Bitterroot Queen

by Jove Belle

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought,” Beth said.

  A few minutes later, Olly turned back toward the building. Beth set her supplies on the counter and met Olly at the door. As she passed, Olly squeezed her shoulder and smiled.

  “Good luck, kid.”

  With Rampart trailing behind her, Beth went to Rachel’s car.

  “What did she say?” Sam asked. She had repressed most of her mama-bear instincts when it came to the events of last Saturday, in favor of focusing on Beth and her needs. Now, however, with the culprit sitting in her lot, the instincts were back full-force.

  Olly shrugged. “Okay, she’s not a bad kid. When she realized how messed up Beth was, she locked her in an upstairs bedroom and wouldn’t let any of the guys in.”

  That actually tracked with Beth’s drunken rambling about kissing Rachel. A locked bedroom with nothing else to do? Sam had been in a similar situation the first time she’d realized that kissing girls was better than kissing boys.

  “Do you believe her?”

  “I do.” Olly turned back to their work, leaving Sam to watch her, caught in a place where she wondered how exactly Olly had gotten to this point in her life, that she was taking on a pseudo-parent role with Beth. She turned and watched Beth, assuring herself that Rachel wasn’t doing anything stupid.

  “We’re at a crossroads in this room,” Olly said. “We need to paint before doing too much more. I’ll start taping things off.”

  “Sure, I guess.” Sam watched for a moment longer before turning to help Olly. As much as she wanted to solve all of Beth’s problems, her daughter needed to do some things herself, and, unfortunately, her choices so far meant that she needed to grow up sooner rather than later.

  Olly worked at a steady, measured pace, her movements deliberate, like a well-choreographed dance. She made the mundane—like paint prep—fun to watch. That, and the fact that she was seriously sexy, provided quite a show.

  “How’s your sister?” Sam hadn’t asked since the evening she had arrived unexpectedly, and Olly hadn’t mentioned her again, either, which was odd. Normally, people liked to talk about their families.

  “Fine.” Olly didn’t slow in her work.

  “Fine? Is she still in town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is she staying?”

  Olly sighed. “I don’t usually talk about my family.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out. But I’m curious. So I’m asking. Would it really be so terrible if I knew more about you?”

  “Maybe.” Olly shrugged. “It usually is.”

  Sam frowned. What was so bad? “What’s her name? Remind me.”

  Olly looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Genevieve.”

  “Right. So, where is Genevieve staying?”

  “With me.”

  “Really? At the apple farmer’s?”

  “Yes. For now.”

  “How do they get along, George and Genevieve?”

  Olly stopped working and set her tape on the counter. “Can we please talk about something else?” She enunciated each word.

  “Like what?”

  “How about your pregnant fifteen-year-old daughter.” Olly looked at her levelly, a clear challenge in the set of her jaw.

  Okay. Sam took a physical step back. Maybe Olly was right. Maybe they shouldn’t talk about some things. “You know about that?”

  Olly lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  “Did she tell you?”

  “No. But it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  “Oh.”

  How was it that Olly, a virtual stranger, was able to discern the signs of Beth’s pregnancy when Sam had been caught completely off guard? Was she really that oblivious? Yet another tick in the shitty parenting column. Her stomach clenched.

  “It’s easier, sometimes, to see things when you’re not emotionally attached to the information,” Olly said, her tone more gentle than before. “You’d probably have my sister nailed in a matter of minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Sam smiled wanly. “Maybe we should call it a day?”

  “I can finish up.” Olly gestured toward the tape. “That way, I can start on the paint first thing in the morning.”

  It was Friday afternoon, and they hadn’t actually talked about the upcoming weekend. “Are you working tomorrow?” Sam asked.

  “That was the plan, assuming that’s okay.”

  “You going to charge me overtime?”

  Olly laughed, a sharp bark of amusement that cut through the tension. “As if.”

