The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(54)

“A transition.” She scoffed. “To what?”

“Retirement.”

Harry blinked, then threw her head back and laughed to the cloudless blue sky.

“Hey. I’m mourning the loss of my career.”

“By taking vacations alone and becoming a recluse in my daughter’s Winnebago?”

“I’m not a recluse,” I muttered. “I went to the grocery store yesterday after I got back.”

“And I’m guessing you were the last customer, shopping a minute before they closed just to avoid other people.”

It hadn’t taken her long to get a read on me, had it? “Is there a point to this harassment?”

“Yep.”

I waited for her to deliver said point, but she simply stared at me. Harry’s scrutiny went on so long that I started to squirm, finally caving and dropping my eyes to my tennis shoes. That withering stare of hers reminded me a lot of Nellie.

Nellie, who I had thought of constantly for two weeks. Nellie, who’d kept me company with this old diary. Nellie, who had no idea how much it had hurt when she’d asked me to stay away.

“Who are you, Cal?”

“Good question, Harry.”

“What do people say about you?”

Easy answer. “That I’m an asshole.”

“Are you?”

“Some days.” I had the diary to prove it.

“Why are you an asshole?”

I huffed. “We don’t have time to get into that question. Sun’s rising. Like I said, it’s gonna be a hot one.” And this was not a conversation I wanted to have.

Harry stood and motioned for me to follow. “Come on.”

I debated telling her no, but I suspected that wouldn’t be an option. So I let her take a few steps to get a head start, far enough away that she wouldn’t notice the journal when I stood. Then I walked behind her as she led the way to her house.

It was cool as we stepped indoors. The shades were drawn and she must have opened the windows last night to let in the breeze. I’d done the same in the camper.

She flipped on the lights as she walked into the living room. Even though I’d seen the clutter, it still took me by surprise. It looked busier than it had the first time. Had she bought more stuff?

Hovering beside the walls, she leaned in close to inspect the hung frames. It was like she’d forgotten which photos she’d placed on the various spaces. To be fair, I could have walked by them each and every day and forgotten them all too.

The faces, some in color while others were in black and white, blended together.

She passed a row, about to move to the next, when she swayed backward and touched one with a gold-trimmed frame. It was more at my eye level than hers, but she stretched and unhooked it from the nail. Then she handed it over.

The picture’s colors were muted from age. The photo was of a man standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

He wore a pair of dusty jeans and a plaid shirt with snaps instead of buttons. Its pockets had that Western-style point. His cowboy boots were scuffed and his dark hair was creased, like he’d been wearing a hat and someone—probably Harry—had insisted he take it off for the photo.

“This is my husband. He was probably about your age when this was taken. You remind me of him.”

“It’s the scowl, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, but his was better than yours. My Jake was a hand at a local ranch. Preferred cattle to people nine out of ten times. Hated pictures, as you can tell. He was rude on a good day and indifferent about almost everything. He had this eye roll that made me want to punch him in the face.”

I laughed. “Did you? Punch him?”

“Thought about it.” She smiled, her eyes locked on the photo. There was a longing in her expression, like she’d move heaven and earth to see that scowl again. “We lost him eight years ago. Heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He lived a full life. That’s all he ever wanted.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too.” She gave me a sad smile. “My parents thought I was crazy for marrying him. My mother told me to find a nice young man who wasn’t afraid to smile. But what she didn’t realize was that Jake smiled for me. He loved me. He loved our Marcy. He was a good man with a guarded heart. And because of it, he was generally a pain in the ass.”

“Are you saying I’m a pain in the ass?”

“Yep. And I think most people would agree.” She faced me and raised her chin. “But life’s not about what most people think. Life’s about finding the right people. The ones who will take you at your worst, so you can give them your best.”

I rocked on my heels as her words drove straight through my heart. Her perspective wasn’t one I’d considered, maybe because my father was a pain in the ass and he didn’t have a good side. Was it possible to have both?

Harry took the photo from my hands and rehung it on the wall. Then she pointed toward the entryway. “Now get out of my house. I have a hair appointment.”

I chuckled. “Maybe do something about the gray.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “You are a pain in the ass.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Cal.”