Page 23 of Montana's Bravest

“Indeed,” she gleams, perhaps admiring my awareness.

She wastes no time assembling the tap, her hands moving with the precision of a seasoned pro. “All set!” she announces, wiping the top surface like a final touch. “Shall we test this baby?”

I put my hand on the tap handle at the same time she does. Actually, she’s half a second faster, so my palm lands on top of hers. There’s a familiar rush inside me, but this time I feel warmth under my touch.

And she smiles sweetly.

“Let’s do it together, then,” she quips.

We fill the glass to the brim.

“The first pour is always for the host,” she states.

I take a sip. “Damn, this is one of the best ale I’ve had in my life.”

“I brew it myself,” she gushes.

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.” She grins, and then lifts her hand to me. I wish she was going to caress my face, but she simply thumbs my upper lip, no doubt wiping some froth off.

“Thanks,” I manage.

“Well, I guess my mission is complete,” she says. “The Kelleher Kegerator is open for business.” She taps the machine as if marking the christening complete.

I wave at Mark, who’s standing right outside the kitchen, letting him know the guests can start lining up.

“Do you trust them to serve their own drinks?” she winks.

“Mark will take care of it.”

Cass picks up her bag, ready to give me a hug. But this is not the hug that I want, not a goodbye hug. I squeeze her hand instead. I hope she knows I’m telling her that her mission is far from complete.

She ponders, looking over my shoulder to observe the guests. “Actually, I’ll stick around. I’ll watch over the keg, keep things in order.”

Did she get my silent message to stay? Or is she simply making sure that no one is abusing her ‘baby’?

She continues, “Go enjoy yourself. After all you and Mark have done…” Her voice trails off, but the message is clear—she’s here to support, to give back in her own way. “I’m a mother. I can’t imagine what it’s like, being a parent in that situation,” she adds.

The word ‘mother’ makes my eyes roam to her fingers. No ring. I should’ve picked it up earlier, but it didn’t cross my mind. But the absence of a ring doesn’t mean she’s free.

At this time, Cass is already busy serving my guests.

“This is what I’m talking about!” Charlie boasts. He grabs a glass from her. “Thanks, love.”

“Owe you one, Cass!” Mark says and the son of a bitch hugs her, with a peck on the cheek, too.

Mark looks at me. I know he’s saying that he’s just shown me how to win a lady. But I respond to him with a glare. Next time, I’ll dare him to do that to Ivy Forbes when she’s around.

Cassidy weaves between conversations and pours. I can’t help but ask, “How many kids do you have?”

“A daughter. Her name is Grace, and she’s five,” she says, swelling with pride. Once the crowd has their fill, she rummages into her pocket and fishes out her wallet. “This is her.”

The image is warmth incarnate—Grace, her smile a clone of Cassidy’s own. Their bond is unmistakable, their joy infectious even through the worn print.

Cassidy lingers over the photograph, her fingertips brushing the edges. In that gesture, I see the love of a mother, a quiet strength that speaks of her capacity to protect all on her own.

I find myself reevaluating her, recalibrating the narrative I had forced myself to believe when I first met her.

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