Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  “Hey there. I was worried.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine.” Olly moved past her, into Sam’s bedroom where the distraction of painting waited for her.

  ∞

  The primer went up quickly and the penis faded more. Another coat might just be enough. Olly stretched and smiled at Sam, trying to regain some of the camaraderie they’d shared earlier.

  Sam studied their progress. “What next?”

  “While this dries, we can do the first coat of primer in Beth’s room.”

  “We might have to postpone that, depending on the time. I have a date tonight.”

  As she spoke, Sam’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. Olly was struck, in that moment, with the strange and unbidden desire to be the cause of such a blush. She took a half-step toward Sam before the meaning of the words registered.

  Sam had a date.

  Tonight.

  Olly stopped dead, one foot suspended in midair. “Oh.” She forced herself to lower her foot, painfully aware of how awkward and strained the moment had become. To give herself something to do, she picked up the pan of paint and the roller. “That’s okay. I can start without you.”

  She tried to smile, but was certain it was more of a grimace.

  “It’s actually a miscommunication.”

  Olly looked at her, wondering what that meant.

  “He asked the same time Beth said something and I said yes to her, but he thought I said it to him—it’s ridiculous. Never mind. Frankly, I think I’d have more fun here with you, painting.”

  He. What the hell? Sam set off Olly’s gaydar in a major way, and she was rarely wrong about such things. Not that it mattered, really. Sam could date whoever she wanted. “You can’t think that way. If you do, your date is destined to fail before it even begins. Even though it was a weird misunderstanding, he could be the man of your dreams.” She hoped not.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not. But I’m still going to dress like he might be.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to check on my impromptu labor force, then move to Beth’s room.”

  Sam nodded. “Sounds good. I’m headed to the storage pod to find a date-worthy outfit. Wish me luck.”

  “Try not to get lost in there.”

  Olly turned to take the paint supplies to Beth’s room, and Sam brushed past her on the way out the door. In her absence, the air felt thicker and the room less inviting. She dropped off the paint and went to the backyard. “How’s it going out here?” she asked.

  Beth was talking on her phone, her brow drawn into an intense scowl. Rachel rested on the edge of the cement patio, staring at Beth with a strange expression on her face.

  “Good,” Rachel said, turning her attention to Olly. “We finished a few pieces. Let me show you.” She stood, brushed her hands over her backside, and made her way to the makeshift sawhorse table. One side held a neat row of newly sanded lengths of trim. As she’d instructed, they hadn’t gone all the way to the bare wood, but rather they’d removed the top layers of paint, leaving it smooth and ready for a fresh coat.

  “How do you feel about using the sander only? Would it be easier with a paint scraper? Or even paint remover?” Olly hated the chemicals involved in paint stripper, but she also knew it was a serious time-saver.

  “I brought a scraper.” Rachel held up the tool. “My dad insisted. He was right. It helps a lot.”

  “It pays to listen to your parents.” The lesson wasn’t universally true, especially not for Olly, but generally, parents were well-intentioned and kids learned if they listened.

  “What are you doing out here? Where’s Sam?”

  Olly glanced at the door leading to Sam’s room. “Getting ready. Apparently, she has a date.”

  “A date?” Rachel asked.

  “With some guy.”

  “Seriously? A dude?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sucks. Sorry.” Rachel punched Olly lightly in the arm.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Not like I haven’t seen you checking her out.”

  “That’s crazy. And anyway, what about Beth? What’s going on there?”

  “Nothing. She’s on the phone with her boyfriend.”

  “Sucks. Sorry,” Olly repeated, without including the physical contact. “At least she doesn’t look very happy about it.” She gestured toward Beth who looked even less happy than she had a few moments ago.

  “Yeah, whatever. I’m going back to work.” Rachel picked up the sander and turned it on, effectively blocking any further conversation.

  Olly followed Rachel’s lead and went back inside to prime Beth’s room.

