The Bitterroot Inn

by Devney Perry

  I laughed. “Try. Please.”

  She rolled her blue eyes and made a sour face. I giggled, knowing that was exactly how I looked when I did the same gesture. I was a younger version of my mom, our only difference being eye color. Hers were bluer than the gray-blue irises I’d inherited from Dad.

  “I’ll get out of here so you can have some time alone.” She picked up her keys and phone from the kitchen counter. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how dinner went.”

  “Definitely.”

  She looked past me into the living room. “He seems to be great with Coby.”

  I looked past her and saw what she meant. Hunter was now rolling cars along the floor next to Coby. Both were smiling and making pretend engine noises.

  Phew. My heart swelled at the same time a nervous wave rolled in my stomach.

  This was the first time I’d ever brought a potential love interest home to meet Coby and I’d done it without much thought. Should I have waited to get to know Hunter more before bringing him home? What if behind that handsome and sweet exterior was an evil soul? What if—

  I stopped my mental flip-out. Coby and Hunter playing in my living room wasn’t something I needed to overcomplicate. As far as my son needed to know, Hunter was just another male presence, like his uncles. In time, if things became more serious, I could introduce Hunter to Coby as something more.

  “I hope he’s as good as he seems,” Mom whispered so quietly that I doubted she’d meant to say it out loud.

  “Me too,” I whispered back.

  Mom gave me another hug, then went into the living room to say good-bye to Coby and Hunter. Waving, she let herself out and I finished making dinner.

  “Okay. We’re ready!” I called after setting the table.

  “Let’s go wash your hands.” Hunter stood from the floor and held out a hand for Coby. “Can you show me to the bathroom?”

  A smiling Coby tugged Hunter down the hall. “It’s this way!”

  The sight of them disappearing into the bathroom, hand-in-hand, conjured a familiar rush of worry. Coby was missing out, not having a father. My son deserved to have a playmate every day, not just when my brothers or dad were over for a visit. He deserved to have a good man tuck him into bed every night. To have a dad he could brag about.

  I had that with my dad. I wanted that for my son.

  “This looks great,” Hunter said as he and Coby came back from the bathroom and took their seats.

  “Thanks. Okay, guys, dig in.”

  “Hunter—” Coby started but his mouth was full of fries so I cut him off.

  “Chew first, bud. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  He scrunched up his nose and chewed as fast as his jaw would work. With one big swallow and a swig of chocolate milk, he looked back at Hunter. “Hunter, do you know what sticky boots are?”

  “No. What are they?”

  “They’re special boots to climb walls. Mickey Mouse has ’em.”

  Hunter shook his head. “They sound pretty awesome. Do you have some?”

  Coby gave him an exaggerated pout. “No. Mommy says they’re dangerous.”

  Hunter grinned at me, then looked back at Coby. “She’s probably right about that. Moms are always worried about dangerous stuff, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.” Coby shoved another fry in his mouth and kept on talking. “Have you driven in a monster truck before?”

  “No. Have you?”

  Coby shook his head. “No. Do you think ants cough?”

  “Hmm.” Hunter swallowed his bite. “I don’t know that much about ants. What do you think?”

  “I think they cough.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Coby’s questions continued on from there. We learned that Hunter thought Coby’s dream job of super spy was spot on, that he agreed the T. rex was the coolest dinosaur and that he’d never seen Coby’s favorite movie, Cars.

  I stayed happily quiet throughout dinner, enjoying the questions Coby would ask and the answers Hunter gave.

  “I see he’s inherited your curiosity,” Hunter teased when we were done eating.

  I smiled. “That he has.”

  Hunter stood from the table and picked up his plate. “Coby, do you want to help me do the dishes?”

  “Okay!” Coby nodded and scrambled off his chair, taking his plastic green plate carefully to the kitchen.

  I stood and picked up my plate too. “You don’t need to worry about these. I can do the dishes.”

  Hunter shook his head, taking the plate from my hand and nodding toward the living room. “Take a break. We’ve got this.”

