Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  “Right.” The woman blushed. “It’s just—” She took two rapid steps toward Sam with her hand outstretched, holding a small card. “You have work?”

  Sam stared at her, wary, but didn’t take the card. It was the job posting they’d placed on the bulletin board in town, so she already knew what it said.

  “Hey, it’s you. What’s up?” Beth stood just outside the container, a smile on her face. When she saw the dog, she stopped short of lighting a cigarette. She dropped to her knees and pulled the dog into her arms. She buried her face in his fur and whispered nonsense words to him.

  The woman almost smiled, one corner of her mouth lifting up at the edge. She shrugged. “Looking for work.”

  “You’re Olly, right?” Beth looked up. “And this guy is Rampart?”

  “Good memory.” The woman—Olly—nodded. “And you’re Beth.” She turned back to Sam and said, “But I don’t know your name.”

  “Listen, Olly, I’m not—”

  “Her name is Sam. She’s my mom,” Beth answered for her.

  “Figured.”

  “So, you came because of the ad in town?”

  Olly nodded.

  “Good. Come on, Mom. Let’s show her what needs to be done.” Beth stood and moved out of Sam’s line of sight. The dog followed her, nudging her hand with his nose as they walked.

  Sam sighed. She could hold onto their first meeting or she could let it go and start over with Olly here and now. She certainly hadn’t been at her best that day. Perhaps Olly wasn’t either. “Okay, Beth is right. Let’s go.”

  “Um, thanks?” Olly stuffed the card into her back pocket. “The card doesn’t say how much....”

  “Right. Well, let’s take a look around, see what you think, and then we can talk money. Okay?”

  Olly nodded slowly, clearly calculating something. “Okay. I suppose that works.”

  Sam tucked her work gloves into her back pocket.

  “So,” Sam said once she’d cleared the door. “Tell me about your experience.”

  Olly gave her that lopsided grin combined with one raised eyebrow, and it caused a strange little flutter in her gut.

  “Work.” She sputtered. “Your experience with construction.”

  “Right.” Olly nodded and her smile grew. For a moment, the guarded veil lifted. “I’ve done lots of fix-it projects, including work for Bitter Ink, a small business in town, and for George Randolf, a local farmer. Before that, I’ve done just about everything, from hanging sheetrock to operating a Bobcat.”

  “A bobcat?” Surely she wasn’t referring to an actual bobcat. What good would wild animal training do here at the Queen?

  “A small tractor. They’re used for leveling the ground, minor demolition, moving heavy things, stuff like that.”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

  “I did see an actual bobcat once.” Olly’s voice took on a teasing lilt.

  “Mmm.” Sam had no idea how to respond, so polite noise it was.

  “Yeah. Real friendly fellow. Liked to be scratched behind his ears.”

  “You’re kidding,” Sam deadpanned.

  “Nope. I worked at a zoo once, for about two months. They let me hold one of the cubs. It was pretty awesome.”

  “What else have you done?” Sam allowed herself to smile, and she wondered about Olly’s background and how she’d ended up in Bitterroot.

  “Little bit of everything.” Olly ducked her head. “But I’m being rude. We’re here to talk about the job.”

  Sam swept her arms out wide, indicating the Queen as though it were the grand prize on a game show. “I dragged my daughter here from Vegas, only to discover that the dream property I bought was really a nightmare. Every single room is damaged.” She took a calming breath. “And my insurance denied the claim. That leaves me with few resources and a huge, expensive mess to clean up.”

  Olly went into the first rental room they came to. The number was loose and swung in a wild arc as the door moved. After a moment, she stepped back out. “They all like this?”

  “Pretty much.” Sam tried to sound aloof, unbothered. In truth, she was on the verge of tears. This tour was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid all day.

  “Do you have a game plan? Or would that be up to me?”

  “I have—not really a game plan. More a loose idea, with a clear vision of where we are, where we need to be, and a vague concept of the work needed to get there.”

