Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Mercy
T he annual expo over in Waterford Plains gets a lot of talk every year. It's a small event that's only open to the members of the regional Farm and Ranch Association-- which counts for a lot of Slow River's population, but not everyone.
Scoring a ticket is cause for bragging. Unless, of course, you're one of the members who get to go every year. Or, like Lance, your family is one of the founding members of the association and you don't just get to go-- you're expected to.
He grumbled all the way here, while I enjoyed the four hour road trip, having full control over the music that I blasted from the speakers in Lance's truck.
Despite his grumbling about being "voluntold" that he was representing his family's ranch at the event this year, I can tell he's more excited than he's letting on.
Lance and I have been friends a long time. There's not much I don't know about him. Except for why he refuses to date.
I've offered to set him up with a couple of girls from work a few times-- lord knows enough of my co-workers pester me about introducing them to my "hot, cowboy friend," as they keep putting it-- but he always refuses.
So then I offered to set him up with a couple of guys I know-- which went over like a squeeze of wet hay. Lance assured me repeatedly that's not the reason I've never seen him with a girl. Other than me, that is, but I don't count. We're just friends.
Which is good, because I'm playing with the idea that maybe I could meet someone this weekend. Somebody who's not from Slow River. Some guy who doesn't just see me as the same tomboy with skinned knees and a chipped tooth that he's known his whole life.
Someone who sees me as a woman.
Because I'm not getting any younger, and there's not any sense in holding out when the only guy I've ever considered thinks of me as just another one of the guys.
"So you're gonna wear a tux, eh?" I can't resist the urge to peek inside the heavy garment bag he has hanging on the hook behind my seat along with the one that holds my dress.
Lance grunts as he turns into the hotel parking lot.
"Yeah, that's what guys wear to formal shit. Your dress is long, right?"
As we gather our things for the short stay in Waterford, I take the opportunity to kick him in the shin since my hands are full.
"Duh. I know what formal means. I looked up pictures from last year's dinner online and asked Singer Kelly for pointers. I got my end covered. Just making sure your idea of 'formal' isn't a pair of black Wranglers and a bolo tie."
Lance hip checks me in return as we walk into the hotel lobby.
"It's a tux, smart ass. With a real bow tie."
I give him a low whistle, "A 'real' bow tie? I'm impressed."
The hotel is a nice one-- for Waterford. It has four floors and was built in the early nineteen hundreds, shortly after the town was established, although there's a plaque in the lobby that says it was fully remodeled twenty years ago and now features "all modern conveniences."
"You made a reservation, right?" I whisper, silently counting the people in line checking in before us.
Waterford isn't much bigger than Slow River, it's not the kind of place where you'd normally have to reserve a room in advance. Now that I'm standing in the crowded hotel lobby, I'm starting to realize just how big a deal the expo is.
Lance laughs lightly at my low key panic, reminding me he's done this before. Not just here, but other industry events where the Delta O has had a presence as well.
Sometimes I forget my bestie is a big time rancher.
"Yeah, Ranger made reservations for us weeks ago. We're in."
"So what's on the itinerary after check in?"
Now that I've been assured that we won't have to camp in the back of the pick-up, I relax as we advance slowly toward the front desk.
Definitely not "all" the modern conveniences-- there's no online check in.
"Figured maybe we'd find some supper." Lance shrugs, listing off our options for what's left of our Thursday evening. "There's a rodeo in the arena-- just a small thing, for show, no competitions."
"Is the Crazy P here?" I follow Lance one place further in line, and ask about the Pereira's ranch.
They're from Slow River as well, and their ranch is technically named the " Lazy P," but their family went big on the rodeo circuit back in the sixties and ever since they started breeding bulls and doing bull rider training out there, everyone around calls the ranch "Crazy P."
Lance clucks his tongue and shakes his head.
"Nah, Beryl's season ended early. None of 'em are coming out here this year."
"Maybe just dinner then."
Rodeo's not really my thing. If no one we know is in it, I'd rather skip it.
Lance
" O 'Leary," I tell the clerk when we get to the front desk. "Delta O Ranch."
The woman enters the name in the computer, smiles politely when she finds the booking and launches into a welcome speech that sounds well practiced as she pulls a set of keys with a brass tag off a peg board behind her.
The hotel is historic, and the "modern conveniences" boasted at the door mean indoor plumbing and air conditioning-- not electronic key cards.
"You'll find your suite located on the fourth floor." A manicured nail trails a path along a printed map of the hotel's floor plan faster than I can follow. "Elevators are here, and here, just down this hall and to the left. Enjoy your stay Mr. O'Leary."
She hands me a key chain with two keys on it, but only one room number.
"Excuse me," I interrupt before she can call the next party to the counter. "There should be two rooms."
She looks at me and slow blinks, pausing briefly to process what I've said before double checking her computer screen.
"I'm sorry, Mr. O'Leary, the Delta O only shows the reservation for one room. It's our executive suite. You'll find a fully functional kitchenette and a balcony overlooking the west range. I'm sure it'll be to your liking."
I hate holding up the whole damn line, but one room is not going to work out. My brother, Ranger, has been handling all the office shit for the ranch since before he even came back to live in the valley again. He told me last week he had our rooms handled for us.
"Sorry, ma'am." I put on my best smile. "But my-- associate--" I trip over referring to Mercy so professionally, but I need this woman to understand that we are not a couple.
Separate rooms are necessary...or this weekend is going to be hell on me.
"--and I are going to need individual accommodations.
I was assured our reservations were in order. Can we please add another room?"
"My apologies for the misunderstanding, Mr. O'Leary.
" The desk clerk glances at her computer screen and looks me in the eye for the first time.
"Our hotel is at full occupancy for the event this weekend.
With an over flow list of folks waiting in case of late cancellations.
We simply don't have a second room available to offer you and the lady. "
The woman's eyes shift to Mercy as she comes to stand beside me after making the rounds of the historic photographs hanging on the lobby walls.
I swear I see a smirk ghosting the corner of her mouth, like she's in on some kinda joke that's gone over my head.
"What's wrong?" Mercy asks, glancing between me and the woman behind the counter.
Holding up the key ring, I tell her, "Hotel screwed up our reservation, we have one suite, not two rooms."
Apparently my accusation doesn't sit well with the desk clerk though.
"The reservation was originally booked for two rooms back in March of this year when the event block opened up. However, I see it was modified last month by a Kimberly O'Leary to the one suite."
The clerk looks up at us with an expression of smug victory.
My brain spins. Mom changed the reservation to one room right before my brothers forced this trip on me.
"Your mom probably knew she wasn't going to be up for the trip this year," Mercy explains this fiasco away easily. Thanking the woman for her help and leading me by the elbow out of the way so other people can get checked in.
"She probably changed the reservation before she knew your brothers were going to send us. She probably expected one of the couples to go-- no need to keep both rooms in that case."
What Mercy says does track, I guess.
"You said it's a suite, right?" Mercy keeps talking as we ride the elevator up to the top floor. She's acting like this is no big deal. Like it's not awkward as fuck at all to have to share a room together.
Proving that she doesn't think of me as anything more than a buddy, one of her girlfriends, or maybe a brother.
I grumble an answer as we make our way down the hallway to our room, while Mercy makes fun of me for not wanting her to see me in my "tidy whities."
"A suite should have two bedrooms, right?" Mercy asks as I double check the number on the door to the one on the keychain.
"Guess so."
The door swings open.
"Or not." Mercy giggles as she pushed past me into the space that the hotel optimistically calls a "suite."
It's worse than I thought.