  I retreated to the living room, sinking onto my gray couch and turning sideways so I could spy on the kitchen activities. While Hunter rinsed, Coby stood over the dishwasher and pointed to the spot for Hunter to deposit the dish.

  All I could do was smile.

  Coby was enamored with Hunter. His smile and bright eyes were full of joy only a child’s face could show. I loved seeing my son so happy, but on top of that, I really liked the look on Hunter’s face too. He seemed just as fascinated with Coby as my son was with him.

  “What’s next?” Hunter asked Coby as he dried his hands.

  “Now we have to take Pickle for a walk,” Coby declared.

  “All right. Lead the way.”

  Coby hustled over to Pickle’s crate and got out the leash. I walked over too and grabbed a doggie poop bag. Then we all set out for the puppy’s evening walk, slowly descending the stairs at the back of the motel as Coby led us to the grass path.

  “He’s a great kid,” Hunter said as Coby ran ahead. “Smart too. I couldn’t believe all of the stuff he was telling me when we were playing with his cars. Like all the colors? He was so specific. Maroon. Copper. Cobalt. Most kids would have just said red, orange and blue.”

  “Thank you. We spend a lot of time coloring and he always likes me to tell him the names on the crayons. I guess they stuck.”

  Pride swelled as I watched Coby petting Pickle. I wasn’t a dummy by any means, but I knew most of Coby’s brainpower had come from Everett’s gene pool. It was a good reminder that not everything about Everett had been bad. He hadn’t wanted to be a parent—hence the homicidal push for an abortion—but he had given me my greatest treasure. For Coby, I’d always be grateful to Everett.

  Coby ran back to us after a few minutes, dragging Pickle along. “Can we watch Cars, Mommy?”

  Glancing down at my watch, I saw it was nearly seven. “Sorry, not tonight.” By the time we finished with Pickle and got Coby in the bath, we’d only have thirty minutes before bed to read a few stories. If it was a Friday night, not a Sunday, I’d make an exception for the movie, but as it was, we had a busy week ahead of us and I didn’t want to start off Monday morning with a tired kid.

  “But Mommy, Hunter has never seen it. He doesn’t know about Lightning McQueen and Tow Mater.”

  “Sorry. Not tonight.” I hated seeing Coby’s face fall.

  Hunter bent to eye level with my son. “If it’s okay with your mom, maybe I could come back another night and watch it with you?”

  Coby’s face lit up. He bounced up and down, begging me silently as he waited for my approval. “Yes,” I said, “that’s fine with me. Now let’s go inside and get ready for bath.”

  “Yay!” Off Coby ran with Pickle trying to keep up.

  The minute we were inside, Coby dropped the puppy’s leash and ran off toward his room, stripping clothes as he went. “Little boys and their nudity.” I shook my head. “He’s not even kind of shy.”

  Hunter laughed. “I’ll leave and let you get him to bed. Let me know when you deem that housekeeper’s room acceptable enough to show me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m doing this preemptive clean for your own good. Trust me.”

  “Sure you are,” he said dryly. “I think you have this idea that I need fancy things. I don’t. Fancy is overrated. Trust me.”

  “Well, then I’m d
oing it for me. I don’t want you to see my mess.”

  “Maisy, do you think a mess is going to scare me away?” He took one step closer, breaking the barrier on my intimate space. The heat from his broad chest warmed my face and I held my breath, waiting for his next move. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m staying until you make me leave.”

  I shivered when his hand came up and framed my jaw. The tingles on my cheek spread down my neck as his thumb drew a small circle by the corner of my mouth. With a racing heart, my lips parted, inviting him in for a kiss. I hadn’t been kissed in so, so long. I wanted Hunter to break that streak. I wanted his soft lips, his tongue—

  “Mommy! I’m naked!”

  Hunter and I both jerked, stepping apart as the moment vanished.

  “Sorry.” I shook my head to clear the haze. “I’d better get to him.”

  “It’s no problem. I’ll see you soon.” He leaned forward and softly kissed my cheek before letting himself out.

  I stared at the door with my hand pressed to my cheek. Then I closed my eyes and memorized the feel of his lips on my skin.

