The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(14)

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.





CHAPTER FOUR





NELLIE





“Why are the hot ones always jerks?” Larke asked.