The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(77)

While Pierce was technically the head coach of Elias’s baseball team, Cal had been such a strong influence as the assistant that most of the kids went straight to him for instruction.

Pierce didn’t care because he met Cal’s intensity beat for beat. The other dads were just as dedicated. A line of them stood behind the dugout as the unofficial cheer squad with water bottles at the ready for the inning change.

Meanwhile, I watched the games next to Kerrigan, each of us enduring the muttered comments from the mothers who weren’t as competitive as their male counterparts.

“It’s just a game,” Dad said. “They’re so little. Oof.”

“He’s doing it for Elias,” I reminded him. “And he’s a good coach. It’s good practice for when Tripp is old enough for a team.”

Dad hummed.

Mom bit her lip.

Gah! These two were driving me crazy. I’d been defending Cal for years, and this attitude of theirs was getting old.

“Mommy, where is my choc-it milk?” Tripp hopped up from his seat on the grass, enunciating each word as he planted his fists on his hips.

Tripp had the clearest diction of any two-year-old I’d ever met. With his articulation and his size—he’d surpassed every growth chart since birth thanks to Cal’s giant genes—most people didn’t believe me when I told them he was only two.

“You’ve had enough chocolate milk.” I bent down and picked up the water bottle I’d stashed in my oversized purse. “You can have water.”

Tripp’s hazel eyes widened. “No water. I want my choc-it milk.”

“Sorry, baby. All I have is water.”

His face crumpled before he flung himself onto his knees and started to wail.

Now he looked two.

“Tripp Stark, we are not having a tantrum today about your milk.” I bent to pick him up, but before I could haul him to his feet, Mom was out of her chair and fussing over her grandson.

They might be uncomfortable around Cal, but our son was adored.

“Oh, my little Tripp.” She picked him up with a grunt. “Boy, you’re getting big. How about we go to the swings and the slide?”

He clung to his Nana, wrapping his arms around her neck. As she set off for the playground, he glanced over her shoulder and shot me a glare.

That glare he’d learned from his father. I laughed and blew him a kiss. “Have fun!”

“He’s got her wrapped around his pinky finger, doesn’t he?” Dad chuckled, taking the chair that Mom had vacated. It was the same green chair Cal had bought years ago to sit outside that Winnebago he’d rented for a summer while his house was being built.

Our house.

After we’d come home from the Benton fundraiser, Cal had moved into my home. He’d complained for months that the house was too small for a man his size, that the hallways were too narrow and the stairs too shallow.

Months and months of muttered comments that I’d addressed with eye rolls. You’d think the man would have been thrilled to finally move into the house on the ranch. But the night before the moving crew had been scheduled to arrive, he’d hemmed and hawed about leaving that tiny brick house. Moving is a pain, Nell. We could just stay.

That time, I’d rolled my eyes so hard I’d given myself a migraine.

It wasn’t like we’d done any actual moving. Cal had hauled exactly two boxes from the car to the house because when I’d picked up one to carry it myself, he’d had a conniption since I’d been pregnant with Tripp.

I’d thrown out my birth control pills on our Vegas wedding-slash-honeymoon week. It hadn’t taken long for his all-star swimmers to score a touchdown.

“How are you feeling?” Dad asked, putting his hand over mine.

“Good.” I reclined in my camp chair, pressing my free hand to my belly.

At five months pregnant, I was already showing. Cal was sure we were having another giant baby boy like Tripp, but I was holding out hope for a girl. Since we were waiting to be surprised, we’d find out who was right this September.

“I’m glad you guys are here,” I told Dad. Even if their relationship with Cal was awkward, I’d missed my parents.

“Me too.” He smiled and the two of us turned our attention to the baseball diamond where a little boy from the opposing team carried a bat toward the tee at home plate.

Mom and Dad had flown in for the week, and at some point during their stay, I was hoping to have a serious conversation about their future plans. They’d both tossed around the idea of retiring, and even if they only spent the summers in Montana, it would give my children the opportunity to have a close relationship with their grandparents.

Cal’s father was non-existent in our lives but his mother visited every few months. And though I’d grown to love Regina, we’d always have Colter between us.

I had no idea if my parents could afford retirement yet, and they wouldn’t touch a penny of Cal’s money.

Dad’s pride was expensive.

Even after three years, they were hesitant around Cal. Especially Dad. So naturally, instead of acting like the buffer, I made sure to thrust the two of them together as often as possible. Eventually they’d find something to bond over, right?

It hadn’t been me or Tripp. Maybe the baby?

“Well, it’s a good thing they don’t keep score,” Dad said as the batter was thrown out at first, ending the game. “That was a killing.”