Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) (4 page)

On the offensive. Mary wasn’t stupid and knew there had to be a reason for this visit.

“Eight years.”

“What did you say?” Mary asked.

“It’s been eight years I’ve been gone, not five.”

A moment of confusion passed over Mary’s eyes and then cleared. “Same difference. So you obviously didn’t come for money. Looks like you fell on your feet.”

It was said in a sneering way. Calm, nodding, Stacy said, “I did.”

The best way not to get pulled into a conversational eddy with Mary was to say as little as possible. Not to let her insults hurt. Not to let the hurt show if they hit the mark.

“Still fat though.” Years of being called fat by Mary had taken the sting of that insult away. Her counselor had told Stace insults like that usually came from insecure people. She could never see Mary as insecure, but had accepted that she did this to make herself feel superior.

Smiling at this old trick in her bag, Stacy agreed, “Yep.”

The smiling was a mistake. Grabbing her purse and standing, Mary said, “Well, it was a nice reunion, but y’all know I love my Saturday and Sunday off.” She turned to Sarge and handed him her paycheck. “I endorsed this, could you give me the cash?”

Sarge leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Sit down, Mare.”

Mary blustered for a few minutes about him blackmailing her with the check. Sarge just sat there, saying nothing. She knew that he didn’t have to cash it for her. She could wait like most people and put it in the bank and wait the three to five days for the cash to clear.

Moving back away from the desk, Mary asked, “May I at least go to the little girl’s room?”

Sarge said, “Sure.”

Mary walked over to the door Stacy was blocking. Sarge said, “No running away, Mary. There’s some things that need to be said ’tween you an’ Stacy. If you run away, Mare, don’ come back.”

Stacy’s mom’s back stiffened for a moment, and Stacy moved slightly away from the door jamb to make room for the still-petite figure to sashay through.

Whether she intended to bolt or not before Sarge’s threat, the dyed-blonde bombshell came out of the bathroom a few minutes later and walked back into the office. She sat again. “I want to git this over with. Whatever needs to be said? I never claimed to be a domestic goddess, Stace. Your life coulda been a helluva lot worse.”

How many times had she heard that one? Stacy looked at her, using a calm voice. “It’s simple. I want my birth certificate. That’s all.”

Mary stilled. Her eyes looked left and then right, and then left again. Finally, her eyes rolled up and to the left. The sign of a lie in the making. Watching submissives had taught Stacy the signs of dishonesty: she had to make sure they were not over-exerting themselves, confirm they were being honest, not only focusing on pleasing their Domme.

“I lost it. You’ll have to order a new one.”

A lame lie. “We tried that, Mary. Turns out no one of my name was born on that date in this state.”

Up and left again, then Mary put a reassuring look on her face. “Oh, hun, that’s because you were born in Idaho.”

“Looked there, too.”

Before Mary could come up with another lie, Sarge cut in. “Cut the shit, Mare. Just try the truth for once.”

Her mother looked like a scared rabbit. It was strange to see her frightened. Even if she ended up getting a shiny cowboy who liked to punch, Mary didn’t ever act frightened.

She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t tell you.”

“Well, Mom, I need my birth certificate to work legally in this country. So you’re going to have to. Please.” Saying the please was difficult. But if saying got dear old Ma talking, Stacy would kiss her bum. She needed it. If she was going to travel or go to college, legal identification was a must. As much as Stace loved working for West and Tim, she needed to spread her wings before it was too late.

Mary looked over her shoulder. She’d been doing it a couple of times and Stacy wondered if she caught a glimpse of West or felt his presence somehow.

They were in a holding pattern, waiting for Mary to give up the goods. Sarge and Stacy were staying silent. Her mom was mumbling a protest every once in a while, but Stacy could tell she was going to spill the goods soon.

Mary looked over Stacy’s shoulder once more. Posture slumping, Mary said, “Well, I guess I should start with the fact I’m not your mother and Stacy Jones ain’t your real name.”

Before the words fully registered in her brain, the door to the Saloon slammed open. Her body felt like it was thick and weighed down. She didn’t even startle or look around. Seeing Mary’s relief as she looked over her shoulder, Stacy wondered if she called for her off-again boyfriend as a reinforcement while she was in the bathroom.

Until she heard a voice say, “Cee!”

