The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(13)

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.