The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(3)

“I’ve got him,” Nellie called loud enough for them to hear.

Pierce gave her a nod, then climbed behind the wheel. He waited for a break in traffic, then reversed out of his spot and tore through town.

Elias clung to my shoulders, tightening his arms around my neck. “Where dit Mommy go?”

“It’s okay.” I patted his leg. “Your sister is coming. Cool, right?”

The scared look on his face broke my heart.

“How about we have some fun?” Nellie asked, stealing him from my arms. “We’ll go to my house and play games and get snacks. Okay?”

He nodded as she kissed his cheek. Then she settled him into the stroller, unlocked the brake and took off for the end of the block, leaving me behind.

“Wait up.” I jogged to catch them.

“What are you doing?” she asked as I fell into step beside her.

“Babysitting.”

“No.” She stopped walking and held up a hand. “You’re not coming to my house.”

“Oh, I’m coming.” I’d be damned if I let Nellie come to the rescue now that I lived here. Pierce was my best friend. If he needed someone to watch his son while his wife birthed their baby girl, it would be me.

“Absolutely not.” The color rose in her cheeks. Her soft lips pursed. Those sparkling green eyes narrowed as she stood taller.

God, she was gorgeous when she was angry. Maybe that was why I’d always loved making her mad.

“Lead the way, Blondie.”





Snap. Snap. Snap.

I’d snapped my fingers more times in the past three hours than I had in a year. “What the fuck is taking so long?”

“For the last time. Stop. Cursing.” Nellie’s nostrils flared from her stool beside Elias at the island. She lifted her hands, tickling his cheeks before cupping her palms over his ears. “If you keep saying f-u-c-k, he will too.”

“No, he won’t.” Okay, maybe he would.

Elias was two and repeated a lot of shit. Like the word shit, which I’d slipped and muttered twenty minutes ago.

Nellie let go of his ears, smiling down at the boy. “Should we put blue on the picture next?”

“Yeah.” Elias wrapped a fist around the pen she handed him. The moment he began scribbling, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth.

“Good job.” Nellie gave him her undivided attention and had since the moment we’d walked through her front door.

She’d made him a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. She’d played hide and seek for what had felt like an eternity. She’d turned three plastic storage containers and two wooden spoons into his own personal drum set. She’d even scrounged up enough different colored pens and pencils to make him an art set.

Meanwhile, I was an afterthought. An annoyance.

With Nellie, well . . . our history was complicated at best.

Over the years we’d learned to avoid each other. Somehow we’d have to figure out how to do that in this small town. I had my sights set on living here and giving up on goals wasn’t exactly my style.

The sound of children playing echoed down the quaint, neighborhood streets. A minivan rolled by with a Baby On Board sign in the rear window. There’d be a parade along First Street on Monday for Memorial Day.

It was so . . . rural. Different than Nashville or Denver. And this small Montana town was now my home.

Or it would be.

Before Kerrigan had gone into labor, Pierce and I had talked about my plans to move here. They were loose, at best. Buy some land. Build a house. Find something to fill the time I’d once dedicated to football.

Today, it was babysitting. Tomorrow was a mystery.

When was the last time I’d looked into the future and not seen a football in my hand? Ten years? Twenty? Longer? I’d been playing since first grade. Who was Cal Stark without the game?

This wasn’t the time for those questions, so I shoved them aside. There were other things to fixate on at the moment, like why hadn’t we heard from Pierce. Was Kerrigan okay? Was the baby?

I paced the length of Nellie’s kitchen, my footsteps a steady beat on the rich hardwood floors. We’d been in here so long that I’d memorized the space, from the glass-door cabinets to the wooden island to the teal backsplash.

It was charming and homey. “This is the smallest kitchen I’ve ever seen.”

“Then leave.” Nellie seethed. “You’re not needed.”

Story of my damn life. Unless I was on the football field, I was not needed. Especially where Nellie was concerned.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Cal,” Nellie barked.

“What?”

“Stop. Snapping.”

I shot her a scowl but shook my fingers loose.

The snap was a habit I’d developed years ago. The first time I remembered doing it had been at a high school football game my junior year. There’d been scouts in the bleachers. The stadium lights had been shining on me, expecting greatness.

My nerves had started to show and, according to my father, a decent quarterback couldn’t have shaking hands. So I’d snapped my fingers three times before every play, and somehow, it had sharpened my focus. I’d been doing it ever since.

“How long does it take to have a baby?”