The Bully (Calamity Montana)
The Bully: Chapter 10

THERE WAS something reassuring about watching Dad mow my lawn. Like even if a storm brewed on the horizon, it would pass. The sun would shine again.

“He doesn’t need to do that,” I told Mom.

She joined me at the living room window, a glass of iced tea in her hand. “You know how he is.”

I smiled and leaned my head on her shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”

Dad pampered Mom. And he pampered me. It was how he showed his love.

I’d told him no less than ten times since I’d picked them up from the Bozeman airport this morning that he wasn’t allowed to work on this vacation. No hanging shelves. No fussing with the doors that squeaked in this old house. And absolutely no yard work.

He’d agreed. He’d promised to relax and soak up our long weekend together.

Then I’d made the mistake of going to pee twenty minutes ago. Before I’d flushed the toilet, he’d snuck out to the garage. The buzz of the lawnmower had greeted me when I’d emerged from the bathroom.

“I missed you guys,” I said, leaving the window to sit on the couch.

“We missed you too.” Mom joined me, glancing around the room. “I love, love, love your house.”

“Isn’t it cute?”

“The cutest. It suits you. Much more than that apartment in Denver.”

I felt the same, but hearing Mom confirm it reinforced that this move to Calamity had been the right decision.

“Once he’s done outside, maybe we could walk downtown,” she said. “I want to explore.”

“Sure.” We could spend a few hours strolling up and down First. The only risk was Cal.

I hadn’t seen him since yoga at The Refinery last Saturday. Six days and I wished I could say he hadn’t been on my mind. Maybe I should have called him and asked him to avoid downtown this weekend. But knowing Cal, that would have just enticed him.

With any luck, he’d stay locked in his camper to miss the tourists who’d been flocking to town in droves each weekend on their way to tour Yellowstone National Park.

My parents and I would be joining them on their next visit. We’d hoped to squeeze in a visit to see Old Faithful this trip, but both Mom and Dad had to work on Monday. So this visit was just to say hello and see my new house. This fall, when they could get away again, we’d get out of town.

“You look beautiful, honey.” Mom stretched an arm across the couch, tugging a lock of my hair. “My pretty girl.”

“Thanks. You look good too. I’m jealous of your tan.”

“You’ll have to visit us this winter and get some sun.”

“I will.” I smiled and she smiled. If anyone would have been here to take a photograph, our smiles would have been the same.

Dad used to tease that I was a mini Kylie. Mom’s blond hair was a shade darker only because she didn’t have it colored as often. We had the same green eyes. The same chin. The same shape of our noses, though she had a few more freckles on hers.

She’d only been seventeen when she’d had me. My biological father was a boy she’d been with in high school. I knew his name. I had an old picture she’d saved from a yearbook. But otherwise, he’d never been a part of my life. Neither had Mom’s parents.

They’d shunned her after she’d announced her pregnancy. They’d kicked her out of the house, but thankfully, she’d had a sympathetic aunt who’d taken her in. We’d lived in her aunt’s basement until I was two.

That’s when Mom married Dad.

She always said the day she met Dad was kismet. A waitress at the diner where she’d worked had asked her to swap shifts, so she’d had a random Friday afternoon off. Mom had taken me to a nearby community park to play on the swing set. It had been Dad’s last day working for the landscaping company that had maintained the park. A day later, and it would have been someone else cutting the grass.

Dad proclaimed it was love at first sight.

He adopted me after their wedding. We moved into his house, visiting Mom’s aunt until she passed away when I was eight. Mom quit the diner and started working at the coffee shop. And we’d had a happy life, just the three of us.

Dad was my dad, even if we didn’t share DNA. We looked nothing alike. He had black hair and coffee-colored eyes. His bushy mustache had a few flecks of gray. His frame was short and stocky.

But in so many ways, we were exactly alike. Mom used to tease us that we were born kindred spirits. We could finish each other’s sentences. We usually craved the same foods. And though I loved Mom entirely, whenever I needed life advice, Dad was my first phone call.

When I’d decided to move to Calamity, I’d told him first.

The sound of the mower stopped and both Mom and I shot off the couch, heading out the front door.

Dad wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “This yard needs help.”

I laughed. “I know.”

“It needs to be aerated. It wouldn’t hurt to throw down some fresh seed to fill these patchy spots. Maybe we could swing by that hardware store.”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “This is your vacation, Dad. Mowing is all you get to do. I can handle the rest. You taught me how to grow a nice lawn, remember?”

He chuckled and held up his hands. “Okay, fine.”

“Are you good to do some exploring?” Mom asked, then checked her watch. “We’ve got some time before we can check into the motel.”

