The Bully (Calamity Montana)

“WELCOME HOME.” Pierce parked in a space on First Street and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Thanks.” I grinned and hopped out of his SUV, breathing in the clean Montana air.

The sidewalks were teeming with tourists out exploring and shopping. Red, white and blue flags decorated storefronts and lampposts for Memorial Day weekend. Nearly every parking space was taken, and traffic rolled at a leisurely pace on the street.

I’d visited Calamity a few times since Pierce had moved here, but we’d usually escape to his cabin in the mountains. Those vacations hadn’t been about the town itself. Today was different. Today, I captured every detail of my new hometown.

The buildings along First had a rustic charm. The grocery store was shaped like a barn, complete with a gable roof and crimson paint. Most of the storefronts had square faces sided with graying barnwood. Others were built from brick, the red blocks faded from decades beneath the sun.

Yeah, this would work. This town was where I’d play the next quarter in my retirement game.

“Sure you don’t want to stay with us?” Pierce asked as he joined me on the sidewalk.

“Nah. You guys have enough going on. You don’t need a houseguest.”

“No, but I do have a guesthouse.”

I chuckled. “If the motel is a bust, then I’ll take you up on it.”

The last thing I wanted was to wear out my welcome before I even had a Montana address. Besides, hotel rooms had become a constant over the years. Before games. After games. I’d spent countless nights sleeping on borrowed pillows.

“Kerrigan’s on her way to meet us,” Pierce said. “She took Elias to the park while we were on the road.”

“’Kay.” I did another sweep of downtown, capturing names of stores and restaurants.

Pierce had picked me up from the airport in Bozeman earlier, and we’d spent the two-hour trip to Calamity catching up. Next time, I’d have my charter fly me directly here like I had on my other trips, but I’d wanted to scope out the larger airport today and get a feel for the surrounding area.

If I was going to live here, I wanted to recognize streets and neighborhoods. I wanted to find the best spot for breakfast and join Kerrigan’s fitness studio. I turned around and faced The Refinery. Kerrigan had designed it with a modern vibe, a hint of new in this old town with large, gleaming windows that overlooked the street.

“I’m going to pop in to The Refinery. Grab a class schedule,” I told Pierce.

He nodded. “I’ll wait out here.”

I weaved past people and ducked inside the studio, dragging in the scent of eucalyptus. This past year, my lower back had been bothering me, and my trainer had recommended yoga. According to Pierce, The Refinery was the only place in town with classes, so I’d be their newest member.

“Hi.” The receptionist greeted me with a smile. “Can I help you?”

“Just looking.” I scanned the space, taking in the mirrors on the longest wall and the metal cage jammed with exercise balls. I’d spent a good chunk of my life in gyms, and while this one was smaller than most, it was clean and airy. Perfect for a weekly yoga class. “Do you have a schedule?”

“Sure.” She plucked a business card from a holder on the counter, handing it over. “If you scan that with your phone, it will take you to the updated schedule on our website.”

“Thanks.” I tucked the card away, took one last look around the space, then walked outside, ready to rejoin my friends.

But my footsteps halted on the sidewalk.

Kerrigan stood beside Pierce. Her pregnant belly stretched her sundress. Next to her was Elias’s empty stroller. The two-year-old bounced around his parents’ feet as Pierce and Kerrigan crowded over a phone.

Neither of them noticed me as they smiled at the screen. And neither did the other woman in their huddle.

Nellie.

Damn. She was the one person I’d hoped to avoid for a while. Either karma was a bitch or Calamity was just that small because not five minutes into my life here and there she was.

My nemesis since high school. The perpetual thorn in my side. The woman who could crawl beneath my skin with a single, contemptuous word.

The most infuriatingly beautiful woman in the world.

Kerrigan laughed at whatever it was they were watching on the phone.

Elias wrapped his arms around her leg. “Mommy, where’s Unka Cal?”

“Um . . .” She shook her head, glancing away from the screen and straight to Nellie.

“Uncle Cal?” Nellie’s smile disappeared. “Please tell me he’s in Tennessee where he belongs.”

And just like that, our familiar game kicked off again. I unglued my feet and strode their way. “Oh, look. It’s my favorite bottle blonde.”

Nellie’s face turned to ice as she faced me. “Well, if there’s anyone in the world who should understand fake, it’s you. Fake it till you make it. That’s like the model for your career, right? Oh, sorry. Former career. I heard you got fired. Ouch.”

This woman. “I was a free agent and retired.”