  “Mommy!”

  My eyes snapped open and I stuttered into action. “Coming!”

  I hustled to the bathroom and ran Coby’s bath. While he splashed and blew bubbles, I replayed Hunter’s words.

  I’m staying until you make me leave.

  Until I made him leave? I doubted that would ever happen.

  “This is ridiculous,” I told my pillow. Craning my neck, I looked at my alarm clock. 3:24 a.m.

  Three hours.

  I’d been lying in bed, awake, for three hours.

  After bath and bedtime, Coby had zonked right out. I’d had a glass of wine, picked up toys, then headed to bed early. Mistake. I’d woken up after midnight and my brain had been busy ever since. Nothing I’d tried could shut it down for sleep.

  First, I’d run the gamut on my standard worries. Was I making the right choices for Coby? Was I spending enough time with him? Was I doing enough to make sure he wasn’t just surviving, but thriving?

  Once those questions had been exhausted—without conclusion, just like every other time I’d hashed out my mommy worries—I’d moved on to my concerns about the inn. I’d recounted my to-do list for the next two weeks and all the things that needed to be done. Reservations were already starting to pick up and I was running out of free time.

  I need to be sleeping! I had things to do tomorrow. Important things. Things that needed me to be rested, not walking around like a zombie.

  Tossing and turning for another fifteen minutes, I finally gave up.

  “Screw it.” I kicked my white down comforter off my legs and got up, reaching to turn on my bedside lamp.

  If I couldn’t sleep, I’d make a new list to reduce some stress. My tasks lists were my sanity. Typically, I had three or four versions of the same to-do list going at once because the physical act of writing down my tasks helped me tackle them.

  And because of nights like this, I’d learned to always keep pens and paper in my nightstand. Opening my drawer, I pulled out a notepad and then reached back in, patting around for a pen. My fingers hit a cold, metal pen, heavier than the standard plastic ballpoint, and I instantly froze.

  My vision blurred as an Everett flash consumed my mind.

  There was a scalpel in my hand, not a pen, and I was in the cold basement of the hospital. Everett was looming over Gigi on her knees because he’d just hit her in the face. And I was standing behind him ready to strike. My movements from that night replayed in slow motion. The windup of my shoulder, the plunge of the scalpel into Everett’s neck and the heat of his sticky blood as it coated my fist.

  That night, Everett had dropped to the floor and Gigi and I had run away. But tonight in my flashback, he yanked out the scalpel from his neck. His brown eyes—my son’s brown eyes—were locked on mine as he lunged.

  I gasped, standing from my bed and scrambling backward. When my butt hit the floor, the flashback broke.

  Damn it to hell.

  A tear dripped down my cheek as I worked to breathe and calm my racing heart. I was losing my mind. When would these flashes end? How many years would it take for me to forget that horrible night? To forget that horrible man?

  Pushing up off the floor, I bent down and picked up the pen that had fallen to the carpet. Marching it straight to the bathroom, I tossed it in the trash before going to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. I dabbed it dry with a towel and looked at myself in the mirror.

  You’re losing it.

  Was it time to go back to therapy? After I’d killed Everett, my parents had insisted I talk to a therapist to help deal with the aftermath of that traumatic night. Therapy had really helped but I’d stopped going after Coby had been born and I’d bought the inn.

  My therapist lived in Bozeman, and between the two-hour round-trip plus the session time itself, therapy had taken too much time. I’d had a newborn to feed and a business to build so therapy had been an easy item to fall off the priority list. But with these flashes as vivid as ever, maybe I needed to make the time and try again.

  But in the absence of anyone to talk to tonight, I opted for my distraction of choice: work. Work would once again be my savior.

  I brushed my teeth, then went back to my room for clothes, tossing on some gray joggers and a black zip-up. Then I pulled a black cap over my head, slipped on my fuchsia sneakers and headed to the kitchen with my phone in hand.

