5. Cass
5
CASS
The happy hour crowd steadily flows into The Thirsty Fox.
“So we’re opening with jazz today?” Lisa, one of my bartenders, digs her cloth-covered hand into a beer glass, wiping its foggy bottom.
“Apparently it’s pirate jazz,” I respond as I take out a tray of clean jugs from the dishwasher.
Bars and clubs are the last things people associate with downtown Helena, but a Fox Friday is as busy as any other drinking hot spot in the country’s west.
“Another one, please, love?” One of our regulars, a Brit who claimed he was almost born a Montanan, sets an empty glass on the bar. Like a lot of patrons in this part of the city, he works for the government. We love Charlie. He has been an advocate for The Thirsty Fox since he got a job as an advisor to the attorney general.
Lisa moves to the service area with her trademark smile and passes Charlie his order.
“What’s pirate jazz?” she asks me as she cleans the counter.
“Jazz with a touch of the Caribbean.”
“It’s a risk bringing in new music on Friday.”
“Tell that to the boss.” I shrug. Whether the patrons warm up to pirate jazz is the least of my worries right now. High on my priority is the debut of Fallen Angel.
Montana has a strong love affair with beer, and the competition is stiff, but a failed ale isn’t an option for me—the Fallen Angel has to become a crowd’s favorite tonight.
One of my back-of-house staff waves at me, notifying me of a delivery.
“The Angel has landed,” I gush.
“Need help?” Lisa offers.
“Nah. I’ll be fine.”
I’m the manager at this bar, but I usually save the back-breaking chores for myself and the boys. I’ve been nicknamed the Sarah Connor of Helena for my rather muscly arms, so I can handle the weight. My girls are strong, but I’ve seen how workplace injury can ruin a life, so I limit the amount of time they deal with heavy loads. Girls in this industry tend to get inferior protection. But not here—not while I’m around.
The perfectly packed Fallen Angel bottles come through the back door, one crate at a time. My heart pounds with pride and nervousness. As I watch my delivery guy take out the last batch from the van, my cellphone rings.
Now my heart pounds for another reason. When I get a call from Grace’s daycare, I know it won’t be about my daughter winning an art challenge or having a good nap, but the news I’m hearing this time is frightening. “What do you mean, she tried to run away? She’s only five!”
Instead of giving me peace of mind about my daughter’s well-being, the daycare director has been on my case, accusing Grace of being exceptionally ill-mannered for her age and a negative influence on the other children. It feels as though my daughter is practically in detention rather than just a naughty corner. Perhaps it’s time to consider transferring Grace to another facility.
Mrs. Pryor goes on to blabber about my parenting. “She needs discipline, Ms. Winter. And I mean action, not just words.”
As Mrs. Pryor continues, a dog bark diverts my attention—it’s faint, but as if someone had just turned up the sound system, it quickly takes over my senses.
Then something pushes against the small of my back. Not prepared for anyone—or anything—to bring me down in an alley that has been part of my life for the last year, right next to my delivery van, I tumble to the ground without resistance.
A dark, big, furry creature greets me.
In the distance, a deep male voice shouts out a name.
Confusion soon turns into warmth, as I’ve never seen anyone so excited to find me. The black and tan German shepherd licks my face with zeal as I lie flat on the dirt. He has one paw up in the air as if wanting to high-five me, but in the absence of another front paw, he collapses forward.
“Oh, you!” I hug the mutt as he lands on me clumsily. I don’t even know whose dog it is.
“Jesus Christ!” A desperate voice travels along the alleyway. The dog is pinning me down, obscuring my view, but I know a man is coming fast toward me. “Maximus, let go! Let go!”
Soon, the excited furry thing named Maximus is yanked off me—uncovering my face and freeing my body.
I should get up, but an invisible force is keeping me down, stronger than the weight of the huge German shepherd. Against the sky, I see a face.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” he says, tentatively touching my shoulder. His eyes scan me from head to toe. “Did my dog hurt you?”
Someone has knotted my vocal cord.
Someone has stolen my lungs.
Staring at me—I swear on the sacred recipe of the Fallen Angel—is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Before I settled in Helena, life had taken me far and wide, and my profession has given me opportunities to meet flirt-worthy guys. But the man who’s profusely apologizing to me is a heart-melter on another level. His thick brows gracefully top a pair of round eyes with the most mesmerizing shade. They sparkle like a pair of natural gray diamonds—one of the rarest gemstones.
Despite the fact that I’m lying frozen on the ground with my mouth open—which one might mistake as a combo of panic attack and lockjaw—his gaze reassures me that he’s got everything under control. Those gray diamond eyes definitely talk, and his wide palm covering my shoulder affirms that he’ll stay no matter what.
My focus has been fixed on him, and I only just realize another man has come into the scene.
What has the Mayor of Helena done to the city that not just one, but two unworldly handsome men have decided to assemble in this alley?
The other equally perfect specimen of a man stands guard, taking over the dog. He looks a lot younger. If someone told me the two were a couple, I’d believe it. But for my sanity’s sake, I truly hope they’re not.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” Mr. Gray Diamond’s deep voice only paralyzes me more, and I struggle to sit up even with his help.
