The Bully (Calamity Montana)

THE DIARY GAVE a thump as I slammed it closed.

“Fuck.” I tossed it on the bed beside me and dragged a hand over my face.

I’d read that journal cover to cover. Twice.

About half of Nellie’s entries were about school, fretting over test scores and worrying about homework assignments. If I would have put in a fraction of her effort, I might have aced more exams. But school had been her obsession while football had been mine. And my B-plus average had been good enough.

I hadn’t realized until reading her journal just how much pressure Nellie had been dealing with in high school. Whether she’d put it on herself or not, having a perfect 4.0 GPA had been her sole focus. She’d dedicated morning, noon and night to studies. Anything to ensure her scholarship hadn’t been at risk. And this book was just for freshman year. Classes had only gotten harder as we’d aged.

Benton was the most sought-after private high school in Denver. My admission had been guaranteed. So had my graduation. I could have failed every course and they still would have handed me a cap and gown, simply because I was Colter Stark’s son.

Amassing money was Benton’s favorite sport.

They balanced their elitist reputation by offering scholarships to five kids in each grade level. Nellie had been one of the five in our class. Girls like Phoebe, whose parents wrote tuition checks, made sure to remind Nellie that her parents could not.

Interlaced in the diary were a few other accounts of nasty run-ins with the cheerleaders. But otherwise, the rest of that damn book was about me.

She hated me.

Hell, after reading that diary, I hated me too.

The jeans and T-shirt I’d been wearing earlier were in a pile on the floor. My motel room reeked of stale coffee. I’d had to take another shower because my skin had been sticky with sweetened milk.

Never in a million years would I have expected Nellie to throw her coffee on me. She preferred insults to injury. Considering my jeans had definitely suffered physical injury, this was a new tactic.

All I’d wanted this morning was a quick breakfast. I’d thought if I could make it to First before the parade started at ten, I’d have a shot at a peaceful meal at the White Oak. I’d been one block away from the café when a group of kids had recognized me. People had appeared out of thin air, surrounding me for selfies and autographs. I’d had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

My Land Rover was currently in transit from Nashville to Montana, and it couldn’t get here fast enough. At least with a car, I wouldn’t be limited to restaurants within walking distance to the motel.

My stomach growled. Thanks to Nellie’s spectacle earlier, all I’d had to eat was a granola bar from the motel’s vending machine.

You threw water on me once. Remember?

Oh, I remembered. Even if I hadn’t just read her diary entry, I would have remembered.

That motherfucker John Flickerman had been bragging in the locker room after gym class, gloating that he’d be the guy to score Nellie’s virginity. She’d kept to herself at Benton, especially when it had come to guys, but she’d clearly had a crush on him.

I’d known that John would laugh if I threw water on her. I’d known she’d never talk to the douchebag again if he laughed. So I’d doused her.

I hadn’t meant to give her a goddamn nipple complex.

She had perfect nipples.

The coffee smell was getting old, so I snagged the stained clothes from the floor, grabbed my wallet and room key, then headed out the door. The jeans were tossed in the nearest trash can—I’d have to figure out my laundry situation later. The shirt was probably salvageable, there was only coffee on its hem, but I had a spare, so it was dumped too. Then I paced the length of the motel as I waited for my realtor to arrive.

Flower baskets hung from the second floor’s exterior walkway. Pots had been planted beside each room, their blooms a riot of color against the red-painted doors. The parking lot was full, like it had been all weekend, but it was quiet. Most of the guests were probably downtown for the parade.

Beside the office’s door was an old wagon wheel with LOBBY stenciled in white across a spoke. The motel’s dark wooden exterior soaked in the heat from the morning sun. As I walked, whichever shoulder was closest to the wall absorbed the radiating warmth.

Did these rooms have air-conditioning? It would get hot as the summer progressed. Though I guess it didn’t matter. My stay at the motel would be short-lived.

A black Toyota SUV eased into the parking lot. The woman behind the wheel waved, then eased to a stop as I approached.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” she greeted as I slid into the passenger seat. “I’m Jessa Nickels.”

“Cal,” I corrected, like I had when she’d called me Mr. Stark on the phone last week. My father was Mr. Stark.

“Nice to officially meet you.” She reached over to shake my hand. “Would you like to grab a coffee before we head out? Chat a bit?”

“No.” Absolutely not. I had no interest in coffee or making small talk.