  “You started on the landscaping.” Olly indicated the front planting beds with a nod of her head. “That’s good. Giving the place a facelift, improving curb appeal, will make a huge difference. Right now, people drive by and see a derelict building. A little paint, a new sign, and some flowers will do the trick. Combined, of course, with some serious elbow grease.”

  The urge to hug Olly overwhelmed Sam, but she held herself back. “When can you start?”

  “Right now, if you want me.”

  Sam bit her tongue at that and focused on a proper response. “There’s just one thing.” She hated to be a buzzkill, but she needed to establish clear boundaries from the start. “You still can’t sleep in the lot.”

  Olly laughed. “Will you pepper spray me if I do?”

  “Listen, about that—”

  “No.” Olly held up her hand. “I’m sorry about that. I should have asked. Staying here without permission was rude. I won’t do it again.”

  “You found another place?” Sam, weirdly, felt almost guilty about kicking Olly out.

  “I did.” Olly smiled politely but didn’t elaborate.

  Rampart barked and Beth laughed. Sam and Olly resumed their tour.

  “Tell me what you would do first,” Sam said.

  “Well,” Olly scratched behind her ear, “I’d start by taking down the old signage. Then move on to the exterior paint, followed by doors and windows. Clean and replace as needed. Landscaping. Then move inside.”

  Sam stuck out her hand. “You’re hired.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Olly ducked her head and looked away. Her job at the Bitterroot Queen did not include consoling the owner. But the look on Sam’s face, a mix of desperation and defiant independence, twisted Olly up inside. So much so that the words she normally would have kept to herself spilled out completely without permission.

  When she had arrived, Sam had been standing in the lot, hands on her hips, staring at the building. She’d recovered quickly enough when Olly eased the Scout to a stop next to her. Not quick enough, though, because the heartache, regret, and immutable hope in her expression was loud enough to kick Olly right in the face.

  Sam smiled, a sheepish, reluctant upturn of her lips that made Olly want to pull her into a hug. Or push her away and run. She vibrated with the mixed message as her brain yelled at her to move.

  “Yes, it is.” Sam sighed. “But it’s mine, so I’m going to pretend you’re right.” She dusted her hands together, a decision clearly made. “Ready to get dirty?”

  She raised her eyebrows and grinned.

  “Um, that is—” Her face flushed.

  “Sure,” Olly said, saving her from further embarrassment. “Am I starting out here?”

  “Actually, I’d really like to get moved into my apartment.”

  “Okay.” Olly stepped out of her vehicle to stand next to Sam. Rampart leapt over the side, sat on his haunches, and nudged Olly’s hand with his nose. Without thinking, she rested her hand on his head, fingers automatically scratching the fur behind his ears. “So... I’ll be moving boxes?”

  “Not yet. Come inside with me.” Rather than moving inside, Sam stayed where she was, rooted to the ground and looking wrecked for the effort.

  As defeated as she sounded, Olly wasn’t ready to count Sam out. She was pretty sure this was just one vulnerable moment, a fleeting instant that would pass, leaving her galvanized and ready to take control of her world. Olly liked that Sam had invited her to take part in this journey, though s
he couldn’t explain why.

  Olly shifted her weight, restless and ready to move. Now that she had direction and purpose for the day, she wanted to get to work. Sam, however, continued to stare solemnly at the building.

  “Want to head inside and get started?” Olly tugged gently at Sam’s sleeve.

  Sam smiled, an expression that didn’t quite erase the crease in the middle of her brow. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

  The apartment was littered with cleaning supplies—a roll of paper towels partially unspooled in the middle of the floor with a bottle of window cleaner next to it, a bucket of sudsy water with yellow gloves hanging over the rim on the kitchen counter, and a box of industrial-size trash bags just inside the door. From what she could see, the common areas were well on their way to livable. Except for the stained-beyond-saving carpet. And the window covered with plywood. And the shredded blinds that partially obscured the view of the river through the sliding glass door.

