The Bluff (Calamity Montana)

“HI, MOM.” I forced cheer into my voice as I answered the phone. It was strange for her to call without a prearranged calendar slot.

“Everly.”

God, I hated the way she said my name.

I loved my name. It was unique and I’d always thought it looked beautiful in my swirly handwriting. Everly Christian. I looped the y and added a little flair to the end of the n.

But there was this edge to it in my mother’s tone. It hadn’t always been there. No, it had started about the same time I’d informed her and Dad that I was dropping out of school to move to Nashville with Lucy.

Ever since, the first syllable had always come with a slight snarl. Evvv-erly. I cringed.

Maybe it had been there my entire life and I just hadn’t noticed. It was the world’s worst kept secret that my parents hadn’t wanted children.

I’d been the surprise baby who’d forced her way into this world despite a strict birth control regimen.

My parents hadn’t told me to my face that I was an accident. They weren’t cruel. But they were pragmatic. Matter-of-fact. So when it came up in conversation with other adults that I was an only child and would always be an only child, they didn’t mince words. They hadn’t planned on children.

My prying ears hadn’t understood that when I was little. But as a teenager, I’d been able to read between the lines.

Accident.

“How are you today?” I asked.

“Busy. The reason I’m calling is because I haven’t received your year-end financial information.”

Ah, yes. Taxes. Now the call made sense. This woman loved taxes. So did Dad.

How was I their child? Sure, I was good at math, but they had no excitement in their lives. Except . . . tax season. They acted like it was the Olympics and they were poised to win gold.

“I’ll just do my own taxes this year.” I braced. “On TurboTax.”

The line went silent.

It was outright ridiculous for a woman who was approaching thirty to be intimidated by her mother’s silence, but here I was, standing in my apartment with my heart beating so hard I was about to pass out.

The quiet on the other line stretched so heavy and thick, I cracked. “Mom?”

“TurboTax.” She spewed the word with such acidity it was a wonder my ear didn’t shrivel and melt.

“There’s no point in you doing my taxes,” I blurted. “It’s a waste of your time. They should be simple enough.” Because for the last few months of the past year, my income had been zilch.

Mom’s silence meant she wasn’t buying my bullshit.

Damn. The reason I didn’t want her to do my taxes like usual—or pass them off to a low-level associate at her firm—was because I didn’t want her to know about my financial situation.

Over the past few years, I hadn’t made a ton of money singing, but I’d done all right for myself. I’d earned enough for rent, clothes and food while letting the tiny bit left trickle into savings. That little plus in the asset side of my balance sheet had mostly appeased my parents, so I’d managed to avoid an onslaught of lifestyle lectures.

But my balance sheet was careening dangerously close to the red. The cushion they’d taught me to build from my piggy bank days was nearly deflated.

I didn’t want them to know I’d failed.

Their lives were so wrapped up in the numbers, the debits and credits. They saw a flush financial position as success. And I was their broke, uneducated daughter.

What was I doing with my life?

Disappointing my parents, apparently.

“Was there anything else?” I asked, my hands shaking.

“No.”

Right. Our business was concluded. “Nice talking to you, Mom.”

“Goodbye, Everly.” Her parting statement was like a kick to the chest. Click.

My finances were none of her business. I didn’t owe her any other response.

Still, I craved their pride. I had for ten years. I wanted a good work or nice job tossed my way so badly I was like a starved dog in a dirty alley, begging for a scrap.

For a time, I’d thought that if I could make it as a singer, if I could be famous and wealthy like Lucy, they’d finally get over the fact that I’d dropped out of college. They’d realize that just because I hadn’t followed their plan, stood in their footsteps, didn’t mean I’d botched my life.

When was I going to stop fooling myself?

Every year that passed, the chasm between us widened.

It hurt.

I loved my parents. They loved me, in their own way. We simply didn’t . . . connect.

Tears welled but I blinked them away. No crying. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I tossed my phone onto the couch and walked to the window.

Mom and Dad had called me once after I’d nearly been murdered. Once. Dad’s assistant had checked in on me more than that. She’d texted me every day for two weeks.

My parents were assholes. Lucy had said the same since we were twelve and cussing had felt like a thrill. I’d laughed at the time. Mom and Dad had grounded me for something I’d deemed inconsequential—I couldn’t recall the specifics now—and when I’d snuck over to Lucy’s to tell her I couldn’t play for a whole week, she’d called them assholes.