There weren’t many realtors in Calamity, and when I’d asked Kerrigan for a recommendation, she’d given me Jessa’s name. She’d also warned that Jessa wasn’t always the epitome of discreet. But of my limited options, apparently Jessa was the best, so before I’d arranged this meeting, my attorney had sent her a nondisclosure agreement and stern email reinforcing my need for privacy.

“Okay, then I guess we can just head out.” She handed me a manila folder filled with property spec sheets. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down the line.”

“All right.” I nodded toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll be going to a few places currently occupied. With the parade, it worked out well for the owners to be gone for an hour or two.”

“’Kay.” I flipped the folder and scanned the first property sheet as Jessa drove.

Maybe it was rude to ask that Jessa meet with me today, but I didn’t care that it was a holiday weekend. The sooner I had a house, the better. I needed a temporary place to live while building a permanent home. And I also needed land for that permanent home.

I’d left nearly everything in Nashville. When it was time, I’d have my house packed and my belongings shipped. But for now, I’d hired a property management company to make sure the place didn’t burn down.

The next four hours were spent traipsing across Calamity.

Every house she showed me was lacking. Either it was too close to a neighbor or it was too close to the school. I stared at the rancher we’d just toured and scrunched my nose. This one was too close to a pasture of cows.

“I’m not waking up to that smell every day.”

“Okay.” Jessa forced a tight smile. “Well, this was the last viewing. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of inventory in Calamity.”

Kerrigan and Pierce had warned me that was the case. I walked to her SUV, climbed inside and slammed the door behind me.

Jessa scurried to catch up. “I can make some calls. See if anyone who’s been on the fence might consider a sale.”

“Sure,” I muttered. I wasn’t going to hold my breath she’d find anything appealing. “What about vacant land?”

I had a meeting with a contractor tomorrow, the same guy who’d built Pierce and Kerrigan’s place. He was a friend of Kerrigan’s from the area and came highly recommended. Maybe I could pay him an exorbitant amount and escalate the construction timeline. That was if I found some property.

Jessa stretched to the backseat and pulled out another folder, this one green. She clutched it, hesitant to pass it over. “There’s only one property for sale in the area that has the acreage you’re looking for.”

I held out my hand for the folder. “Then let’s hope I like it.”

IT WAS NEARLY six by the time I returned to my hotel room. Jessa had earned her commission today.

We’d driven out to a property in the mountain foothills, and I’d known the moment my foot had hit the dirt it was mine.

There were plenty of massive evergreens to hide a house. I’d have space to install gates and security. It wasn’t on a main road, so I didn’t have to worry about traffic. Best of all? My nearest neighbor would be three miles away.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, hitting Pierce’s name.

He answered on a yawn. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine. Tired.”

“How’s Kerrigan and Constance?”

“Good.” There was a softness in his voice. He probably had a dreamy smile on his face, the same one he’d had yesterday when he’d taken me to the hospital to meet his daughter. “I’m glad we came up to the cabin. It’s been easier to relax here.”

“How long are you staying?”

“We’ll probably head back tomorrow. Maybe the next day. We’ve got a checkup with Constance’s doctor coming.”

“Elias doing okay?”

Pierce chuckled. “He’s pretty enamored with his baby sister.”

“As he should be. Need anything?”

“No, but thanks. Nellie’s got us covered.”

Of course, she did. Nellie always beat me to the rescue.

“What’s happening with you?” Pierce asked.

“I just put an offer in on a ranch.” A thrill raced through my veins. I was offering cash and pushing for a short close. I wanted that place in my name within a month.

“Is it that three-hundred-acre property about fifteen minutes out of town?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Kerrigan and I had a bet that you’d buy that one.”

I grinned. “Who won?”

“She did. I thought you’d pick something that was less maintenance.”

“Yeah, it’ll take some work.” I’d do what I wanted myself and hire out the rest. “But what the hell else do I have to do?”

“You could take that job at ESPN. It would keep you connected to the game.”

I sighed. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to talk about me. You sure everything is going okay?”

“It’s great.” There was that dreamy smile again. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Holler when you’re back. Or if you need anything.” As soon as my car showed up, Nellie wouldn’t be the only one to help out.

“Will do. Bye.”

I ended the call and tucked my phone away as a hunger pang struck.

Jessa had stopped by a sandwich spot today and grabbed a couple of subs to eat between showings. But that had been hours ago, and I was starved. I’d have to brave downtown for dinner again. Except before I could eat, I had another stop to make.