  Olly moved to the middle of the room and waited for Sam to offer some direction.

  “It was a lot worse when we got here.”

  Based on the tour Sam had previously given her of the rest of the property, Olly believed her. She nodded, unsure what to say.

  Without inviting Olly to join her, Sam made her way across the room to a closed door. After a moment, Olly followed.

  Sam hesitated with her hand on the knob. “This is my room. We can start here.” And then she opened the door and entered.

  The room was stark, bare walls and floors. The walls had been primed, but the shadow of a large penis was still visible on one wall, spray-paint art left over from an unauthorized party. Another wall was covered with layer after layer of sprayed-on initials and names, muted by the primer but not obscured. The sliding doors to the closet hung haphazardly, the louvered slats broken and crooked. The carpet stank of mildew and beer and piss.

  “Where have you been sleeping?”

  “With a friend.” Sam gestured toward the apartment at large. “We’ve been working primarily on the kitchen and bathroom. When the primer didn’t work in this room, it stifled my enthusiasm for painting. I’m afraid the sheetrock needs to come down.”

  Olly was done talking about the work that needed done. She lifted the closet doors from the metal track, stacked them together, and carried them to the backyard via the sliding glass door that gave Sam’s room the same view of the river that they enjoyed from the living room. She dropped them unceremoniously and returned to the room.

  “Do you have more primer? Paint?”

  “Primer yes. We bought ten gallons. Paint no. Not for this room, yet.”

  “You should get some. Enough for this room and Beth’s. I’ll keep working here. Oh, and get a box of mud.”

  “Mud?”

  “Yeah, it’s the stuff they use with drywall. Comes in a box about this big.” With her hands, Olly mimicked the shape of a box about twelve by twelve by twelve. “Just ask someone. Tell them you need drywall mud.”

  “Okay.” Sam hesitated, her brow drawn down. “What will you do?”

  “Everything else.” Olly smiled, already in motion, moving toward Beth’s room. “Beth, if there’s anything in here that you don’t want me to find, you should put it away now,” Olly announced before opening the door.

  “Nah, all my good stuff got left behind when we moved.” Beth didn’t even glance away from her work.

  Olly entered and repeated the process. As she removed the things inside the room, Sam discussed the situation with Beth.

  “Apparently, I need paint. Do you want to come with me?”

  “For what?”

  “My room and yours,” Sam said.

  That got Beth’s attention. She covered her paint and wrapped her brushes in flimsy plastic. “Yeah, no way you’re picking the color for my room.”

  After dropping the closet doors outside, Olly joined them in the living room. “Get another five gallons of primer. We’ll need to do that a couple of times, at least. Plus all the supplies. Don’t worry about masking tape. I’ll have all the trim and outlet covers off before you get back.”

  ∞

  After a record-breaking dash to the hardware store, Sam and Beth returned with five gallons of primer and two gallons of paint—a neutral eggshell for Sam and a purple so dark it was almost black for Beth. A car Sam didn’t recognize was parked near the lobby entrance, next to Olly’s Scout.

  “Rachel’s here.” Beth sounded almost excited.

  “Rachel?” It took Sam a moment to place the name. “The girl from the market?”

  “Yeah, she’s awesome.” Beth hopped out of the car and yelled, “Come on.”

  They found Rachel and Olly in the backyard, standing over a pile of long, skinny boards. Olly held a piece of paper with some sort of diagram on it. Periodically, she would point at the paper, then at a specific board. Rachel nodded, smiling at Olly like a puppy in love. Rampart lay stretched out on his side in a small patch of sunlight.

  Sam detoured long enough to drop the paint in the appropriate rooms, then made her way out back. Beth was already there, staring at Rachel the same way Rachel was looking at Olly.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “I’m just getting these two lined up.” Olly turned to greet her with a lazy half-smile that made Sam’s stomach drop. “Then I’ll be in to start painting with you.”