  ∞

  As Alan held the chair for her, the waiter lit the candle in the middle of the table. Between the soft glow, the linen napkins, and the ankle-length apron on the waiter, Sam decided this was one of those restaurants. The kind where the staff deferred to the man at the table, where they brought her food and drink based on his order, and where the tab made most men think they were owed something at the end of the night.

  All in all, Sam wished she’d stayed at the Queen, painting the walls and eating pizza without the expectation that was no doubt building in Alan.

  “This is nice.” Sam flipped open her menu, paused for a moment, and then forced herself to meet Alan’s gaze.

  “Any recommendations?”

  “I really don’t know. A buddy of mine told me about this place. This is my first time, too.” Alan squirmed and adjusted his tie. His hair, slicked down with product and combed to the side, reflected the flicker of the candlelight, giving it the strange polished look of patent leather.

  “Really?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah.” Alan smiled sheepishly. “Truth? I’m more of a pizza on the couch kind of guy.”

  Sam smiled, a real one rather than the forced, polite version she’d used with him so far. This was the first thing he’d said since picking her up that actually appealed to her on any level. She looked around and inspected the overly formal setting more closely. “Then why all this?”

  Alan shrugged. “I wanted to impress you.”

  “And you think this is the way to do it?”

  “Isn’t it? I mean, you’re from Vegas, so I figured this is what you’re used to.”

  “True, but I left Vegas and chose a place that’s as far removed from it as possible.” Sam didn’t point out how this place, the fanciest in Bitterroot, was a far cry from what Vegas had to offer.

  The sommelier appeared at Alan’s side with a bottle of red wine. He displayed it formally with a white linen towel draped over one arm. Without looking at Sam, he gave Alan a speech about the characteristics and quality of pinot noir.

  “Um, sure, I guess.” Alan glanced sideways at Sam, a questioning look on his face.

  “Very good, sir.” The waiter turned to leave.

  “Actually,” Sam interrupted his progress, “can we get two pints of whatever you have on draft? An IPA for me, if you have it. Alan?”

  “That sounds great.”

  The waiter looked as offended as Alan did relieved.

  “As you wish.” With that, he turned and walked away. This time, Sam let him go.

  “You don’t like wine?” Alan asked.

  “I love wine, especially the one he offered. But it retails for around three hundred and fifty dollars. I can’t afford it at the moment.” Sam left the part about not letting Alan buy her such an expensive drink unsaid. Maybe he preferred a quiet night with pizza and a movie, but that made her more suspicious of his choice of restaurant, not less.

  “Wow. I had no idea. Thanks.”

  Sam studied him, in his dress shirt with the top button undone, his hair gelled and shiny, and his jacket stretched tight across his shoulders, easily a size too small. Why was she here? Her arrangement with Karen was so simple. And hot. No pressure or expectations. Just orgasms. Really fabulous orgasms.

  Then there was Olly. She knew less
about her than she did about Alan at this point. Still, she was drawn to her. If it were Olly, not Alan, sitting opposite her right now, she would find the whole production and the effort sweet and charming rather than calculated and presumptuous. The thought intrigued her, but also made her stomach squirm with something indefinable.

  “Alan,” Sam caught Alan’s gaze and held it, “you should know, I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “I—” Alan choked and sputtered. “I—That’s...um...”

  The waiter returned with their drinks, and Sam took a deep drink of her very tasty, not terribly expensive beer. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Sam made a quick trip to Red Barn Market and picked up a few fresh veggies, some bread, and deli meat. Even though the kitchen was in working order, more or less, she still wasn’t ready to start cooking elaborate meals. Sandwiches were the perfect solution. There was only so much pizza and takeout she could eat.

  At least her “date” hadn’t gone as badly as she had thought it would. Alan turned out to be as nice a guy as she thought, even after she told him she wasn’t going to sleep with him. Once they got past that, they talked about Bitterroot and some of the things that went on in the area. He told her about his business and described, with great pride, some of the projects he had completed in the area. All in all, it went okay and maybe she had a friend out of the deal. Maybe she’d even hire him in the future for smaller and much less expensive projects.