  Sam smiled and relaxed a little. They worked together to finish prepping the lobby for the next day. Eventually, Beth returned, smiling, and finished cleaning the windows. At the end of the day, with their projects completed, the three of them were almost back to normal. Still, when Olly left, she gave them a polite nod and said a curt goodbye as she held the door open for Rampart to lead the way to her vehicle, and it left Sam a little empty.

  ∞

  “Hey, can I borrow the Scout?” Gen got up from the overstuffed beanbag Olly had picked up secondhand. She slipped her phone and wallet into her pocket and held out her hand, presumably for the keys.

  “No,” Olly said flatly. She rarely ended her workday grumpy, but Sam had pushed just hard enough to set her on the wrong side of that line. Near as she could tell, Gen hadn’t done a single damn thing while Olly had been at work. If she wanted to loll around like a slacker, Olly couldn’t stop her, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to reward her, either.

  “Come on. I want to hit the casino. Check out their tables. I need a ride to get there.”

  Olly stuffed her keys into her pocket rather than dropping them on the makeshift table as she normally did. She looked at Gen for a moment then started toward the stairs. Rampart, who had been circling his favorite spot on the floor, followed her with a heavy doggie sigh.

  She was crafting a wooden platform of sorts for the pulley system and preferred to work on that rather than argue with Gen about keys. When it was done, she’d be able to use it to move heavy items up to the loft with ease. She’d finish up tonight and hopefully start on the docking mechanism.

  Gen, of course, followed her. “Olly, don’t be a jerk. Let me use the car.”

  Olly sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to count to ten before she responded. “I’m almost out of gas. No.”

  She would have plenty of gas if she hadn’t said yes the last two nights when Gen asked to borrow her car.

  “I’ll put some in. Fill it, even.” Gen stuck out her hand again.

  This—a demand that would be seen as rude by others but was normal for her family—was high on the list of reasons Olly hadn’t wanted Gen to stay. As always, after two days of Gen at the hotel, with Gen promising anything and everything, Olly had given in and brought her here. She’d cleared it with George first, hoping he’d say no. He’d smiled at her sadly and commented on how families could be difficult and that there was no point to avoiding hers any longer.

  “Fine.” She slapped the keys into Gen’s palm. Hard enough for them to bite into her skin, but Gen didn’t flinch. “Just be careful. No more door dings. And stop riding the clutch.”

  Gen laughed. “What are you worried about? That thing is a beast.”

  “I’m serious.” Olly made a grab for the keys, but Gen jerked them out of reach.

  “I’ll treat it like a goddamned princess, okay?”

  With that, Gen made a run for the door, leaving Olly to fume. So far, Gen had spent every night at the casino, working the tables. She was an excellent gambler, but it was only a matter of time before she asked Olly to come with her. Grifting at the tables was always easier with a partner, and like Gen, Olly had learned very early.

  However, Gen would have a harder time convincing Olly to go with her than she had getting those keys tonight. The casino was on tribal land, which meant tribal laws. As good as Gen was, she was playing with fire on this one. She was foolish to think she wouldn’t get
burned.

  “Come on, Ramp.” Olly patted her leg. As long as Gen was leaving, she’d head inside and say hi to George, catch up on his comings and goings, and fix them both some food. Her platform project would keep until later.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As she woke, Sam automatically went over her list for the day. The storage container was empty and still sitting in her lot. She’d check in with the company and then start painting. Again. After a stop in the bathroom, she went to the kitchen. Beth was already there, sipping a cup of coffee and staring at a pack of cigarettes. She didn’t look up as Sam poured herself a cup and then sat on the other side of the counter. The box of Marlboro Reds rested midway between them.

  “Do you want me to get rid of those?” Sam asked, trying like hell to keep her voice conversational.

  “I’ll do it.” Beth met Sam’s gaze and gave her a sad smile.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” Beth pulled a Zippo from her pocket and set it next to the cigarettes. “I actually talked to Denmar last night.”