“You could cancel your reservation and stay here.” The guest bedroom was all ready for company.

“Next time.” Dad shook his head. “This is our vacation too.”

And I wouldn’t begrudge them a little privacy.

The day I’d announced my move date this past winter, they’d made their reservation at the motel. Luckily, they’d called before the motel had been fully booked for the summer.

Mom drained the rest of her tea. “Okay, let’s go.”

We set off at a leisurely pace, in no rush as we strolled along First. Dad and I wandered into the coffee shop for an afternoon latte while Mom opted to stay on a bench and people-watch.

Mom pulled us into each retail store to browse, not buy. She rarely splurged and this trip had likely drained their fun money fund.

I’d offered to purchase their plane tickets but Mom had insisted. She’d also told me not to even ask Dad—his pride was a beautiful and frustrating quality. Another personality trait we had in common.

“Jane’s.” Mom nodded to the bar as we stood beneath its sign. “Is this Pierce’s place?”

“No, he and Kerrigan own the brewery.” I pointed down the road. “Want to go there for dinner and a beer?”

“How about we save that for tomorrow?” Dad took the lead, opening the door to Jane’s for us both. “Let’s try this place tonight. It looks fun.”

“Oh, it’s got character.” I stepped in first, letting my eyes adjust to the darkened light, then scanned the room.

It smelled of burgers and fries and a good time. The music was cranked loud. Jane was behind the bar, mixing a cocktail. Most of the tables were full as were the stools at the bar itself.

A broad frame and wide shoulders pulled my gaze. I’d know that backward hat anywhere.

Shit. Of course Cal would be here today of all days. Karma was a bitch. Hadn’t he learned his lesson the last time he’d visited Jane’s?

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, stepping in behind me.

“Nothing.” I forced a smile and steered her to an empty table. She didn’t notice Cal as we sat down, mostly because her back was to him. I held out the other chair that faced away from the bar. “Here you go, Dad. You can sit here.”

“No, I want to sit across from my gorgeous wife so I can stare at her all night.” He bent and kissed her cheek before taking his seat. A seat that faced the bar.

I grimaced, then pulled out my chair.

“You weren’t lying.” Dad laughed as he looked around. “Lots of character. I like it.”

“Me too,” Mom said as the waitress appeared with menus and took our drink order.

“What’s good here?” Dad asked, glancing around the room. I felt it the moment he spotted Cal. His body stiffened. His smile dropped. His eyes shot my way for an explanation.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Dad frowned and gave me the we’ll talk about it later look.

“I think I’ll try a cheeseburger and sweet potato fries.” Mom’s menu closed with a slap. Her chair’s legs scraped on the floor as she stood. “I’m going to replace the restroom and wash my hands. If the waitress comes back while I’m gone, order for me.”

“Okay.” I held my breath as she walked away, hoping she didn’t see Cal. She walked right past him, totally oblivious that he was at the bar. I slumped as I exhaled. Phew.

“Tell me that’s not who it looks like,” Dad said.

“I can’t.” I sighed. “Sorry. I should have told you.”

“What’s he doing here?” Dad’s eyes were glued to Cal’s spine.

“Apparently he’s living here too.”

“You’re joking.”

I shrugged. “He’s friends with Pierce too, remember?”

“Now I wish you would have stayed in Denver. I don’t want you anywhere near that man.”

Oh, if he only knew. “It’s fine, Dad. I learned to tolerate Cal a long time ago. We avoid each other.” Sort of.

He huffed and returned to his menu. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know.”

Cal must have felt my gaze on his back because he twisted, looking over his shoulder. When he spotted me, he spun away from the bar. Then he froze as he spotted Dad. He sat straighter. He squared his shoulders. One foot slid off his stool’s rung for the floor and he moved like he was going to walk over.

“No,” I mouthed, shaking my head.

Cal wasn’t welcome near my father, my rule not Dad’s.

His shoulders fell. His chin dropped. Then he turned on his stool once more, facing away. A moment later, his hand dug into his jeans pocket for his wallet. With a wad of cash left on the bar, he slid off his stool and crossed the room, head down as he strode to the door.

I tracked every step, watching those long legs and that natural swagger until he was out the door. It should have made the room feel lighter. It should have made me happy.

But damn that guilt.

Damn that wounded look on his face.

“Did you order?” Mom slid into her seat, a wide smile on her face.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” Dad put his hand on her shoulder, his thumb tracing a circle on her shirt. Whatever irritation he’d felt from Cal, he’d hide simply to make sure that Mom was smiling.

He protected her.

Like he protected me.

