The Bully (Calamity Montana)

NELLIE’S DIARY had snuck its way out of my car’s backseat and into my daily routine. Somehow I needed to take it back to her house. But considering she’d asked for distance after our night together two weeks ago, there hadn’t been the chance to return it. That, and I’d skipped town again.

I’d spent the past two weeks in California simply to avoid Nellie. Though considering her diary had come along on the trip, there’d been no escaping her.

The entry about her backpack was open on my lap as I sat in my chair outside the camper.

Did Nellie still talk to Sareena? She’d been another scholarship kid at Benton. I’d forgotten about her until reading Nellie’s diary.

Sareena had styled her black hair with these choppy layers. It used to hang in her face, and I’d always wondered how the hell she could see as she’d walked. Or maybe she’d purposefully styled it that way in an attempt to hide.

She and Nellie had stuck together like glue our senior year, but I hadn’t realized they’d been so close as freshmen. Mostly, I remembered seeing Nellie alone that year.

That’s how she’d been that day her backpack had broken. She’d been on her hands and knees, scrambling to pick up her things. The hallway had been crowded with people but she’d been alone.

It was the reason I’d stopped to help. Because I’d been able to relate. I probably should have just kept walking. I really should have kept my mouth shut when we’d walked into class.

Some of the shit that used to come out of my mouth had been grade-A jackass. I’d sounded a lot like my father. And damn, I wished I could say it had stopped decades ago.

I wished our similarities ended in the mirror.

But I’d said rude shit for years and doubted that would ever change. If it popped into my head, it often came spewing out of my mouth. Hence the reason I wouldn’t be doing that fundraiser speech at Benton. And why I wouldn’t be commenting on football games.

If a player fucked up, I’d say they fucked up. If a coach made a bad play call, I’d be the first to point out his mistake. If a referee made a judgment error, I’d go for the kill.

I had enough enemies. I didn’t need to add others to that list.

The crunch of shoes on gravel caught my ear, and I slammed Nellie’s journal closed, stuffing it behind my back.

Harry rounded the corner of the motel, and instead of heading to her house, she changed directions when she spotted me. “Well, look who’s come out of hiding.”

“Not hiding. Just back in town.”

“Another trip? I wondered if you were gone.” She came to her chair, sitting with a slight grimace.

“Knees or back?” I asked.

“Knees.”

“It’s my back that hurts.” I shifted and stretched out my legs. This morning I’d woken up and dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for a workout, but instead I’d putzed around the RV, cleaning up and unpacking the bag from my trip.

Then when I’d finally come outside, I’d decided to read Nellie’s diary while there was shade in this spot. I’d run in the heat later and work up a decent sweat.

“Supposed to be hot today,” I said, gesturing to her cuffed Wranglers and long-sleeved tee.

“What did I tell you about discussing the weather?”

I chuckled. “Sorry.”

“Where’d you go this time?” Harry asked. “Bozeman again?”

“Big Sur. Rented a house and spent a couple weeks beside the ocean.”

“California,” she said. “I went to LA once when I was in my twenties. Decided then and there I didn’t need to go back.”

“I’m not much for LA myself. Too many people. But I do love the ocean. I probably would have stayed another week or two, but I’ve got a meeting with my architect tomorrow to go over some details about my house.”

The initial plans had been drafted and sent to the county for a building permit. With any luck, they’d be approved soon and my contractor could break ground at the ranch.

If I decided to stay.

I was done fooling myself that living this close to Nellie wasn’t hazardous for my health.

Pierce and Kerrigan had invited me to their place for Independence Day last week. They were returning to a more normal routine now that Constance was out of the newborn phase—whatever that meant. They’d wanted to host a barbeque and invite some friends.

Rather than show up and risk a fight with Nellie, I’d lied and extended my vacation plans.

A month ago, a year ago, I would have gone because of Nellie. I would have picked a fight just to rile her up before we snuck off for a quickie. But God, I was tired of fighting with her. Maybe because after that dinner two weeks ago, I knew what it was like to laugh with her instead.

I’d been missing out.