Meanwhile, the other guy walks away with Maximus.
Mr. Gray Diamond’s hand stays on my shoulder. I can trace his energy—from his palm and fingertips, shooting straight into the four chambers of my heart.
“I’m fine,” I finally manage to say something, although my lack of brain function leaves me feeling embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry.” He’s about to dust paw prints off my top, but realizing they’re too close to my breasts, he opts to place his free hand on his own knee.
His presence and his hold have sent me on a ride in the clouds. I would stay in this heaven forever, but like a fallen angel, reality hits me.
Grace.
“My phone…” I murmur as I stand up.
“Here, here,” he says, gathering my phone and then handing it to me. He’s about to ask me something, but seeing an active call on the screen, he retreats a few paces.
“Yeah. I’m still here,” I respond to a concerned Mrs. Pryor this time. “Can I talk to Grace, please?”
I turn my back to Mr. Gray Diamond, not wanting to reveal anything about the mini-crisis I’m dealing with.
“Mom…”
“Grace, what happened? You can’t just run away like that.”
“Oliver made fun of me because we didn’t go to his birthday party.”
I shake my head. I didn’t know that sitting out a kid pool party would have these consequences.
“Told you we should’ve gone,” Grace laments.
Grace loves swimming, but she’s too young to understand. The only body of water that I dare to come close to is one that’s contained in a bathtub. Seeing or hearing water sloshing or streaming suffocates me, taking me back to the moment I almost died.
“Oliver said you were a snob.”
The boy is trouble, but at five, ‘snob’ is not a word they pluck from the ether. It’s learned, a mimicry of grown-up whispers.
“He’s talking bad about you,” Grace goes on. “I hate him! I hate everyone here.”
“Grace, you can’t say that. You don’t hate them, and you can’t just run away.”
“Well, we ran away from Seattle because you didn’t like Dad.”
Now, this is a matter I can’t blame my aquaphobia for. Thinking about my ex-husband makes my gut twist the way only he could. He was a narcissist who had a lust for money and grandiosity. Living beyond his means was second nature to him, and he was and probably still is in debt. Too many times, I was left to clean up his mess.
“Grace, honey, we talked about this.”
“I want to go home!”
“I’ll pick you up soon. In the meantime, you do as Mrs. Pryor says. Can you do that?”
“Okay…”
I pray to God her soft voice means she’s listening.
“I love you. I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
I blow kisses into my phone as I hang up.
Grace’s little rebellions are nothing new, often sparking within me the longing for a partner’s support—for Grace to have a father figure, and for me, a shoulder to rest on. Yet, when I close my eyes, the dream inevitably simplifies to just the two of us, where I am all that Grace has—mother and father both. Whether heaven or hell falls on me, I will defend her with my life.
Mr. Gray Diamond is still waiting for me in the corner. Much as I want to strike up a conversation and ask where the two handsome strangers come from, I have to go.
“Please, don’t report my dog,” the man begs. Maintaining a small distance, he carefully puts half of his wide-shouldered, tapered-waist frame in front of me, attempting to slow me down.
Against the warnings bubbling under my pores, I stop and brace myself to look into his eyes. The second time around should be easy, but—Goddamn! The proverb ‘eyes are the windows to your soul’ comes to life right in front of me. This man isn’t afraid to show emotions—his remorse, his care, and dare I say, affection? Whatever it is, I’m sucked into it.
I halt my steps. “No, I won’t. He’s just one hyper-enthusiastic dog.” I bite a smile, recalling Maximus’ coat against my chest and his gooey tongue attacking my face. “But you should keep a tighter leash on him. Next time he might not be so lucky.”
Admitting his lapse, he nods. I take that as my cue to leave this enigmatic man, whose path I doubt will cross mine again. I stride toward the front of the bar where I parked my car—and where Mr. Gray Diamond’s friend and the mutt in question are waiting.
“Ma’am.” He nods at me. Gosh, I can’t get over how young he looks. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry about the dog.”
“I’m fine. It’s no trouble.”
The baby-faced man catches the logo of The Thirsty Fox on my shirt. He then asks, “Are pets allowed here?”
I peer at Maximus, who’s sitting calmly, grinning as if he’s done a good job. Was the dog practicing catch-the-suspect with me earlier? Despite failing to present himself as a ‘good dog’ on first impression, I’m sure the mutt is well trained. And I wasn’t imagining it, his left front paw is missing. Observing his military-patterned collar, I ask, “Is he a service dog?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Gray Diamond says, taking over Maximus from his friend as he formally introduces his dog to me. “Staff Sergeant Maximus, U.S. Army, 1st Battalion, 25 th Infantry Division.”
Maximus sits straight, his dark nozzle points right at me, his eyes focused.
I could be fired if my boss finds out, but rejecting a veteran is a crime—be it man or dog.
“Come on through, guys,” I usher the threesome inside as my mind races at a hundred miles an hour. “So, are you in the military too?”