  When she pulled into the lot, Olly was already there, working with her long-sleeved flannel tied around her waist. The tight tank top revealed well-defined shoulder and arm muscles, along with a tapestry of colorful tattoos. The view hit Sam at a visceral level, a sharp bolt deep in her gut.

  Jesus. She’d managed to navigate her entire career in Vegas without lusting after her employees, and here she was doing just that. She didn’t know whether to blame it on the fresh mountain air or the way the sun glinted off the sheen of sweat covering Olly’s skin. With an impressive act of will, Sam looked away and focused on safely parking her car.

  The lot looked much improved from earlier that morning when Sam left for her appointment. She’d been gone for just over two hours, and Olly hadn’t been there when she’d driven away. Still, she’d pruned and leveled the top edge of the overgrown shrubs that lined the front of the building. Now they looked almost inviting.

  Once again, Sam was struck by how powerfully Olly impacted their efforts. Because of her, both bedrooms were habitable, with fresh paint, a facelift for the outlets and light fixtures, and, perhaps most important, Olly had ripped the carpet out, leaving behind worn hardwood floors that she planned to finish with a durable sealant. That had to wait until later, though. The rooms were livable and that was enough for now.

  Rampart lay a few feet away, relaxing in the sun, possibly asleep. As Sam pulled to a stop, he popped up and moved over to sit next to Olly. He nudged her hand with his nose, and as she stroked his head, Olly turned and looked in Sam’s direction.

  Olly gave her a quirky smile and a short wave. She set the long shrub trimmers on the ground, brushed the dirt and plant debris off her shirt and pants, and came over. Without breaking her motion, she scooped the grocery bags out of Sam’s hands and started toward the main entrance beside Sam. Rampart kept pace a half-step behind.

  “Hi. I hope you don’t mind that I got started without you,” Olly said as she shuffled the bags until she could open the swinging door with one hand. She held it open for Sam, and then, after signaling Rampart to wait outside, she followed Sam through the lobby and into the kitchen. She set the bags on the counter.

  “No, I don’t mind at all. It looks like you’ve made some great progress.”

  Olly pulled the front of her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her face. Sam definitely did not stare at the defined ridges of her abs. In fact, she would deny it emphatically if asked about it.

  “I figure I’ve got a good two days of work on the front landscaping. And that doesn’t include planting or laying any kind of ornamental filler.”

  “Ornamental filler?” Sam unpacked her groceries, lining them up to make sandwiches in a bit.

  “Hey. You have food.” Beth appeared from the direction of her bedroom. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, unkempt ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of bright red footy pajamas that Sam had given her two Christmases ago as a joke. They didn’t quite fit, and the fabric pulled tight around her shoulders, chest, and belly. Beth grabbed the bag of chips and popped it open. “Yum.”

  “Are you planning to get dressed anytime today?” Sam asked out of habit. Parents were supposed to ask questions like that, to remind their kids of things to help them grow into functional adults.

  “Yeah, right after Olly tells me about this.” She gestured vaguely toward the designs on Olly’s arms.

  “Some other time, Beth. I’ve got to get back to work. Your mom isn’t paying me to tell you about my wild youthful exploits.” Olly started toward the door.

  To Sam, Olly looked like she wasn’t much older than Beth, so if her youth was misspent, she was still in the process of misspending it. Not that her work ethic reflected that so far.

  “Wait,” Sam said. “You were telling me about planting beds and ornamental filler?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s just a fancy way of saying bark or mulch or pretty rocks. I worked at a nursery one summer.” She shrugged.

  “Do I have to decide on that now?”

  “No. In fact, I recommend against it. Trimming everything down and weeding is good for now. The rest should wait until after the exterior is painted and the doors and windows are repaired. Otherwise, we might trample over the work and just end up redoing it.”

  “Good. So what is your plan for the rest of today?”