Compared to her parents, they were.

Lucy’s parents had adored her. They’d adored me. They’d pulled me into their family, encouraging our friendship, helping us bond as sisters of the heart. The outward affection and love I’d missed from my own parents had flowed freely at the Ross house.

When they’d died in a car accident, Lucy had been devastated. So had I. We’d grieved them together.

Not long afterward, her singing career had taken off. People in Nashville used to ask if I was jealous that she’d found such incredible success while I’d been singing at bars for five hundred bucks a night. Many didn’t believe me when I assured them I was happy for her achievements.

Lucy had shot straight to the heavens simply because she was a shining star and that was exactly where she belonged.

Her motivation had been music.

My motivation had been employment.

I’d simply wanted to survive on my own terms. I’d wanted to live with my best friend. I’d wanted to prove to my parents, and to myself, that dropping out of college hadn’t been a terrible mistake.

Missed that mark, didn’t I?

My phone rang and I hurried to pick it up, checking the screen. It wouldn’t be Mom again.

“Hey, Lucy,” I answered.

“Hey.” She sniffled and my heart stopped.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Why are you crying? Is it Duke?” Her husband was a cop. It had to scare her that anything could happen on his job.

“No, no. I’m great.” The smile in her voice made me relax. “Are you busy?”

Phew. “Oh, yes. Very busy,” I deadpanned.

“Good. I’ll be right over.”

Fifteen minutes later, she sat beside me on the couch, grinning from ear to ear as she told me she was pregnant.

“I’m so happy.” I pulled her into my arms, tears flooding my eyes for the second time today. Since Lucy had lost her parents, she’d been alone in a lot of ways. Then she’d come here to Calamity and found Duke.

There was a twinge of jealousy, not that she’d found a family. But that she was slipping from mine.

I was losing her to a happily ever after, while I was stuck in limbo.

“Everly is a really beautiful middle name,” I said, letting her go and shoving the envy away. It was my problem to deal with and I wouldn’t cloud my friend’s happy day.

Lucy laughed. “Yes, it is.”

I smiled, soaking in some of the joy in her pretty green eyes. “How excited is Duke?”

“He’s over the moon.” She beamed. “I asked him if he wanted a girl or a boy, and he told me he doesn’t care as long as the baby is healthy. I caught him browsing boy names on his phone this morning though.”

“Everly won’t make a great boy’s middle name but I’ve heard worse.”

Lucy giggled and we spent an hour talking until she had to go home to let Cheddar out.

My growling stomach sent me out of the apartment in search of food. It was three in the afternoon but that had become my standard lunchtime. The life of an unemployed, former singer was nothing if not flexible.

I made my way to First Street, bundled in my coat, and cast a quick glance at Hux’s gallery before turning the opposite direction and walking to the White Oak Café.

Hux and I hadn’t spoken since he’d left my bed on Sunday evening. Four days and not a word, not that I’d expected one. I suspected we’d be weekend acquaintances, which suited me fine. It would be easier to maintain those rigid boundaries if he was only an occasional companion.

He was just a fuck, to steal his words. A distraction. A fling with a hot, brooding artist was the perfect escape from reality. Hux had no need to worry that I’d become a clinger. I wasn’t looking for love or companionship. If I were, he’d be the first scratched off my list of candidates. That man was as closed off as the jar of pickles in my fridge that I hadn’t been able to open for a month.

Though I’d admit to myself it was thrilling for such a handsome, sexy man to desire me. It had been a while since I’d felt craved. Even if it was only physical, it was always nice to be wanted.

My short walk was cold and I’d forgotten my gloves. I tucked my hands into my pockets as I traversed the shoveled sidewalks. When I opened the door to the café, I was greeted with a warm blast of air that smelled of bacon, cinnamon rolls and calories.

“Hey, Everly.” The waitress at the hostess station handed me a menu. “Nelson’s here. Want your usual spot?”

“Sure. Thanks, Marcy.” Never in my life had I thought I’d earn a usual spot in a restaurant. It was only a stool at the long counter on the far side of the room, but still, it was mine.

She no longer escorted me to my seat. I crossed the room while she went to grab me a glass of water.