I left my room for the motel’s lobby, finding Marcy inside.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.” She braced as I came through the door, like she was expecting me to complain. Either that was typical at a motel—that guests only came to visit when they were checking in, checking out or bitching—or Marcy knew about my reputation. Maybe she and her husband were football fans.

I didn’t take offense. Maintaining my reputation as an asshole kept some people away. Not many, but some.

“You can call me Cal. And I’d like a room.”

She blinked. “A different room? Oh, um . . . is something wrong with yours? It’s the biggest one we have and—”

“It’s fine.” I held up a hand. “I want a room, that room, for as long as I need it.”

“Huh? I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m not following.”

“Cal,” I corrected. “I’d like to stay here, live here, while my house is being built.”

“In the hotel?”

I drummed my fingers on the counter. Patience had never been my forte, especially when I was hungry. “Yes.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. We don’t do long-term stays.”

“Make an exception. It’s guaranteed income through the summer and fall.” Maybe even the winter if I couldn’t get a jump on construction.

“But we’re fully booked. I’m sure Kerrigan told you that. I was only able to get you that room because of a last-minute cancelation. Summer in Calamity is our busiest time of year.”

Well, shit. A growl came from my throat.

I guess I could settle for one of the properties I’d viewed today. Or, I could live in Bozeman. They had more real estate offerings and plenty of new construction. But it was two hours away, and Nellie would just love that, wouldn’t she? She’d dumped one iced latte down my pants and think she’d chased me from Calamity.

No. I wasn’t giving her that satisfaction.

“Marcy, work with me here.” I liked this motel. It was clean. Relatively quiet. The bed was comfortable. After so many years of away games, hotels had become a regular part of my life.

“I’m sorry. The only spot I’d have for you to stay is . . .” She trailed off, then held up a finger. “Give me a minute.”

She disappeared into the back room, the same one where she’d gotten my toothbrush. The murmur of her voice carried into the lobby, but I couldn’t make out the words.

My fingers continued their drumming on the counter, the muted taps growing louder as the minutes passed, until finally Marcy returned and breezed past me for the door.

“I have an idea,” she said. “You’ll need to keep an open mind.”

“Okay,” I drawled, following her outside. People only told you to keep an open mind when they knew you weren’t going to like what they had to say.

She rounded the corner of the L-shaped building and walked its length along a gravel path. Behind the motel was a white brick, single-story house with a sage-green door. Parked beside a small fenced yard, in a gravel space, was a gleaming silver and black Winnebago bus.

“This is my mom’s house,” she said. “She lets us park our RV here.”

Yeah, my mind was not open enough for this.

“We go camping in the fall and early spring, before tourist season gets into full swing.” Marcy stopped beside the camper, taking out a key from her pocket and slipping it into the lock. “But we’re so busy, we can’t get away in the summer.”

The door popped open and she let me take the metal stairs first.

I had to crouch through the doorway, but inside, I was able to stand tall. Unexpected considering my six-foot-four frame. My feet would hang off the end of the bed, but that was true for most places I slept.

Marcy followed me inside, pulling up a shade to let in more light. “There isn’t a washer and dryer, but you can use the motel’s, free of charge of course. You’d have your own kitchen. And you wouldn’t be sharing a wall with other hotel guests.”

Straight for the kill, this one. Maybe she knew I wanted a quiet place to eat and had no desire to hear noises from whoever was staying in the room beside mine.

I strode the length of the bus, taking in the taupe couches and dove-gray walls. The kitchen wasn’t big but it would be enough to make myself meals. Eating out was already getting old.

Was I really considering this? Maybe I should have just bought a house today. Or I could buy my own Winnebago. But where would I park it?

“How much?” I asked.

“Um . . . the same price as a room?” She laughed. “I honestly didn’t think I’d even get you through the door.”

“I might need it through the fall. And winter. If I get comfortable here, I don’t want you kicking me out so you can road-trip to wherever it is you camp.”

“No problem.” She held up her hands. “We can make different travel plans this year.”

“You have to clean, just like you would if I was staying at the motel.”

“Deal.”

I held out my hand. “Deal.”

“I’ll get it all ready.” Her eyes sparkled as she shook my hand. “You can move in tomorrow.”

Without another word, I left her in the camper and strode outside. I stopped by my room to grab a hat and a pair of sunglasses. Then I headed downtown for some food.

I’d eaten at Pierce and Kerrigan’s brewery the past two nights. As much as I wanted to support my friends, I was ready for a change. When I heard the music from Calamity Jane’s, I jogged across the street and stepped into the dark bar.