“Sure,” she deadpanned.

“Can you two save it for another day?” Pierce asked. “We need to celebrate my wife.”

Celebrating? What were we celebrating?

Before I could ask, Elias raced my way. “Unka Cal!”

I picked him up and tickled his side, letting the sound of his giggles soothe any worries that this move was a mistake. This kid, with his mop of dark, wavy hair, had a piece of my heart. “Hey, buddy.”

“How about we all go to the brew—” A stream of water trickled down Kerrigan’s leg as I settled Elias on my side.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, eyes locked on the growing puddle. Gross.

“Language,” Kerrigan snapped. “And that would be my water breaking.”

For a second, no one moved. Then Pierce flew into action, taking her arm and steering her to his SUV. “Nellie—”

“I’ve got Elias,” she said. “We’ll walk to my place.”

“He hasn’t had lunch,” Kerrigan hollered as Pierce helped her into the passenger seat.

Oh, shit. This was happening. She was having a baby. And someone needed to watch Elias.

“We’ve got him,” I called.

The color drained from Kerrigan’s face. Contraction, maybe? Or maybe she didn’t trust me to babysit. I’d never babysat before but I could keep Elias alive for a few hours. How long did it take to have a baby?

“Maybe you should just let Nel—” Pierce closed the door on Kerrigan before she could finish her sentence.

“I’ve got him,” Nellie called loud enough for them to hear.

Pierce gave her a nod, then climbed behind the wheel. He waited for a break in traffic, then reversed out of his spot and tore through town.

Elias clung to my shoulders, tightening his arms around my neck. “Where dit Mommy go?”

“It’s okay.” I patted his leg. “Your sister is coming. Cool, right?”

The scared look on his face broke my heart.

“How about we have some fun?” Nellie asked, stealing him from my arms. “We’ll go to my house and play games and get snacks. Okay?”

He nodded as she kissed his cheek. Then she settled him into the stroller, unlocked the brake and took off for the end of the block, leaving me behind.

“Wait up.” I jogged to catch them.

“What are you doing?” she asked as I fell into step beside her.

“Babysitting.”

“No.” She stopped walking and held up a hand. “You’re not coming to my house.”

“Oh, I’m coming.” I’d be damned if I let Nellie come to the rescue now that I lived here. Pierce was my best friend. If he needed someone to watch his son while his wife birthed their baby girl, it would be me.

“Absolutely not.” The color rose in her cheeks. Her soft lips pursed. Those sparkling green eyes narrowed as she stood taller.

God, she was gorgeous when she was angry. Maybe that was why I’d always loved making her mad.

“Lead the way, Blondie.”

SNAP. Snap. Snap.

I’d snapped my fingers more times in the past three hours than I had in a year. “What the fuck is taking so long?”

“For the last time. Stop. Cursing.” Nellie’s nostrils flared from her stool beside Elias at the island. She lifted her hands, tickling his cheeks before cupping her palms over his ears. “If you keep saying f-u-c-k, he will too.”

“No, he won’t.” Okay, maybe he would.

Elias was two and repeated a lot of shit. Like the word shit, which I’d slipped and muttered twenty minutes ago.

Nellie let go of his ears, smiling down at the boy. “Should we put blue on the picture next?”

“Yeah.” Elias wrapped a fist around the pen she handed him. The moment he began scribbling, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth.

“Good job.” Nellie gave him her undivided attention and had since the moment we’d walked through her front door.

She’d made him a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. She’d played hide and seek for what had felt like an eternity. She’d turned three plastic storage containers and two wooden spoons into his own personal drum set. She’d even scrounged up enough different colored pens and pencils to make him an art set.

Meanwhile, I was an afterthought. An annoyance.

With Nellie, well . . . our history was complicated at best.

Over the years we’d learned to avoid each other. Somehow we’d have to figure out how to do that in this small town. I had my sights set on living here and giving up on goals wasn’t exactly my style.

The sound of children playing echoed down the quaint, neighborhood streets. A minivan rolled by with a Baby On Board sign in the rear window. There’d be a parade along First Street on Monday for Memorial Day.

It was so . . . rural. Different than Nashville or Denver. And this small Montana town was now my home.

Or it would be.

Before Kerrigan had gone into labor, Pierce and I had talked about my plans to move here. They were loose, at best. Buy some land. Build a house. Find something to fill the time I’d once dedicated to football.

Today, it was babysitting. Tomorrow was a mystery.