  “Oh yeah? What are they doing?”

  While she’d been gone, Olly had converted the damaged closet doors into a makeshift worktable. It was crude, but functional. An orange extension cord snaked across the grass from the table to an outlet in the living room.

  “They’re going to sand and paint all the trim.”

  “Really?”

  “As soon as Rachel gets back from a quick trip home. You’re borrowing her sander.”

  “My dad’s sander, actually.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m going with her.” Beth tugged on Rachel’s arm and pulled her back inside.

  “How did you rope her into this?” Sam asked.

  “She just showed up. I’m not one to turn down free labor.”

  “You’re amazing.” Sam shook her head. Olly was so far removed from the person Sam had originally thought. Most people wouldn’t have asked about work after the property owner threatened to pepper spray her. Sam admired that and had to admit that the project was going to be a hell of a lot easier with Olly than without. Plus, Olly put her at ease. Made her believe that she wasn’t completely insane for buying the Bitterroot Queen and that this crazy life experiment might actually work out. Not to mention, the rate Olly quoted her was unbelievably less expensive than hiring Alan would have been.

  Olly tilted her head and regarded Sam. “Thanks.” She said the word softly, almost a whisper, and Sam was caught in the bare vulnerability in her eyes.

  Then, with a curt shake of her head, Olly walked briskly away, head tucked into her chest. “I should get back to work. Where’s the paint?” Her words trailed behind her like a kite that had lost the breeze.

  ∞

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  It was such a simple situation. Olly wanted to impress Sam with her work, show her that she was worth retaining for the duration of the work on the Queen. For once, she wasn’t flirting, wasn’t trying to distract herself from the muted gray wash that colored her life. Between the camaraderie with Ava at Bitter Ink, the affinity with George at Randolf Farms, and the building ease of spending time at the Bitterroot Queen with Sam and Beth, Olly had forgotten to fortify herself. As much as she toyed with the idea of staying, she knew she’d eventually leave this place. She always did.

  She wasn’t sure what had happened between them, but she knew it was something. It wasn’t a moment, like the kind that populated every single trade paperback romance her mom had bought off the supermarket rack when Olly was a kid. It was more a prelude to a moment. Sam had given her a simple compliment, the words leaving her mouth casually, as if without any real thou
ght or consideration. Still, Sam seemed to have seen her and that made Olly vulnerable, an emotional state she’d never learned to cope with properly, despite the years spent in its company.

  On the heels of her response—thanks—a single thought raced through her, filling her chest with thrumming, anxious energy. Run.

  She made her way into the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind her. She stood at the sink, trying to sort out her thoughts. This reaction—the overwhelming compulsion to get away at the slightest hint of an emotional connection to another human being—this wasn’t normal. God, when she stopped to think about how very messed up she was, she really hated her mom. Fuck. Sam probably thought she was a freak. Hell, she was right.

  A light knock sounded at the door, followed by, “Hey, are you okay in there?” Sam asked in a subdued voice.

  Olly stared at herself in the mirror and forced herself to breathe. One long, slow inhale, followed by an equally long and slow exhale. “Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.” Her voice sounded almost normal.

  A soft thud sounded, followed by a faint scraping noise, as if Sam had leaned against the door and then slid down.

  Olly continued to breathe deeply, focusing on the way her body moved with the act, the way the air circulated through her. Eventually, her heart rate slowed, and she splashed some cold water on her face. Stupid.

  Olly gave herself another few moments to center herself, mentally repeating the mantra that had guided her during the months and years that followed leaving Linda’s home. She wasn’t really vulnerable. Not truly. She could climb into her Scout and leave right now. Or tomorrow. Or next week. She had the power to shape her own life, the power to step away at any time. She was okay.

  Finally, with her heart rate back to normal and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, Olly turned the knob to open the bathroom door. As suspected, Sam sat on the floor with her back to the door. She scrambled to her feet.