My trips to Montana had mostly been spent at Pierce’s cabin, so I hadn’t been to many places in town, including Jane’s. But as I took off my sunglasses and glanced around, it was exactly as I’d expected. Not quite a dive, but it leaned heavily toward that end of the spectrum.

Beneath the dim lights, tables filled the center of the room. Booths hugged the forest-green walls. At least, they looked green. It was hard to tell beneath the abundance of tin and aluminum beer signs. And was that a buffalo? Yep, sure was. The taxidermic bust hung beside the stage.

The bar itself stretched across the far wall. Behind it were mirrored shelves teeming with liquor bottles. I took an empty stool, leaning on the glossy surface, and nodded to the bartender.

She held up a finger, then plucked a beer can from a cooler. The top popped with a hiss.

That sound, combined with the smell of burgers and fries, made my mouth water. A couple at one of the tables was inhaling a basket of onion rings. I spotted mozzarella sticks and an overflowing plate of nachos.

I’d have to extend my workout tomorrow, but I was hungry enough to order everything on the damn menu.

A waitress strode from the door that led to the kitchen, her tray stacked with boats of hot wings. I was drooling over the wings when a swish of white-blond hair caught my eye.

Nellie’s gaze locked with mine, and for the briefest moment, the rest of the bar vanished as she glared at me from over the rim of a martini glass.

Would she throw that drink on me too? I hoped not. I hated vodka and olives. She had three of the latter skewered on a toothpick.

Larke Hale was sitting beside her. I didn’t know Kerrigan’s sister well, but from the scowl on her face, it didn’t take much to know that Nellie had been sharing stories. The two other women cast similar looks over their shoulders.

Whatever. They could bash me all they wanted as long as I got some food.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender appeared, setting a cardboard coaster on the bar top.

“Beer, whatever you’ve got on tap. Cheeseburger. Onion rings. Fries.”

“You’re Cal Stark.”

Not a question. “Yes.”

“Jane Fulson. This is my bar.” She nodded to the television mounted on the wall beside the pool table. “That TV only plays Broncos games.”

“Okay.” Could a man just get some food? “I like football. I’ll be happy if you have a game on, period.”

Jane was probably in her fifties, close to Mom’s age. Her hair was white. Her skin leathery and tan. She was thin and average height, but I squirmed a bit as she looked me up and down with those shrewd, brown eyes. I was guessing most people didn’t mess with Jane.

She reminded me of Nellie in that way.

With one last inspection, Jane shoved away from the bar and filled a pint glass with an amber. She set it on my coaster, then left me in peace.

I chugged half my beer, feeling eyes on my spine. When I dared a glance to Nellie’s table, sure enough, every woman seated had her eyes locked my way.

That was a lot of angry faces. Maybe I should have requested my meal to go.

The door opened and a blast of light flashed from outside as two women entered, a blonde and a brunette. I turned back to my beer, ready to finish, then did a double take.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I cast my eyes to the tall, wooden ceiling. Definitely should have gone to the brewery.

It was a small world. Whoever said otherwise hadn’t been to Calamity.

Years ago, in Nashville, I’d dated the brunette. Everly Christian was beautiful, but it hadn’t taken long to realize there’d been no spark. Maybe I hadn’t been the nicest guy at the time. I might have ghosted her. Or maybe she’d ghosted me? Regardless, we’d gone our separate ways.

Until the weekend I’d shown up to stand as Pierce’s best man. Everly not only lived in Montana, but was married to some local artist and was tight with Kerrigan.

The blonde was Lucy Ross, a famous country singer who’d performed the national anthem before a few games. Apparently she was married to the sheriff.

Everly didn’t like me. Neither did Lucy.

No surprise, they joined Nellie’s table.

The heat from their glares intensified, like flames licking my skin. I drained my beer, then studied my coaster. Eyes down. Hat pulled low.

Maybe Calamity was a mistake, after all. Maybe I should have tallied the number of people who liked me and compared it to the number of those who didn’t. Though I wasn’t sure there was a town in America where the final score would be in my favor.

So what if the entire female population in this county hated me? I’d just bought a ranch. I’d rented a Winnebago. There was no going back. Somehow, we’d all have to coexist.

I risked another glance. The other women had turned away, but Nellie’s green eyes were waiting.

She looked stunning. She looked pissed. She looked determined.

She looked like I was about to suffer.

Fuck my life.