few keys on the keyboard. “But maybe I just needed to find a different way to do it.”

  Sam started to respond but stopped herself. Beth’s grades were a reflection of her rebellion, and like all the other things she had done, it still came back to Sam, to the kind of parent she should have been. It was like they were speaking two different languages and she was struggling to learn Beth’s.

  “I also found an elective that I want to take,” Beth said. “It’s a series of videos that teaches art theory, the use of color and contrast, technique, that sort of thing. It’s free.”

  Unable to contain the swell of relief, excitement, and pride that flooded her chest, Sam pulled her into a bracing hug. “I’m so happy with you right now.”

  “Ugh. Mom, you’re crushing me.” Beth wiggled to free herself, but Sam only hugged her tighter.

  “I can’t help it. Just let me love you for a minute.”

  “Can you do that without collapsing my lungs?”

  “Nope. Five more seconds.” Sam silently counted off the seconds and even held on for a few extra because Beth didn’t protest again.

  When she finally let go, Beth shuffled away, but not too far. She was still close enough that Sam could hug her again if she really wanted to.

  “You smell like you’ve been rolling in a compost pile. Why?” Beth asked.

  “Because I have been. Kinda. I was working out front, weeding and such.” Sam crossed to the sink and started to wash her hands. “I’m done now, though. I need to figure out how to get us into this apartment. Karen’s going to get tired of us at some point.”

  “Nobody’s responded to your help wanted ad?”

  “Not yet. And I can’t wait for someone to sweep in and rescue me. I’m going to do what I know how to do and go from there.” She’d done the math. There simply wasn’t enough money in her account to hire Alan, or any other contractor, to repair the entire property, but she could afford to have pieces done. In order to open, the exterior needed to look ready for business, even if all the rooms weren’t.

  She’d found an online supplier who gave a significant discount for bulk purchases. Even with the price break, the total just to do the simplest thing, such as replacing the doors, gave her sticker shock. She had queries out to a few other suppliers, wholesalers who didn’t list their prices on the website. Hopefully, one of those would come back better.

  Until then, she needed to work. She might not be able to do everything, but the more she figured out on her own, the less she’d end up paying someone else. Plus, if she had a job to focus on, it would keep her distracted. The last thing she needed was to fall into a spiraling pit of despair over the state of the Queen.

  Before heading back outside, she wiped down the counters and spread a thick, rubberized contact paper in all of the drawers and cabinets. When she’d moved into her first apartment, her mom had done this for her, and Sam had teased her about it. Now, after spending far too much time scrubbing this kitchen, she saw the wisdom behind it.

  “Don’t suppose you want to stop painting and come outside for a while?” Sam asked.

  “And do what?”

  “Tame the wild landscape. Roll around in compost. Stare forlornly at the boxes inside of the storage unit. Breathe some fresh air.”

  Beth tilted her head to the side and studied the section she was currently working on. It looked vaguely like a phone booth, but could just as easily end up being a bathtub full of fish.

  “How long?”

  “Not sure. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. Maybe less.”

  “Mmm, let me wrap my brushes, and then I’ll join you.” Beth pulled a roll of plastic wrap out of her supply caddy. She kept her extra brushes, her small tubes of paint, and a few other miscellaneous items in there.

  “Thanks.” Sam left her to tidy up her workspace and headed outside.

  It wasn’t too hot, thankfully. The altitude saw to that
. Before returning to her landscaping, Sam unlocked the storage container and lifted the handle to release the top and bottom bolts holding the doors secure. Inside, there were rows of neatly stacked boxes. Near the back, out of view from the opening, was their furniture—the leather sofa Sam couldn’t part with, the hutch she’d inherited when her parents died, plus a few other items.

  Every day that the container sat in her parking lot cost her money. Moving their belongings inside wasn’t an option yet and moving everything to a local storage unit would be a lot of extra work for very little savings. And there was no way all of this would fit into Karen’s spare room. Not that Sam would ask.

  By the time Beth joined her, Sam had a killer headache, but no clear solution as to what to do with their belongings. As an added layer of fun, it looked like the movers had turned her neatly sorted and separated boxes into an indecipherable tangle. The labels she’d carefully written on the fronts of the boxes weren’t visible. She hoped they were just turned backward and not upside down. The only label she could read clearly said “do not open. seriously. i will kill you.” Presumably that one belonged to Beth.

  “Hey! That’s my box of supplies. Awesome.” Beth picked up the death box and carried it inside before Sam could ask, “Supplies for what?”

  “Great. She won’t be back,” Sam muttered to herself as she shook her head and gave up. Staring at their packed boxes wasn’t helping anyone. At least working in the lot made the place look a little prettier.

  Just as she was turning to lock up, someone knocked on the open door of the container.

  “Excuse me?” A woman—no, the woman, the one Sam had chased off with the pepper spray—stood just outside the container. Her dog sat by her side. “I don’t know if you remember me.”

  “I do.” Sam didn’t remember her name, but she remembered the encounter. The woman was younger than Sam originally thought. Mid-twenties, maybe. Long, unruly hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Dark eyes to match her hair. Plus a defensive stance, as though she was waiting for the next blow. Overall, she was striking, haunted, and very sexy. In other words, trouble.