When was the last time I’d looked into the future and not seen a football in my hand? Ten years? Twenty? Longer? I’d been playing since first grade. Who was Cal Stark without the game?

This wasn’t the time for those questions, so I shoved them aside. There were other things to fixate on at the moment, like why hadn’t we heard from Pierce. Was Kerrigan okay? Was the baby?

I paced the length of Nellie’s kitchen, my footsteps a steady beat on the rich hardwood floors. We’d been in here so long that I’d memorized the space, from the glass-door cabinets to the wooden island to the teal backsplash.

It was charming and homey. “This is the smallest kitchen I’ve ever seen.”

“Then leave.” Nellie seethed. “You’re not needed.”

Story of my damn life. Unless I was on the football field, I was not needed. Especially where Nellie was concerned.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Cal,” Nellie barked.

“What?”

“Stop. Snapping.”

I shot her a scowl but shook my fingers loose.

The snap was a habit I’d developed years ago. The first time I remembered doing it had been at a high school football game my junior year. There’d been scouts in the bleachers. The stadium lights had been shining on me, expecting greatness.

My nerves had started to show and, according to my father, a decent quarterback couldn’t have shaking hands. So I’d snapped my fingers three times before every play, and somehow, it had sharpened my focus. I’d been doing it ever since.

“How long does it take to have a baby?”

“A while,” she muttered. “Listen . . . we’re fine here. You can go.”

“No.” I cracked my neck.

“Cal!” Nellie winced at her own volume.

Elias dropped his pen.

“Sorry, buddy.” She gave him a soft smile and picked up a red Sharpie. “How about red?”

“Yeah.” He took it and went to town on his piece of paper.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, like she was trying to suck patience from the air. “Go. Away. Cal. The cursing and pacing and snapping and cracking of your neck. I don’t want Elias to see me strangle you today. Just go away.”

“No, thanks, sugar.”

“Don’t call me sugar.”

I planted my hands on the island. “Seriously, what’s taking so long?”

“It’s only been three hours. It’s going to take a while.”

“Like how long?”

“I don’t know.” She tossed up her hands. “Kerrigan could be in labor for hours. And even then, they’ll keep her and the baby at the hospital overnight. So would you chill? Once they get settled, Pierce will call us.”

“Fine,” I mumbled, walking to the kitchen window. My thumb and middle finger touched, ready to snap, but I stopped myself as Nellie cleared her throat.

“Should we take a break from coloring?” she asked Elias. “We could go play outside.”

“Yay!” He catapulted off the stool, stumbling as he landed, but he recovered quickly and beat it out of the kitchen.

I hurried to follow as he streaked into the living room.

Nellie rushed to catch him too, and as we both passed through the arched opening, her arm brushed mine.

My feet stopped instantly as sparks shot up my arm. Touching Nellie was as dangerous as catching a live grenade.

She’d felt that electric jolt too. Sometimes it made her melt. Others, like today, it earned me a snarl. “Why are you here?”

“In your house? Or Calamity?”

“Both.” She navigated the maze of boxes, making it to the door just as Elias tugged it open. Then she whisked him outside and left me behind.

Why was I here?

Because I didn’t have any other place to go.

Maybe I could have pushed for a few more years in the league, but my contract with Tennessee had expired. I’d helped win them two Super Bowl championships but the general manager had wanted someone younger. Someone cheaper.

Instead of renewing my 39-million-dollar-per-year contract, the second highest in the league, they’d let me walk. Their first-round draft pick was a hotshot quarterback from Michigan.

I could have gone to another team, but another team meant new coaches, new players and new bullshit. More press and more politics for less pay. My agent had warned me that no GM would likely match my former contract given my age, even if my name was Cal Stark.

At thirty-three, I still had years of play left in my bones. I loved football. But I was just so damn tired of the bullshit.

I had enough money to last ten lifetimes, and though I already missed the game, it had been time to walk away. And Calamity sounded like a decent place to start fresh.

“Unka Cal!” Elias waved as I stepped outside. “Watch me.”

“I’m watching, bud.”

He furrowed his brows and raced across Nellie’s lawn, his legs pumping as fast as he could muster.

I jogged to catch him, sweeping him up and tossing him in the air. “When did you get so fast?”

His giggle was the reason I was here. I loved this kid. I was his Unka Cal. Elias, Pierce and Kerrigan were family.

Mom was in Denver, living in the same house with the same, ruthless bastard. Until she divorced Dad, there would always be tension between us. An unspoken choice—him or me. She always picked him. So I always picked me.