  “Oh? You finally called him?”

  “No, he called me. It was a pretty short conversation. He’s met someone else, and she doesn’t think he’s an asshole.”

  Sam kept her tone level. “How do you feel about that?”

  Beth shrugged. “Okay. I mean, I was going to break up with him, eventually. It had to happen. Doesn’t matter who actually said the words, does it?”

  Sam took Beth’s hand. “No, it really doesn’t.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Did you talk about...” Sam let the sentence trail off. She still wasn’t sure what Beth planned to do, keep the baby or terminate the pregnancy. Until she made her intentions clear, Sam didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Tough as it was, it was Beth’s decision, and all Sam could do was hope she’d ask for advice before taking action.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “He sent me some money on PayPal, for an abortion. But he still says there’s no way it’s his, and I can’t ruin his life with a kid. Direct quote. Asshole.”

  “Is it good or bad, that he sent the money?”

  “I haven’t decided. The money is good. But what if she wants to know her dad?”

  Sam’s stomach clenched. “She?”

  “I’m just saying that. I don’t actually know.”

  “Does this mean you’re going to have the baby?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. It’s stupid and I hate myself for being this stupid. But that’s not her fault.”

  “And later, if she does want to know Denmar, you can always do a DNA test.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But I hate that I’ll have to. It’s not like I’ve had sex with anyone else. For now, though, I need to figure out a way to earn some money. That’s step one. Babies are expensive. Who knew?”

  “Beth, we’ll figure it out. Until you have a driver’s license, it makes more sense for you to work here.”

  The gravity of that statement hit Sam square in the gut. Beth was pregnant at fifteen, before she could legally drive. That meant Sam would be a grandmother at thirty-four, possibly thirty-five depending upon which side of her birthday the baby was born.

  Beth took a deep breath, and her eyes grew wet with unshed tears. “I really fucked everything up. I’m sorry, Mom. Really, really sorry.”

  Sam circled the island and pulled Beth into a hug. “Yes, but at this point, all you can do is prepare for what’s coming. Having a baby is hard. I’m not going to lie. And it doesn’t end after the child is born. So you need to be really, really sure, and not simply motivated by guilt or some romantic notion of doing the right thing. There’s no clear line between right and wrong in this situation.”

  “I know.”

  She backed away until she held Beth at arm’s length. She wanted to see her daughter’s face for what came next. “Do you? Do you have any idea how exhausting it is? This beautiful little creature who you are willing to sacrifice everything for will suck the very life out of you and make you feel guilty that you don’t have more to give. She will make unreasonable demands and take all your time. You won’t be able to sleep, to eat—hell, you’ll be lucky to shower regularly when she’s born. Forget about parties and dating and all the fun things you should be doing as a teenager.

  “You’re going to be up to your ass in nasty diapers and snot and baby puke. You’ll be so tired you won’t remember your own name. And that baby won’t care. Three in the morning and all you’ll want is sleep, and she’ll be screaming her lungs out over something that you can’t fix. You’ll feel like the world’s worst mom, and you’ll want to scream right along with her.

  “On top of that, you have school. Do you have any idea how hard it is to think when you’re drowning in baby formula and strained carrots? She’ll be three before you graduate. That means finals and term papers with a toddler running around. It takes an act of God to keep a toddler from destroying the furniture, their toys, the walls, hell, even themselves. Toddlers are fearless. They will walk off a cliff or grab a hot pan off the stove or any number of other things.”

  “Wow.” Beth stared at her, shell-shocked.

  “Wow is right. Parenting isn’t for the weak of heart. So think long and hard about this.” She picked up her cup, watching as Beth got up and refilled hers, then went to the back patio.

  ∞

  The loft was beginning to look more and more like an apartment, but there was still a lot of work to be done. For example, Gen slept on the floor in a sleeping bag, and that’s where she currently was, cuddling Olly’s keys like a precious lover.