I pushed Cal out of my mind to enjoy the evening with my parents. We talked about their life in Arizona. We laughed as Mom got buzzed off a single tequila sunrise. We inhaled greasy burgers and each other’s company until our plates were empty. Then after I insisted on paying for dinner, we meandered along the quiet streets to my home.

“That was fun.” Mom giggled, her arm looped with Dad’s.

“Sure was.” Dad yawned. “But we’d better get to the motel. I’m afraid if I sit on your couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

We skipped the house and went straight for the garage and piled into my sedan. Calamity’s tiny airport didn’t connect to commercial flights, so Mom and Dad had flown into Bozeman this morning, and I’d driven the two hours to pick them up. Their carry-on bags we’d left in the trunk. I was already dreading Sunday morning when we’d load them again and I’d have to drop them off.

“This trip is going by too fast,” I said as I pulled into the motel’s parking lot.

“We’ll be back.” Mom squeezed my shoulder from the passenger seat, then we climbed out to help Dad unload their bags from the trunk.

I hung back as they checked in to their room, studying the motel’s office and the overflowing flower pots outside. Where was the camper Cal was renting?

Why does my mind always jump to him?

“Breakfast tomorrow?” Dad asked as I walked them to room number five.

“Sounds good. Do you guys want to sleep in?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison. It was rare they could sleep late, so their answer was no surprise.

I laughed. “Let’s meet at the White Oak around nine.”

“We’ll be there.” He kissed my cheek, then hauled their luggage into the room while I hugged Mom goodnight.

The moment their door closed, I started for my car but curiosity got the better of me and I glanced around the parking lot once more. Cal’s camper must be parked next to the building. I passed the office and rounded the motel’s corner, spotting a white brick house tucked beyond the narrow alley.

My shoes crunched on the gravel path as I walked toward the house, and beside it, a Winnebago bus. The lights inside the camper glowed white against the darkness.

Just outside the RV’s door, Cal was sitting in a collapsible chair, his legs stretched long. His hands were stuffed into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, and his head was tipped toward the night sky.

He looked handsome. He looked peaceful.

He looked lonely.

And in that moment, all I wanted to do was crawl into his lap and hold him in my arms.

“Tell me what you hate about me.” He spoke without moving, his eyes still glued to the stars.

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked, taking the empty chair beside his. It was a different style and much nicer.

“What if I didn’t?”

“So you’re asking everyone in Calamity what they hate about you?”

“No, just you.” His voice, low and quiet, was a lure, drawing me in closer. He turned his cheek, his eyes dark pools in the muted light. “You drop your parents here?”

“Yeah.”

“How long are they in town?”

“Just the weekend.”

He nodded, then faced the heavens once more.

“About what happened at the bar . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. Because I wasn’t sorry for keeping him from my parents.

“It’s fine, Nellie.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Tell me.”

“No.” I mirrored his posture, stretching my legs out to watch new stars pop against the midnight backdrop.

“Please.”

A please? He must be desperate. “Why does it matter what I think?”

“Humor me.”

Maybe if he would have come over tonight at Jane’s despite my silent warning, I would have jumped on his demand. I would have listed things I hated about him. But tonight, it felt . . . wrong. So I stayed quiet.

The minutes passed in silence as we stared at the galaxy. Then Cal stood, retreating up the metal stairs to the RV. A drawer opened and closed. One of the lights flickered off.

It was late. My home beckoned. I pushed out of my chair, but did I leave? No. When Cal’s broad frame filled the doorway of the RV, I was standing at the base of the stairs.

He held out a hand.

If I took it, I’d go inside. He’d kiss me, and our clothes would make puddles on the floor.

“I hate that you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” I hated that the confession escaped my lips. I hated that I couldn’t resist him.

“Are you coming in?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Nell.”

God, that voice.

My hand fell into his.

Cal stretched past me the moment I was up the stairs, grabbing the door to pull it closed. Then it was just the two of us, the world outside swallowed by the night. He crowded close. His fingertips skimmed my forehead, pushing the hair away from my temple before he bent, his mouth hovering over mine.

I waited for his kiss, our eyes locked. Except he made me come to him. That was how it always was, wasn’t it? Last time, it had been his turn. This time, it was mine.

So I sealed my lips over his and sucked his tongue into my mouth.

Hesitancy vanished. Lines blurred. The hate was set aside.

We dove into the oblivion.

He swept me into his arms and carried me the length of the RV to his bedroom. A strong arm kept me pinned against his body, our mouths fused, as the other flipped off the remainder of the lights, casting us in darkness.

Cal made my trip to his Winnebago worth it. Three orgasms later, he’d thoroughly pleasured me with his fingers, tongue and cock. With disheveled hair and swollen lips, he walked me to my car, neither of us saying a word.

There was no kiss goodnight.