“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.
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.