“Hi, Nelson.” I unzipped my coat as my fellow late-lunchtime companion glanced up from the newspaper he’d been reading.

Nelson’s white hair seemed particularly wild today, sticking up at all angles. His gray beard was extra bushy. “Everly.”

“What did you order today?” I took my seat and flipped open the menu that I’d memorized months ago. “I think I might get soup.”

“French dip. With a salad.”

“A salad? Finally.” I raised my arms in victory. “Your arteries will thank you for skipping the mozzarella sticks.”

He chuckled and went back to his paper.

Nelson and I didn’t talk much. I wasn’t sure why he ate lunch this time of day. I didn’t know what he did for a living or if he had family in town. I didn’t even know his last name.

Our conversation was centered around food. And by conversation, I meant that I’d lecture him about incorporating more fruits and vegetables into his diet while he’d ignore me completely and order anything deep-fried.

“How was your Valentine’s Day?” I asked after Marcy came to take my order and collect my menu.

“Bought myself a box of chocolates at the grocery store. Does that count?”

I giggled. “I suppose.”

“You?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Other than sex. A lot of earth-shattering sex. I hid my smile with a sip of water.

“No boyfriend?” Nelson asked.

“No boyfriend. And my prospects are looking slim. Why, are you single?” I teased. “You keep talking about buying chocolate and I might just have to marry you.”

He laughed as our food was delivered and we settled into a comfortable silence, each enjoying our meal while he read and I browsed baby names, texting Lucy the top contenders.

Addison Everly. Nora Everly. Bella Everly. The list ballooned to nearly twenty before I was done eating and had paid my check.

“See you later, Nelson.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here.”

With a wave to Marcy, I bundled up and braved the cold. Instead of returning to the apartment, I walked a few blocks, pausing outside a little boutique that had a baby outfit on display in the window.

Though I couldn’t afford it, I bought it anyway. Lucy’s baby was going to be spoiled rotten by his or her aunt Everly. Which meant I’d need a job soon if I was going to afford gifts. Not that they’d be lavish gifts. I had no work experience besides singing and waitressing. Minimum wage was in my future.

Maybe I should have listened to my parents when they’d begged me to finish my degree.

Maybe I should have looked for other towns before settling in Calamity. Towns with more employment prospects than a cashier at the grocery store or clerk at the gas station.

The Help Wanted section on the newspaper’s website had been rather thin as of late. Besides the clerk and cashier openings, there’d been three listings for a “hired man.” I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but three different ranches in the area were looking for said men.

Not women.

Chauvinism was still alive and well.

With my baby gift tucked in my purse, I took a shortcut to the apartment, walking down the alley. It was about ten seconds faster to my building’s side entrance, and I had some job hunting to do. It was time to aim my energy at something other than my glass window.

As I walked down the trodden path in the snow, a muffled sob caught my ear. I scanned the parking lot to my left, then glanced over my shoulder. But the alley, wide enough for delivery vans and trucks, was empty except for a dirt bike parked tight to the building. A backpack rested on the ground, tucked behind the front wheel, like the owner had hidden it there to run a quick errand.

It wasn’t until I took another few steps, coming to a narrow space between buildings, that I heard the sob again.

On a narrow walkway between my apartment building and its neighbor, a young girl was leaning against the wall. Her face was buried in her hands, but I knew that blond hair anywhere.

“Savannah?”

Her face whipped up, her hands dropping to her sides. She blinked, her bright blue eyes wide and rimmed with red. I’d ruined her hiding spot.

“Are you okay?” I took two steps closer, but as her gaze narrowed, my feet came to a stop.

This girl broke my heart.

Savannah looked so much like Hux. She had his straight nose and brilliant blue gaze. But more so than her features, it was her attitude that reminded me of her father. She was obstinate. Stubborn. She kept everyone at a distance with that brave face.

Only, I’d seen the façade crack. The day of the shooting at the farmhouse, she’d clung to me. She’d cried on my shoulder until I’d lost her in the shuffle of police cars, cops and EMTs. Had Hux come to get her? Or had her mother?

I’d wondered about Savannah since that day, but not knowing how best to get in touch with her, I’d settled for updates via Lucy and Duke. They’d assured me that Travis was recovering from the incident. His mother had put him in counseling. And according to Travis, Savannah was on the road to normal too.