Mary had called for reinforcements, all right. There was only one person who’d ever called her Cee. Brendan.

A
fter Stacy was hit with that one-two punch, it took her a few moments to regain her equilibrium. Sarge stood, pulled Stacy in and closed the door as soon as he heard Brendan’s muffled voice mixing with West’s plummy one.

Dazed, she let Sarge put her into his chair. She heard him say some words to Mary, and they both left the office alone. She sat there for a length of time.

Her head wasn’t processing quickly at the moment. She was still hearing Mary’s words. She believed what Mary said though, because it made sense. Mary always felt put-upon for having to care for Stacy.

Sarge’s and Mary’s voices were added to the fold, ascending in volume, and then quieting into almost nothing after a few minutes.

And Brendan being here. As much as she kept hearing “Cee!” in her head like an underlying satanic track below Mary’s words, he was not the priority at the moment. He was a problem to be dealt with, or not later. She could be mistaken anyway. For all she knew it was some drunk trying to get in before opening.

Telling herself she didn’t have to deal with Brendan right now relieved some of her brain garbage. She surfaced. Having accepted what Mary said, Stacy noticed there were noises outside. Not arguments, just the everyday noises of the early drunks coming in for the day shift.

Standing, she walked on still-wobbly legs, each step getting surer as she moved to the door. Opening it, peeking out, she saw a bartender with a handlebar moustache whom she presumed was Cotton. Sarge was in his usual spot. Mary was in the first stool seat and West was in the second. Brendan wasn’t in sight.

She wondered where he went. Or maybe she had imagined the door and his voice after Mary’s revelation.

All three looked at her. She made a motion for them to come inside.

Mary placed herself on her beer crate. West wiped the unoccupied beer crates before he sat on them. Sarge rolled his eyes and chuffed a quasi-chuckle. Stacy sat on the desk, off center and near to the door.

“Talk.” Stacy commanded.

Mary took a breath. “You ever heard of MM?”

Puzzled, Stacy said, “No, what is it?”

Sarge cleared his throat and Stacy shifted her hips so she could see him. “Montana Militia. Neo-Nazis.”

Her non-mother nodded. “There’s them in Montana, White Nations in Idaho. They’re the big groups. There’s smaller ones too. They’re usually more fucked up. You were born in one of the smaller ones. Called Montana Freedom.”

“You were born there too?”

Mary shook her head. “Family moved into MM when I was a kid. Then a few years later upped stakes and went to Montana Freedom. There was some fucked-up shit that went on there. MM was sane compared to Freedom. Ours was sorta a combination of survivalists and cult.”

“Okay, so what was my name and date of birth so I can get a birth certificate?”

“You can’t get a birth certificate.”

“Why not, Mary?” Calling her that seemed strange on Stacy’s lips.

“Because your birth wasn’t ever recorded with the government. I was born afore we joined the camp. If I woulda been born in the camp, I wouldn’t have a birth certificate either. You were born on the camp with a midwife. Patriots believe we are citizens of the state, and,” Mary made air quotes and said the words in the same manner schoolchildren recite the Pledge of Allegiance, “Americans have been duped inta rejecting their sovereign status by unknowin’ly placing themselves unner U.S. jurisdiction through illegal contracts.” Jurisdiction sounded more like ‘jurisdicshun’.

“What in the hell does that mean?” Stacy was getting agitated.

Sarge cut in again. “To them, an ‘illegal contract’ is somethin’ like a birth certificate, social security card, even a driver’s license.”

“So what was my name? And how in the hell did you end up with me?”

Mary shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Don’t matter. You can get a fancy lawyer to help you.” She looked at West. “Looks like your sugar daddy has some bucks.” She eyed West up and down and turned her body to him. Sarge chuffed again. Stacy gave him the evil eye but he shrugged.

West looked straight into Mary’s eyes. Whatever his eyes said it sent the appropriate message and her non-mom moved back into her former position.

Stacy decided not to clarify her relationship with West. But she persisted. “Why did you raise me?”