  Opening up my video monitor app, I checked Coby’s room on the screen. Sure enough, he was sprawled on his bed and completely zonked out. Unfortunately, nights like this weren’t uncommon so I’d invested in a top-of-the-line monitor so I could work downstairs while Coby slept. Nine out of ten emails I returned were sent after midnight and I’d lost track of how many loads of laundry I’d done before sunrise.

  Carefully shutting the door, I slipped downstairs through the interior stairwell to the lobby. The loft had two sets of stairs. The staircase outside we used the most but the interior was handy for after hours. Since I didn’t like to wander far from the loft on nights like this—just in case Coby woke up—I always stayed within a thirty-second sprint back to this stairwell. That limited my radius to the lobby, my office, the utility room and—conveniently for tonight—the housekeeper’s room.

  With my master keys in hand, I went outside and straight to the utility room, collecting a garbage can and two bags. Then I headed next door to the housekeeper’s room to start my cleaning.

  Opening the door, I was assaulted by a wave of musty air. I leaned into the room and grabbed a can of paint to prop the door open before flipping on the light, revealing piles of leftover remodeling supplies.

  The room was long and narrow, with a cramped bathroom and a narrow closet taking up the entire width at the back. The twin bed was pushed tight against one wall opposite a small dresser loaded with paint supplies. Next to the dresser were stacks of unused tile and rolls of carpet remnants. On the small TV stand at the foot of the bed was a box filled with random tools.

  I started with the stuff on the bed first, hauling the toolbox Beau had bought me into the utility room. Then I used a laundry basket to load up my extra sink fixtures and doorknobs. When I came back in again, I decided to relocate the tile to my office. Picking up one of the cement pieces, I brushed my fingers against its smooth white and gray surface. I was lost in my inspection of the beautiful scrolled design when a hand landed on my shoulder.

  “Ahh!” I screamed and jumped, spinning around with my tile leading the way. It connected first, hitting before my eyes could take in the person behind me. When they did, I dropped the tile and gasped as it cracked on the floor.

  “Fucking shit, Maisy.” Hunter stepped back and clutched his temple.

  This wasn’t happening. Not again. “Hunter?”

  “Yes, Hunter. I called your name. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “No!” I yelled, flailing my hands in the air. For the s
econd time, I’d physically assaulted Hunter, and just like the last time, out came the words. “Oh my god! Why did you sneak up on me? You know I react first! Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay. Shit. I’m so sorry! So, so sorry. Do you think you have a concussion? Are you dizzy? Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

  Hunter pulled his fingers away, red on his fingertips. “Damn.”

  I rushed closer, my hands going to his face and twisting it so I could get a better look. The tile had gashed him right in the forehead about two inches above his temple.

  “Come on.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him outside. I didn’t stop to lock up the housekeeper’s room or even close the door. I just dragged him behind me, through the lobby and up the interior stairs to the loft.

  “Maisy, it’s not a big deal. Will you slow down? I’m fine.”

  “No, it’s not. Come on.” I kept pulling. Every time he tugged for me to slow, I just pulled harder.

  “Maisy, I’m fine,” he repeated when we reached the loft.

  “You’re bleeding. That is not fine, Hunter.” I pulled him through the entryway and down the hall toward the bathroom. “I can’t believe I made you bleed. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I really hurt you this time. This is bad. Really bad.”

  “Maisy—”

  “It’s not fine!” I clapped my free hand over my mouth and froze. I’d just shouted right outside of Coby’s bedroom.

  We both stood still, staring at Coby’s closed door and listening for the sound of him rustling from his bed. When all remained quiet, I resumed my pulling on Hunter’s hand to the bathroom.

  “Sit.” I pointed at the toilet while I closed the door and turned on the faucet to warm up the water. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in here.”

  I crouched down and started digging through my cabinet under the sink. In my haste, out came the tampons and pantyliners, both spilling out of their respective containers right onto the floor by Hunter’s feet. “Shit!” Could this get worse?

  The last thing I wanted was for Hunter to be front and center with my feminine products. I wanted him to think of me as sexy and alluring, not bleeding and bitchy.

  “Here.” Hunter bent to pick them up.