“Pierce would.”
“Pierce likes me. You don’t.”
Her mouth pursed in a thin line as the other women from yoga streamed out of The Refinery. We waited for them to pass, Nellie offering a small smile, then when we were alone again, her scowl returned.
“Tell me,” I ordered. “Come on. This should be fun for you.”
“You’re right.” She tapped her chin. “This is fun. Okay. I hate how you play a fool.”
“Huh? What does that mean?”
“Remember that charity event we went to last year? At the Denver Art Museum?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Pierce had asked if I’d go in his place because I’d been home that weekend—a trip to see Mom for her birthday. He’d bought a table for Grays Peak and had planned to fly down from Montana to attend, but Elias had gotten sick, so he’d stayed in Calamity.
Nellie had been none too thrilled when I’d waltzed into the gala wearing a tux and sat in the chair beside hers. God, she’d looked beautiful that night, wearing a slinky golden dress with matching heels. I’d hoped to peel the gown off her later, but before they’d even served dessert, she’d excused herself to the ladies’ room and had never returned.
“How did I ‘play a fool’？” I asked. She was the only person on earth who could frustrate me enough to use air quotes.
“All night long, the conversation was about business. Who was investing in this and that. It was like a wallet-measuring contest.”
“And I should have whipped out my fat wallet and slapped it on the table?”
“No. Actually, I was impressed that you didn’t.”
“Okay,” I drawled.
“We were eating dinner and the guy next to me leaned forward to ask if you’d invested in anything noteworthy in Nashville. Do you remember what you told him? You said you spent your money on hookers and blow.”
“It was a joke, Nellie.” The whole table had laughed. They’d known it was a joke.
“Yeah, it was a joke. And it was you, acting like the dumb jock.”
Fuck, I hated those two words. I’d hated hearing them from her mouth at fourteen and I hated hearing them at thirty-three. They were still her default insult, and damn, if they didn’t hit dead on target.
“You have at least ten silent partnerships around the country,” she said. “Restaurants. Hotels. Small businesses. And those are just the investments you’ve made through Grays Peak. I suspect you have more.”
Her suspicions were correct. Though most of my portfolio was with Grays Peak. Whenever Pierce had a new opportunity pop up that he thought I might be interested in, he’d send me the details. It almost always ended with me writing a check.
The business manager I employed was responsible for overseeing my involvement. And he oversaw the millions I gave to various charities every year. Nellie wouldn’t know about those donations. I gave it all anonymously because I didn’t need to be invited to functions and fundraisers. I didn’t want thank-you cards and plaques with my name on them.
“I don’t want people in my business.” Especially rich people who had no qualms about asking me for money. It was easier to blow them off at the start. “Is that a crime?”
“You wouldn’t have had to go into the specifics at that dinner. You could have been vague and still showed that table you aren’t just good at a game. That you have more than two brain cells to rub together.”
“Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “So you hate me because I made a joke, then kept my private business private?”
“No.” She raised her chin. “I hate you for pretending. For perpetrating this moronic, playboy image.”
I stepped closer. “Are you sure it’s an image? Maybe it’s exactly who I am.” The dumb jock.
“Then I guess I’ve got another reason to hate you.” She took a step away, then she was gone, storming down the sidewalk that would take her home.
Fuck. What was wrong with me? I scrubbed a hand over my face, watching as she jogged across First. Then I unglued my feet and climbed into my car, retreating to the safety of my Winnebago.
The diary—that fucking diary—got left in the car.
CHAPTER TEN
NELLIE
There was something reassuring about watching Dad mow my lawn. Like even if a storm brewed on the horizon, it would pass. The sun would shine again.
“He doesn’t need to do that,” I told Mom.
She joined me at the living room window, a glass of iced tea in her hand. “You know how he is.”
I smiled and leaned my head on her shoulder. “Yeah, I do.”
Dad pampered Mom. And he pampered me. It was how he showed his love.
I’d told him no less than ten times since I’d picked them up from the Bozeman airport this morning that he wasn’t allowed to work on this vacation. No hanging shelves. No fussing with the doors that squeaked in this old house. And absolutely no yard work.
He’d agreed. He’d promised to relax and soak up our long weekend together.
Then I’d made the mistake of going to pee twenty minutes ago. Before I’d flushed the toilet, he’d snuck out to the garage. The buzz of the lawnmower had greeted me when I’d emerged from the bathroom.
“I missed you guys,” I said, leaving the window to sit on the couch.
“We missed you too.” Mom joined me, glancing around the room. “I love, love, love your house.”
“Isn’t it cute?”
“The cutest. It suits you. Much more than that apartment in Denver.”
I felt the same, but hearing Mom confirm it reinforced that this move to Calamity had been the right decision.
“Once he’s done outside, maybe we could walk downtown,” she said. “I want to explore.”
“Sure.” We could spend a few hours strolling up and down First. The only risk was Cal.
I hadn’t seen him since yoga at The Refinery last Saturday. Six days and I wished I could say he hadn’t been on my mind. Maybe I should have called him and asked him to avoid downtown this weekend. But knowing Cal, that would have just enticed him.
With any luck, he’d stay locked in his camper to miss the tourists who’d been flocking to town in droves each weekend on their way to tour Yellowstone National Park.
My parents and I would be joining them on their next visit. We’d hoped to squeeze in a visit to see Old Faithful this trip, but both Mom and Dad had to work on Monday. So this visit was just to say hello and see my new house. This fall, when they could get away again, we’d get out of town.
“You look beautiful, honey.” Mom stretched an arm across the couch, tugging a lock of my hair. “My pretty girl.”
“Thanks. You look good too. I’m jealous of your tan.”
“You’ll have to visit us this winter and get some sun.”
“I will.” I smiled and she smiled. If anyone would have been here to take a photograph, our smiles would have been the same.
Dad used to tease that I was a mini Kylie. Mom’s blond hair was a shade darker only because she didn’t have it colored as often. We had the same green eyes. The same chin. The same shape of our noses, though she had a few more freckles on hers.