Mary looked defiantly at her. “You know when I said life coulda been worse? If I wouldn’t have gotten you out and left myself, who knows how you woulda ended up? My sister was only thirteen when she had you. And she died because the fuckin’ midwife didn’t know what she was doin’. I was only seventeen when she died. Our mom was long gone, ran off with someone else when I was five. Then Daddy got with these Patriots. I decided that I needed to get out. And I couldn’t not take you. Didn’t want you, but couldn’t leave you there. So I left with you when you were six months old. You had the croup, and I was allowed into town to get the medicine. So I hid and took off. Hitchhiked. Ended up here and stayed.”

“Why didn’t you give me up? Leave me at a hospital somewhere?”

Mary got a sour look on her face. “Wish I woulda thought about it when I first ran. Once I was in Cutters Creek, I was stuck with you. I liked it here.”

It didn’t sound like the whole story, but Stacy was exhausted. She looked at West, who noticed and then crossed the room to her. “That’s enough for now.” He looked at Sarge. They didn’t say anything but some sort of communication passed. “Let’s go, lovey.”

Stacy was glad of the reprieve. They walked outside and to the rental car. They were silent on the drive to the motel and the walk (through the front entrance this time) to their rooms.

She slumped into one of the chairs in West’s room. He nudged a drink into her hand. Looking down, she frowned. “Orange juice?”

“Screwdriver.”

Shooting him a grateful look, she downed it and reached out for a refill. West complied, handing it back. “Sip this one.”

Stacy felt the comforting burn of the vodka. “Was I hallucinating, or was that Brendan who barged in the door?”

“Mary texted him. Turns out he checks on Sarge and her every time he’s in town to see if they’ve heard from you. Sarge doesn’t tell him anything. This is the first time Mary has had something to tell. He could have been quite the diversion.”

Stacy nodded, sitting there quietly. West got on the phone and ordered pizza. After he got off the phone, she said, “Wow, sympathy junk from the food fascist.”

West nodded. “Pepperoni and mushroom. Didn’t even order a vegetarian.”

Stacy whistled. Any other time it would have been enough to shock her.

“Once you get some non-nourishing food into you, I want you to have a nap.” He looked at Stacy’s face as she was gearing up for an objection. “Stace, let me take care of you. You need sleep. I’m even going to give you half an Ambien. Then I can talk to Mary when she’s three sheets and see if she’ll give up anything then.”

“What will I be doing while you use your manly wiles?”

“You need to at least talk to Brendan, even if to tell him to go to hell. Or say all those things in that letter your counselor made you write to him. Hell, kick him in the junk, or shag him to get him out of your system.”

“I don’t need to get laid.”

West raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Remember who owns the club. You may scene privately with your submissive of choice, but it doesn’t mean I don’t hear more about your sex life than I want to hear. Apparently it hasn’t occurred for quite some time.” He shuddered.

Stacy colored and grumbled something of it being none of his business.

Mildly Westcott said, “It’s not my business. Just like it’s not my business what you do if you shag or scene with Brendan. I trust your judgement, lovey. By the way, why did he call you Cee?”

Stacy shrugged, slightly cringing at the name. “It’s kind of corny. It started when we first became friends. Brendan’s name started with a B, mine ended with the sound of C. Two halves of a whole and all that. Together we were B.C. Next to each other in the alphabet. It’s all kids’ rationale, which really doesn’t ever make sense. But it stuck. He was B and I was Cee.” West gave Stace a somewhat empathetic look. Stacy asked, “How did you get rid of Brendan?”

“He’s a very polite young man.” Stacy rolled her eyes and decided not to comment. West qualified his previous statement. “He’s a complete and utter tosser for what he did to you. Anyhow, he said he’d be in the bar from eight o’clock and he hopes to see you there.”

***

B
rendan paced back and forth. She was here. Cee was here. It was blind luck he was in town. His mom had guilted him into a visit during his rotation off. He had been planning on either heading up to Glacier National or venturing further north into Canada.

He’d rehearsed the apology thousands of times in his head over the years. Just getting to talk to her would be a start.

The guy who sent him on his way looked like a man of his word. He hoped that his message was passed on. He had waited down the street in a stalker-like manner and followed them to the Super 8. If Cee didn’t show he knew where to find her. He wasn’t letting her go without seeing her at least one more time.

A soft knock on the door. “Brendan?” Danica Thomas opened her son’s bedroom door. “I just got off the phone. I heard that Stacy Jones was back in town. Is it true?”