But seeing the pain on her delicate face for myself, I wasn’t so sure.

“Is something wrong?” I asked again, when she didn’t answer my first question.

“My mom can be such a bitch.”

I barked a laugh. Yeah, so can mine. “What did she do?”

“What she always does. Treats me like I’m this huge burden on her life, this inconvenience. But when I suggest I get out of her hair and live with my dad, she flips out. She doesn’t want me, but she doesn’t want him to have me either.”

It was so achingly familiar. I stepped close and put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

A tear, perfectly round and big and bursting with sorrow fell down her smooth cheek. “Why did she have me if she never wanted me?”

Savannah was in my arms before my brain could process that I’d pulled her in. Or that she could process I was hugging her. But I held her tight, wishing more than anything she weren’t in this position.

It wouldn’t get easier. She’d deal with this her entire life, searching for her mother’s love and approval.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She sniffled and nodded, her tears soaking into my coat. Then in a flash she was gone, wrenching herself out of my hold.

Savannah dried her face, sniffled once more, then jutted out her chin. “What do you care anyway?”

Ah, yes. There was the bold girl. The one hiding her pain behind the bravado. “I care.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know me. Just because we watched a bullet rip a woman’s heart open doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Damn, this kid had a good sneer. Better than most adults. She was angry. She was humiliated that I’d caught her in a moment of weakness. I raised my hands. “Okay.”

“Whatever. I’m fine.” With another eye roll, she shoved her hands into her pockets and flew past me, stomping in the opposite direction toward the dirt bike.

I waited, watching as she strapped on the backpack and revved the bike to life. Then she raced away without a glance in my direction.

“Teenagers,” I muttered. How could they insert so much spite into a whatever? “Whatever.” I tried to copy Savannah’s tone, maybe for my own mother, but it fell flat.

When the whine of the bike’s engine disappeared, I continued on to my apartment. My index finger hovered above the keypad. Should I tell someone? Savannah had said she was fine, but she wasn’t.

Dropping my hand from the door, I sighed and made my way to the gallery. The door chimed as I stepped inside, and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light.

“Hello.” The petite woman seated at the corner desk smiled and adjusted her glasses. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Uh . . .” The words disappeared, stolen by the surrounding artwork that demanded my undivided attention.

Wow. Each piece was mesmerizing, no single painting more addictive than the next. Standing amid his work, I got my first glimpse into the man who’d joined me in bed, a glimpse far more intimate than the sex had been. His tattoo made sense now. It was a mirror to his artwork. Bold and colorful, without clean lines.

The landscapes were a mix of chunky strokes, dropped thick and heavy on to the canvas. The mountains on one piece were such a brilliant indigo that they leapt from the sky. The animals he’d painted were of the same style. A wolf with white and gray fur, soft to the touch, collected snow on its sable nose. A rainbow trout with brown freckles on its underbelly and a reflective pink-blue sheen to its side flexed as it swam upstream. A deer hid in trees with antlers tinted the same caramel gold as the wheat field hanging four pieces over.

Hux’s art was nothing like I’d seen before. The way he mixed rough strokes with soft lines gave the paintings enchantment. He’d given them life and dimension. He’d given them an edge.

His edge.

In the lower right corner of each, a black smudge marred the bright colors. Was it a thumb print? I leaned in close to inspect one, finding the ridges of his dried fingerprint. That was . . . him. It didn’t surprise me in the least that he would forgo writing his name when a simple dab of his thumb would brand it as his own.

“This is one of my favorites.” The woman from the desk appeared at my side. Her hands folded in front of her as she stared at the same piece I’d been inspecting. A buffalo.

The bison wasn’t my favorite animal, not since Lucy and I had encountered a herd of the surly beasts in Yellowstone National Park. We’d gone hiking and mistaken a bison path for the hiking trail. The animals were enormous and intimidating as hell. Maybe some would say majestic. I preferred demented. Not even Hux’s beautiful painting could hide the menace in their black beady eyes.

Fucking buffalo.

Though the run-in hadn’t been a total bust. Lucy had met Duke that day. He’d rescued us from certain death and steered us in the right direction.

To Calamity.

“Are you shopping for a gift or your home?” she asked.

“Actually, I’m looking for Hux.” I gave the bison my cold shoulder. “Is he here?”