  Olly needed those keys, dammit.

  Quietly, so as to not wake her, Olly tried to peel her fingers away one by one. Gen refused to loosen her grip. Rampart sat patiently next to her, watching with a serene look on his face. Finally, after several failed attempts, Olly gave up and shook Gen’s shoulder.

  “Gen,” she said sharply, “give me my keys.”

  Gen grunted and rolled over.

  Olly shook her harder. “Dammit. Let go.”

  Rampart whined and licked Olly’s hand. As a natural extension of his attention, he also licked Gen’s cheek. That got Gen’s attention better than any shaking or yelling on Olly’s part.

  Gen sat up, groggy, and pushed her hair out of her face. “What’s going on?”

  Olly pointed to her keys, still gripped tight in Gen’s hand. “I need those.”

  Gen looked down and seemed to only then realize that she still had Olly’s keys. “Oh. Yeah, sure.” She tossed her the keys.

  “Thanks.”

  “Where you going?” Gen asked.

  “Errands.”

  Gen started to get up. “Like what?”

  “First the motel, then Bitter Ink, and ending with groceries.” Olly didn’t mention the gas station, but she was pretty sure that would also have to happen sometime today.

  “I’ll come with.” Gen stretched and yawned. “I need to pick up a few things, too.”

  “I’m leaving now.”

  “Okay, I’m good.” Gen pushed her hands through her hair and headed toward the stairs.

  Surprisingly, Gen had returned the Scout with a full tank of gas, as promised. As they settled into the front, with Rampart in the back, she asked, “How’d it go last night?”

  Olly didn’t really want to ask, but needed to keep track of Gen to some degree. If she was building enemies in the community, eventually there would be fallout. And history taught her that, regardless of her involvement, she would be affected. She started the Scout and headed down the driveway. George was working in his orchard, and she waved on her way past.

  “It was great.” Gen laughed. “I stuck mostly to blackjack. Tonight I’ll go back and not have as much luck.”

  What Gen meant by that was she would still count the cards, but she would bet against herself, purposefully losing so the house wouldn’t suspect her. That was something Olly appreciated about Gen. She was
smart about her cons and played the long game whenever possible.

  “In fact,” Gen pulled a stack of folded bills from her front pocket, “this is for you.”

  She peeled off a third of the bills, mostly twenties with the occasional fifty mixed in, and offered it to Olly. By the look of it, there was several hundred dollars there. Olly took it as she pulled onto the highway toward the Queen.

  “Thanks.” Olly tucked the bills into the pocket on the front of her shirt, an oversized men’s work shirt that she’d picked up for next to nothing at a yard sale.

  “Don’t sound so happy about it,” Gen said.

  Olly kept her gaze trained on the road. Gen already knew how she felt about earning money this way. There was no point in arguing with her. “You should use it to find a place.” She paused. “Or to get back home.”

  After a prolonged moment of silence, Gen sighed and said, “I don’t want to go back. I told you that.”

  “I know. And I told you that I like it here. I don’t want to blow it.”

  “I’m not going to blow it. I’m just building a little bit of capital while I figure things out.”

  As the Queen came into view, Olly turned to Gen and said, “I really hope so. Just remember where you are. This isn’t Atlantic City.”

  “Which is run by the mob.”

  She had warned Gen about the dangers of running a con while on the reservation. Tribal lands had their own set of laws and their own way of doing things. It she got caught, it would be the equivalent of being arrested in a foreign country. U.S. laws and protocols didn’t apply and local law enforcement couldn’t cross the border without an invitation. Even then, they had no authority.

  “Just be careful.” Olly pulled into the parking lot of the Queen. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Before she could get the door open, Rampart barked happily and jumped over the side. He waited for her at the front door, wagging his tail. In spite of her mood with regard to Gen, she smiled and moved to catch up with him. At the door, she patted him on the head and used her key to let herself in.