And if I was giving up football, I might as well live close to my best friend. He was the only person who didn’t expect anything from me.

Not a performance. Not a handout. Not an attitude.

“Nellieeeee.” Elias squirmed to be set down. “I’m hungwee.”

“Okay, let’s get a snack.” She held out a hand, taking his, and retreated into her red brick house.

“So much for outside playtime,” I muttered.

The last place I wanted to be was inside. There wasn’t enough space to put between Nellie and me within those walls. Distance was the key to our survival.

But I followed them through the door anyway, catching the scent of her perfume. Oranges and orchids clung to the air. Habit made me draw it in and hold it. Necessity made me blow it out. On my exhale, I marched to the nearest window. “It’s stuffy in here. I’m opening this.”

“Fine.” She dismissed me with a flick of her wrist, taking Elias to the kitchen.

In nearly two decades, we’d perfected our hate-hate relationship. The reasons for our mutual disdain were as plentiful as the dust particles floating in the air, catching the afternoon glow.

Birds chirped from the oak tree beside Nellie’s single-car garage. A breeze blew in the smell of fresh-cut grass and summer sunshine. That scent reminded me of Nellie too. Of memories tainted by angry words and betrayal.

Her voice carried from the kitchen where she bustled around, opening the fridge and cupboard doors. “Do you want crackers? Or a banana?”

“Cwackas,” Elias answered.

“Okay. Here’s your apple juice.”

I hovered in the living room, keeping a wall between us. She didn’t need me here. Elias was in good hands because like me, she adored him.

Technically, Nellie was Pierce’s employee, his assistant, but that was simply a label. If he had to choose, I wasn’t sure if he’d pick my friendship over hers. Which was probably why I’d never pushed him to choose sides.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

She growled from the kitchen, and I could practically hear her eyes roll.

I walked to the other window in the living room, yanking it open too. Boxes were stacked against every wall. The room wasn’t large to begin with, but with the cardboard, it was claustrophobic. And there was nowhere to sit. The couch was stacked with boxes too.

“Where’s your TV?” I asked, striding into the kitchen.

“I don’t have one.” She cast me a dismissive glance, then focused on Elias, sweeping crumbs off his shirt as he munched on wheat crackers.

“You don’t have a TV.”

“I don’t have a TV.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because I just moved here. Because I sold the one I had in Denver. Because I rarely watch TV, and unlike you, I don’t need SportsCenter to feel good about myself.”

“No, you just need a bottle of hair bleach and a crop top.”

If looks could kill, Nellie would have flayed the skin from my bones nineteen years ago. I guess you could say by now, I was used to that murderous, green glare.

“Can’t we go somewhere else?” I planted my hands on my hips. “Where there are more than two seats?”

After Kerrigan’s water had broken, Nellie and I had walked to her house with Elias in tow. We were only a couple of blocks off First. There had to be places for both kids and adults in Calamity. Pierce and Kerrigan had just opened up a brewery downtown. I hadn’t been there yet but maybe they’d put in a kids’ play area.

“We are staying here.” Nellie nodded to Elias. “If you want to sit, the couch is all yours.”

“It’s full of boxes.”

“Then move them. They go in the office upstairs. First door on the left.” She pointed at the ceiling, a smirk on her pink lips. “Unless you’re afraid to lift anything heavy and hurt your back. Oh, wait. You don’t have to worry about silly injuries anymore. Because you got fired.”

“I didn’t get fired,” I gritted out. “I retired.”

“Did you though?” She tapped her chin. “Because they didn’t rehire you. So it’s sort of like they showed you to the door.”

This woman.

My blood began to boil.

She was goading me into an argument because usually a fight would send both of us storming away in opposite directions. Except I wasn’t leaving. Not until we heard from Pierce. Not until we knew that Kerrigan and the baby were okay.

Nellie wanted me to move boxes? Fine, I’d move boxes. A floor between us seemed like a damn good idea.

I stalked out of the kitchen and hefted the first box from her couch. The label taunted me, a blinding neon yellow. Books. Of course, she’d have me hauling books.

The staircase was steep and the treads nowhere near deep enough for my size-twelve shoes. The wooden handrail was scratched and dinged from years of use. The hallway upstairs felt too narrow for my broad shoulders. But at least the ceilings were tall, and I didn’t have to duck to pass through a doorway.

The first room on the right was Nellie’s bedroom. Apparently, she’d already unpacked the boxes for that space. A velvet, olive quilt covered the mattress. A mountain of white pillows rested against the oatmeal tufted headboard. The walls were the same startling white as they were in the rest of the house, and not a single box could be found.

Pierce was setting up a satellite office in Calamity for his investment company. He’d mentioned earlier that Nellie had moved here two weeks ago.

Clearly, she’d made getting settled a priority. If all that remained of her boxes were those in the living room, she’d be fully unpacked soon.

She had a head start on life in Montana. I didn’t like that she was ahead.

Across the hall from her bedroom was the office. Three empty bookshelves hugged the longest wall. I dropped the box beside her desk, then jogged downstairs to collect the last two.

Except there weren’t two on the couch. There were three.

“Did you just put another box on the couch?” I asked her.

“It goes upstairs too.” Nellie sauntered into the living room, her hips swaying with each step.

Her jeans molded to her slight curves. The cropped tank showed a sliver of her flat, toned stomach. Her hair was down, the white-blond strands hanging in sleek panels to her waist. And those pretty eyes were always full of fire.

She was maddeningly attractive.

“I’m not moving this shit for you.”

She glanced over her shoulder to Elias who was too busy gulping apple juice to hear that I’d cussed. “Because you’re so busy at the moment? It’s a few boxes. And they’re heavy.”

“Then don’t buy books. Or, follow my lead, and hire a moving company. I’m not going to move my own stuff, let alone yours.”

“I—Wait. You’re moving here? From Nashville?”

A slow grin spread across my face. “Pierce didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Earlier today, on the sidewalk outside The Refinery, Nellie had been genuinely shocked to see me. Which meant she had no idea. She probably thought I was here on vacation.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Do you think that house across the street is for sale?”

She gulped. “You’re moving here?”

“I’m moving here.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

I leaned in closer. “Tell you what. I’ll do you a favor. I’ll cart one more box upstairs. Since it’s the neighborly thing to do.”

“You cannot move to Calamity.”

“Watch me.”

Her hands balled into fists. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Watch that foul language.” I tsked my tongue, then grabbed the closest box and hauled it upstairs.

Taunting her was like trash-talking the best lineman on a fourth-down conversion attempt. Either I’d find a way to get the ball down field, or I’d get my ass sacked. Regardless, the game was a rush.

Nellie Rivera was my most formidable opponent.

The sound of the front door opening and closing rang through the house. I stepped toward the office’s window, spotting Nellie and Elias in the yard again. She’d found a ball for him to toss.

She had a smile on her face but there was a tension in her shoulders. A tightness to her moves. I’d known her long enough to know the difference between riling her up and truly getting beneath her skin.

And today, I was in there deep. Nellie did not want me moving to Calamity.

A better man would have walked away. A better man would have given her this town to claim as her own.

But, like she’d said, I was an asshole.

I plopped the box beside my feet. The top hadn’t been taped shut like the others, and as it landed, the flaps popped loose, revealing rows of books inside. One with an orange spine caught my eye, so I picked it up, inspecting the cover. It was a compilation of articles from the Harvard Business Review.

I flipped it open, skimming through the pages. A few of the articles I recognized, having read them myself. Most people, Nellie included, probably thought I’d spent the past decade reading only playbooks.

But I’d read and researched and put my money to work. I used the Harvard degree I’d worked my ass off to earn. They’d needed a star quarterback, and I’d wanted an Ivy League education. It had been a win-win. My father had paid my tuition, but after graduation, I hadn’t taken a cent from that man. Not even a birthday or Christmas gift. I’d sworn never to be indebted to him again.

It was bad enough knowing his blood ran through my veins.

I returned the book to the box, rifling through the pile. Maybe there’d be one I hadn’t read yet. Except the educational texts stopped midway through the box. Beneath them were leather journals. My fingers skimmed a suede cover, and I pulled it out, unwrapping the strap that bound it together. One glance inside and I knew exactly what I held.

Nellie’s diary.

A better man would have left it at peace.

My fingers began flipping, stopping on a page filled with Nellie’s precise, clean handwriting. A familiar name jumped out from the paper. Phoebe McAdams, the head cheerleader. And a bitch, according to Nellie’s entry—which wasn’t wrong.

The date in the upper right-hand corner put this journal nineteen years ago. We’d been fourteen. This diary was from our freshman year at Benton. A lot had happened that year. A lot had changed.

Flipping to the next page, I found Pierce’s name. Nellie was on a rant about how he’d scored higher on an algebra exam and how all she’d wanted was to beat him for valedictorian. In one of these other diaries, the one from senior year, I’d likely find the gloating entry where she’d won.

I should have expected what came next. I should have expected to see my name in this book. Still, my hands tightened on the diary as I read. My heart thumped hard against my sternum.

I hate Cal Stark.

That was it. Four words, written so many times on the page that my eyes began to cross.

On the next entry, there was a different date in the corner, but those same four words sat alone on the top line.

I hate Cal Stark.

Damn. Maybe deep down, I’d hoped . . .

Who was I kidding? There was no hope.

The sound of the door opening jolted my gaze away from the book, and I slammed the cover closed.

“Unka Cal!” Elias called from downstairs.

“Coming!” I hollered back, bending to right the books and resecure the box’s flaps. Then I jogged downstairs, ruffling Elias’s dark hair when he hugged me at the knee.

“Pierce just called,” Nellie said.

“Okay.” I tried not to let it bother me that he’d called her instead of me. I tried not to see those written words but they were burned into my mind. Nellie hated me. No surprise. So why couldn’t I look at her face?

“Everything is going well, albeit slowly,” she said. “Kerrigan and the baby are both doing fine. Kerrigan’s mom is going to come by in a while and pick up Elias. She’ll take him home with her.”

“Great.” That was what I’d needed to hear. Now I was clear to leave. I crouched in front of Elias, holding up a hand for a high five. “Bye, champ. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He smacked my hand. “Bye.”

I strode past Nellie, still unable to meet her eyes, but she stopped me before I could escape.

“Cal?”

“Yeah?” I felt her gaze on my profile. I sensed her scrutiny. She knew how to read me as well as I knew how to read her.

“What’s wro—never mind.”

I was out the door before she could blink, putting blocks between that house and that woman. The sidewalks downtown were crowded with tourists. Country music blared through the open door as I passed Calamity Jane’s bar.

A man with a beer belly and tie-dyed fanny pack slowed as I walked by. “Hey, you’re Cal Stark.”

I lifted a hand and kept on going, but his voice had carried. Other men and a few women stopped and stared. Shit.

Why hadn’t I taken the side streets to the motel? Calamity was going to be my home, and I was sick of hiding when I ventured out in public. But I should have known better. Why wasn’t I wearing a hat and shades?

“Could I get an autograph?” A guy ran up, blocking my path and thrusting his baseball cap in my face.

“Got a pen?”

“Uh . . .” That was a no. I shoved past him and didn’t slow, not even when I heard him say, “Guess he really is a dick.”

He could hate me. They could all hate me. Because maybe if they hated me, they’d leave me the fuck alone.

With my chin down, I continued to the motel, without another interruption. Pierce had my bags. They were in the back of his Land Rover from when he’d picked me up at the airport. He’d drop them later when he had time. For tonight, I could sleep naked and wear the same thing tomorrow. At least I had my wallet and phone.

The bell above the motel’s office door jingled as I stepped inside.

“Hi.” The woman behind the reception counter had a wide smile that brought out the laugh lines at her eyes and mouth. “How can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a reservation. Cal Stark.”

Recognition dawned and she sat a little straighter. “Oh, yes. Welcome. Let me get you checked in.”

“Thanks,” I said as she went to work.

Pierce and Kerrigan had offered to let me stay at their house, but they had enough going on, preparing for the baby. They didn’t need a houseguest. So I’d asked Kerrigan if she could get me a reservation at the motel. When my assistant had called, they’d been booked solid through August.

Kerrigan had scored me the room. My assistant had been fired—not because of the motel but because he’d stolen one of my jerseys and hawked it online. The world was full of liars and thieves, and a fair share always seemed to gravitate in my direction.

“You’ll be in room seven.” The woman handed me a room key. “My name is Marcy. I’m the owner here. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“A toothbrush?”

“Sure.” She disappeared to a back room and came out with not just a toothbrush, but a travel-sized tube of toothpaste and mini bottle of Listerine.

“Appreciate it.” With a nod, I left the office, weaving past cars in the crowded parking lot.

The moment I stepped inside my room, I locked the door and tossed the key on the dresser, taking a minute to assess the place. It wasn’t a five-star resort, but Pierce had stayed here a few times. If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

And they had a TV.

But I didn’t pick up the remote. I reached behind my back, lifting the hem of my white button-down shirt, and pulled Nellie’s diary from where I’d stuffed it in the waistband of my jeans.

A better man would have left it behind.

But I wasn’t a better man.

Just ask Nellie.