“We were,” Mr. Gray Diamond responds.
As the pieces fall into place, I recognize them—not locals, but former military. And although these two men aren’t clad in suits, I’m adamant they are the heroes from the Noah Forbes rescue.
Still, I keep my cool. Running a bar means keeping it together, no room for getting swept up in the moment, let alone being star-struck. So I nod politely at the two men. “I thank you for your service,” I say, extending the same courtesy to Maximus with a gentle pat.
After what my mom and I went through, I’ve made a rule never to entangle my heart with a military man. Not that I will ever date Mr. Gray Diamond, but knowing that he’s no longer enlisted brings an irrational sense of relief—one that’s similar to the effect of finding out your celebrity crush is single again. Meaningless, but uplifting.
Lisa, who’s just served Charlie the Brit our Montana-famous cheeseburger, greets us. I say to her, “Could you take care of these gentlemen, please? And their canine companion?”
“Sure. I’ll get a bowl of water,” Lisa obliges even though her face says I shouldn’t have allowed the dog in.
“Bring out some of those beef meatballs for the doggie,” I add. Then I turn to my handsome guest. “It’s all organic. Your dog okay with that?”
“You bet.” He shoots me a joyful gaze, which I politely turn away from to avoid further catastrophe to my heart.
The band members are tuning their instruments and testing the sound system.
“Is your dog okay with live music?” I ask.
“What kind of music?”
Now that he’s seated, somehow the intensity in his gaze has mellowed. But I enter another predicament—the sight of his perfectly formed ass gracing the bar chair which, on any other day, is an ordinary piece of furniture.
“Pirate jazz,” I smirk, and he vanquishes me with a lopsided smile, telling me he knows that my eyes had been somewhere they weren’t supposed to be.
“Pirate jazz?” He turns his head to the stage, giving me a chance to breathe. Perhaps he knows I’m about to have a heart attack.
“Yeah. Jazz with a touch of the Caribbean.”
“Are you trying to turn Helena into Havana?” he quips.
I love Helena. With my fear of water, I’ll never wish for it to become a coastal city. “It’s just my boss’s choice of entertainment,” I respond.
“Well,” Mr. Gray Diamond plays with Maximus’ ears. “I’m pretty sure the dog prefers classical, but he’s got nothing against jazz.”
My lips form a grin. It feels unusually tight on my face—it could be mistaken for a pre-kiss pout. As the man moves his lips as if mimicking me, I remind myself of my daughter.
“Enjoy, gentlemen.” I hurry to the front door. Electrocution averted. Heart attack canceled.
“Excuse me!” Out of nowhere, a man stops me in my track. I recognized him, he’s the lone diner from a corner table. “What’s the deal with Cujo here?” he lashes out at me, and then throws his disgust at Maximus. “I didn’t pay to dine with dogs.”
“Hey!” Mr. Gray Diamond gets up. “You don’t talk to the lady like that. You’ve got a problem with my dog, you talk to me.”
I extend my hand and eyeball my sudden protector, telling him I’ve got this.
Complaints, unruly behaviors, threats, and provocations are part of running a bar. In this business, you’ve got to have the head, the heart, and the physique to stay above the shit thrown at you, or you’ll sink. The man’s remark is an insult that hits my core. Maybe because of who Maximus is, or the magnetism of his handler, but the situation calls for me to raise my voice.
“There’s no Cujo here, sir,” I say to his face. I figure the guy isn’t smart enough to know that he’s got the breed all wrong, so I curb the urge to correct him that Cujo is in fact a Saint Bernard. “This is Staff Sergeant Maximus, and he isn’t just a dog, Sir. He’s a war hero.”
“Leave the dog alone!” I hear a voice curling from across the room, followed by a unanimous ‘yeah’ from others.
The grumpy man stands his ground.
“I’m the manager here, and I say the Staff Sergeant is allowed to dine here. If you’ve got a problem with that, you can leave.”
The man reluctantly goes back to his table. Head down, he continues with his late lunch. He might’ve been in a complaining mood, but no one—no one—leaves half a cheeseburger uneaten at The Fox.
“Are you coming back?” Lisa catches me before I walk out the door.
“I’m not sure. Grace tried to run away, so I’ve got to pick her up before she gets into more trouble.”
“Oh, the poor child. Don’t worry about coming back. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you.”
As I hurry out, I give Mr. Gray Diamond half a glance, absorbing the last rays of his warmth. Damn me, damn him. After years of singledom, after believing no man will ever attract my attention again, there he is. Illogical, sudden, and absurd. But his sheer presence has dug out feelings that I thought I’d lost forever, and I welcome them without guilt, as if they’re my right.
In the absence of resistance, I leave myself exposed to a barrage of sensations—from desire, lust, and fondness, to respect and reverence. What follows is a feeling of freedom as the burden of maintaining ‘Hardy Cassidy’ evaporates. My inside softens, and I feel like a human again.
I allow a few more seconds for those feelings to stay. Then, as I drive away from The Fox, I shove them back into a dark corner, bury them, and raise my wall back up.