“Did you visit friends in Big Sur?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“So you went alone?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“That’s depressing.”

She wasn’t wrong. Still, I shot her a frown. “I’m going through a transition right now. Needed to escape.”

“A transition.” She scoffed. “To what?”

“Retirement.”

Harry blinked, then threw her head back and laughed to the cloudless blue sky.

“Hey. I’m mourning the loss of my career.”

“By taking vacations alone and becoming a recluse in my daughter’s Winnebago?”

“I’m not a recluse,” I muttered. “I went to the grocery store yesterday after I got back.”

“And I’m guessing you were the last customer, shopping a minute before they closed just to avoid other people.”

It hadn’t taken her long to get a read on me, had it? “Is there a point to this harassment?”

“Yep.”

I waited for her to deliver said point, but she simply stared at me. Harry’s scrutiny went on so long that I started to squirm, finally caving and dropping my eyes to my tennis shoes. That withering stare of hers reminded me a lot of Nellie.

Nellie, who I had thought of constantly for two weeks. Nellie, who’d kept me company with this old diary. Nellie, who had no idea how much it had hurt when she’d asked me to stay away.

“Who are you, Cal?”

“Good question, Harry.”

“What do people say about you?”

Easy answer. “That I’m an asshole.”

“Are you?”

“Some days.” I had the diary to prove it.

“Why are you an asshole?”

I huffed. “We don’t have time to get into that question. Sun’s rising. Like I said, it’s gonna be a hot one.” And this was not a conversation I wanted to have.

Harry stood and motioned for me to follow. “Come on.”

I debated telling her no, but I suspected that wouldn’t be an option. So I let her take a few steps to get a head start, far enough away that she wouldn’t notice the journal when I stood. Then I walked behind her as she led the way to her house.

It was cool as we stepped indoors. The shades were drawn and she must have opened the windows last night to let in the breeze. I’d done the same in the camper.

She flipped on the lights as she walked into the living room. Even though I’d seen the clutter, it still took me by surprise. It looked busier than it had the first time. Had she bought more stuff?

Hovering beside the walls, she leaned in close to inspect the hung frames. It was like she’d forgotten which photos she’d placed on the various spaces. To be fair, I could have walked by them each and every day and forgotten them all too.

The faces, some in color while others were in black and white, blended together.

She passed a row, about to move to the next, when she swayed backward and touched one with a gold-trimmed frame. It was more at my eye level than hers, but she stretched and unhooked it from the nail. Then she handed it over.

The picture’s colors were muted from age. The photo was of a man standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

He wore a pair of dusty jeans and a plaid shirt with snaps instead of buttons. Its pockets had that Western-style point. His cowboy boots were scuffed and his dark hair was creased, like he’d been wearing a hat and someone—probably Harry—had insisted he take it off for the photo.

“This is my husband. He was probably about your age when this was taken. You remind me of him.”

“It’s the scowl, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, but his was better than yours. My Jake was a hand at a local ranch. Preferred cattle to people nine out of ten times. Hated pictures, as you can tell. He was rude on a good day and indifferent about almost everything. He had this eye roll that made me want to punch him in the face.”

I laughed. “Did you? Punch him?”

“Thought about it.” She smiled, her eyes locked on the photo. There was a longing in her expression, like she’d move heaven and earth to see that scowl again. “We lost him eight years ago. Heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He lived a full life. That’s all he ever wanted.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too.” She gave me a sad smile. “My parents thought I was crazy for marrying him. My mother told me to find a nice young man who wasn’t afraid to smile. But what she didn’t realize was that Jake smiled for me. He loved me. He loved our Marcy. He was a good man with a guarded heart. And because of it, he was generally a pain in the ass.”

“Are you saying I’m a pain in the ass?”

“Yep. And I think most people would agree.” She faced me and raised her chin. “But life’s not about what most people think. Life’s about finding the right people. The ones who will take you at your worst, so you can give them your best.”

I rocked on my heels as her words drove straight through my heart. Her perspective wasn’t one I’d considered, maybe because my father was a pain in the ass and he didn’t have a good side. Was it possible to have both?