The woman’s pleasant smile vanished and she gave me a sideways stare. “He’s on the phone.”

“No problem.” I shrugged. “I’ll wait.”

Her lips pursed together. “And who can I tell him is here?”

“Everly Christian.”

It took her an uncomfortable moment to unglue her feet. With a suspicious head-to-toe glance from behind those black-rimmed frames, she turned and disappeared down a hallway at the far end of the room.

“Oh-kay,” I drawled. “Customer service—three stars.”

I walked around the showroom, trying to pick my favorite painting while I waited. The moment I spotted it, my breath hitched.

Savannah.

It was the one and only portrait in the gallery, hung at the back of the room and tagged with Display Only. Not For Sale. I pressed a hand to my heart to keep it from escaping. Hux might hide himself behind that stern, rugged exterior, but there was no question that he’d painted this with his very soul.

Savannah was younger in this painting, maybe twelve or thirteen. The colors on her face were pale and muted. The same was true with her hair, nearly white with a shimmer that gave her an ethereal glow. It stood out like a halo against the gray and black background.

But the way he’d captured her violet eyes was so vivid that the painting didn’t need more color. It was a violent blue like the color of electricity. In those eyes was every bit of the pain I’d seen in the alley today.

Her lips were a pale pink. Was she about to smile or frown? Her expression was void of all emotion, everything except those eyes. Those lonely blue eyes that cut so deep into my heart that my knees began to shake.

“Everly?”

I tore my eyes away from the painting, sucking in air as Hux came down the hallway with his receptionist bloodhound following close behind. “Hey. Sorry to bother you. Could we talk in private?”

A flash of panic crossed his gaze, but he gave me a single nod and jerked his chin to follow him down the hallway he’d just come from.

“Thanks, Katie,” he said as he passed her.

She smiled at him and gave me more side-eye.

Attitude—two stars.

Hux led me down the hallway and into an office, standing aside to close it behind us. His shoulders were stiff, his spine a steel rod.

“I just ran into Savannah,” I said, jumping right in. “She was crying in the alley behind my building. Thought you should know.”

“Oh.” His frame relaxed. “Fuck. She was going to stop by after school and say hi. Did she say anything else?”

“That her mom is a bitch.”

“Because she is.”

“Anyway, like I said, I thought you’d want to know.”

“Yeah.” Without waiting for me to leave, he dug his phone from his pocket and called who I could only assume was Savannah. “Hey. Just checking in. Are you coming down?”

Whatever her response was caused him to frown. But the voice on the other end of the line was too quiet to hear. She wasn’t screaming obscenities, so that was probably good. Though if Savannah was anything like me, ranting wasn’t the real indication that something was wrong.

It was the quiet.

Not wanting to stare, I diverted my gaze to the room, taking in the space. It was unorganized and chaotic. As expected. I couldn’t picture Hux keeping his office space neat and tidy. With papers strewn across his desk and others crumpled into balls littering the floor beside the trash can, this office would be my mother’s personal nightmare.

“You sure? You good?” Hux’s frown deepened at whatever Savannah said, then he pulled the phone away and stuffed it back into his pocket. “She says she’s fine.”

Savannah was not fine, but Hux was a typical man and hadn’t figured out that fine wasn’t actually fine.

“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair.” This wasn’t my family squabble to get into the middle of. I’d done my duty and hopefully, if she was really upset, she’d confide in her father eventually. I took a step to pass him for the door, but before my fingers could touch the knob, his hand wrapped around my arm.

“Hold up.”

“Yeah?” I tipped up my gaze and . . . damn this man. One look at those blue eyes, soft lips and stubbled jaw and my temperature spiked. I swallowed hard.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I nodded. “When I came in, what did you think I was doing here? Stage-five clinger?”

“Something like that.” The corner of his mouth twitched. An almost smile. A win, in my book.

“I like your art. You’re a man of many talents.”

Hux inched forward, towering over me, all height and strength. His spice-and-soap scent filled my nose. His heat engulfed me. Hux’s fingers found their way to my hair as his palm cupped my jaw.

A shiver rolled down my spine and the throb in my core drummed to life. “It’s not the weekend. I thought this was a weekend sex thing.”

“Do I look like a guy who gives a fuck what day it is?” His lips descended, hovering above my own as he waited for an answer.

I grinned. “Nope.”