  “Prune the back of that hedge. That way we’ll be able to paint the wall easier. Then I’ll start on the rest of the lot, especially out along the road. That will make a big difference in terms of curb appeal. Unless you need me in here.” She inclined her head toward the carpet in the living room, the last big project before they could truly get settled.

  Everything she said made sense. “How long will the lot take, do you think?”

  “I should have enough time to finish pruning today. Then tomorrow, I’ll tackle the weeding. Looks like someone got a good start on that already.”

  “That was me.” Sam had spent the better part of a day pulling weeds to work out her frustration. It had helped a little.

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to start a compost bin with the plant matter rather than putting it in the dumpster. With all this beautiful southern sun exposure in the back, this place really needs to have a veggie garden. Fresh compost would help nourish it. Plus, gardens are really beautiful.” Olly’s skin tinged pink and she looked down and away. “I think your guests would like it.”

  That was the closest Sam had ever come to a genuine “aw, shucks” moment. It was adorable. And then what Olly said sank in.

  “Garden?” Sam hesitated. She wasn’t eager to add another project to the insane amount of things she needed to do already. It was impossible to conceptualize.

  “Yeah, Mom. That would be great. Fresh veggies. I’ll do it. I can totally picture it.”

  Of course Beth would want a garden. The aesthetic of it surely appealed to her, but how enthusiastic would she be after she realized how much work it was?

  “I don’t know.” Sam drew the last word out. She hated to say no, but wasn’t prepared to commit to the work herself.

  “You don’t have to decide today. Just let Olly do the compost thing, and we’ll go from there. Okay?”

  “How much will that cost?”

  Olly adjusted the ball cap she wore and scratched the back of her neck. “It’ll take me an hour or so to build it, so a lot less than it would cost to have it hauled away in a dumpster.”

  An hour of labor, plus construction supplies would definitely be cheaper than p
utting it in the dumpster. The cost of having it delivered gave her palpitations, and then, after it had arrived, she learned about the cost of having it emptied. Still, Sam hesitated. The direct money savings wasn’t likely to offset the cost of her own future time and effort spent maintaining something like a compost bin. She’d never been a gardener and wasn’t sure she was ready to start.

  “I’ll leave you to think about it.” Olly backed away from the counter. “I’ll get back to work.”

  “Don’t you want a sandwich?” Beth offered.

  Olly glanced at Sam, then back to Beth. “Another time, Beth.”

  Beth set the chips on the counter. “Oh come on. Mom, tell her it’s okay for her to eat with us. She’s not exactly the hired help.”

  Sam almost laughed. That was exactly what Olly was in this scenario. More than that, though, if she continued to be this helpful, she was their goddamned savior. Before Sam could affirm Beth’s invitation, Olly made it to the door that separated their apartment from the lobby.

  “That’s okay. I brought my lunch.” With that, she stepped through the door.

  “Why didn’t you stop her? We can spare one sandwich, can’t we?”

  “Yes, of course. But she clearly didn’t want to stay.”

  “Hmph.” Beth picked up the bag of chips and said, “I need to get dressed.” She started toward her room.

  “Why are you in pajamas?”

  “I was doing school work online. Didn’t see a reason to get dressed,” Beth answered without turning around.

  “Do you want a sandwich?” Sam called after her.

  “Yeah, in a minute.” The bedroom door closed behind her, a bit quieter than the last few times.

  Sam put together a plate of sandwiches for Beth, cut in triangles because Beth liked them that way, or rather, she used to. When she was six. After she finished eating, she’d leave another message with the realtor, asking her to contact the previous owner. Again. She’d given up on getting an actual response, but she continued to seek one on principle. Also, she needed to contact Reagan, her potential new attorney. As much as she couldn’t afford to pay the fees, she couldn’t afford to simply let the insurance company off the hook. The longer she thought about their refusal to pay out her benefits, the angrier she got about it. Even if it took years, as Reagan cautioned, it would eventually be worth it. She hoped.