Harry took the photo from my hands and rehung it on the wall. Then she pointed toward the entryway. “Now get out of my house. I have a hair appointment.”

I chuckled. “Maybe do something about the gray.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “You are a pain in the ass.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Cal.”

I glanced over my shoulder before I left the living room.

Harry stood on her toes, her gaze on the photo once more.

So I left her alone to share a quiet moment with her husband while I eased the door closed behind me.

The sun was blinding as I headed for the Winnebago and put Nellie’s diary in a kitchen drawer. Then, having procrastinated long enough, I went for my run.

Sweat dripped down my spine after the first three miles but I kept running, weaving up and down the side streets of Calamity to avoid the bustle on First. Even beneath the shade of the trees, the air was thick and hot. Not a breath of wind graced the sky.

Children played in backyards, their laughter and squeals carefree and untethered. Beyond the fences of a few homes, dogs barked wildly as I passed. On every block, at least one man was out mowing his lawn.

A woman with a stroller crossed my path as I lapped a community park. Her eyes widened slightly as I jogged by, either because I was drenched or because she recognized me.

Opposite a jungle gym was a baseball diamond, and a few kids were running the bases while another hit pop flies at home plate. The boy at home plate spotted me and froze, the bat dropping from his grip.

Maybe if they saw me enough, my novelty would wear off. Maybe they’d just wave next time. Hell, maybe I’d stop and hit a few grounders for them next time. But for today, I ran, mile after mile.

I blamed the heat for turning down Nellie’s street. It had zapped my restraint. I’d avoided it as I’d made my trail, but as my lungs began to burn and the strength in my legs waned, my resolve weakened.

This distance had lasted two weeks.

And damn it, two weeks was long enough.

Her brick house came into view as I crossed the road, my shoes slapping on the pavement. Then there she was, her hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head while she pushed a lawnmower over her grass.

My feet came to an abrupt halt when I reached her sidewalk. I stood, chest heaving for breath, as she cut a swath in the lawn. Her back was to me, and the racerback cut of her tank left her shoulders bare. Her denim shorts were frayed at the hem and molded to the curve of her ass.

Fuck, but she was gorgeous.

I’d thought the same thing years ago when I’d watched her mow a lawn—the yard at Mom and Dad’s. Not a damn thing had changed. Watching her was better than any football game on television or any halftime show.

Just Nellie beneath the sun.

She slowed at the corner, pressing the handle to turn the mower. She walked my direction and glanced at me. Then she did a double take, dropping the bar. The sound of the mower’s engine died instantly.

Not that I could hear much over my roaring pulse. My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest.

She left the mower and crossed the lawn, stopping on the sidewalk in front of me. “You’re back.”

“Miss me, sugar?”

She dropped her chin to the grass-stained toes of her tennis shoes. “Pierce said you went to California.”

“Yeah. Thought I’d get out of town for a bit.”

“Okay. Well, um . . . I’d better get the yard finished.”

“That’s it?”

She met my gaze and lifted a shoulder. “What else is there?”

“Tell me what you hate about me.” Tell me anything, just so I don’t have to leave.

“I hate that you’ve been on my mind more than I’d like.”

“For the record, I hate that about you too.”

A smile graced her pink lips as she wiped at the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand. Her cheeks were flushed. Her face shiny. We could have a blast in the shower, rinsing each other clean. But I feared that if I took a single step, she’d retreat. She’d leave me standing here alone.

“Why did you watch my games?”

“I told you already.” She tossed out a hand. “In the hopes I’d see you lose.”

“Liar.” That telltale twitch of her nose gave it away.

Her eyes flared, the fire kindling behind those beautiful green pools. “Why do people stare at a car crash? It’s hard to look away from a disaster.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “Can you just be real with me? For one damn minute?”

“You first.”

Well, fuck. I didn’t have anything to say to that. How could I be real with her when I wasn’t even real with myself?

So I stayed quiet.

And she retreated, shaking her head and stepping to the lawn. “That’s what I thought. Go away, Stark.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice.