The Brazen: Calamity Montana - Book 3

by Nash, Willa

  She hadn’t let me live it down.

  “Anything else going on today?” I asked.

  “Jasmine called.”

  Shit. “Tell her I’m busy. I’ll call her back.” We both knew I wouldn’t.

  “Pierce—”

  “I’m busy, Nellie.” This was one area where I didn’t need her input.

  Nellie sighed. “All right. For the record, let it be known that I think you’re making a huge mistake by avoiding her.”

  “Noted. Next subject.”

  “That’s all for now. I’ll call if anything comes up. When are you driving back?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll be in the office Wednesday morning.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye.” I ended the call and turned off First Street, easing down a side street lined with homes. One block away from the downtown area, I pulled over and parked the Jag along an empty sidewalk.

  Green lawns stretched down the road. Trees dotted each yard, their colors beginning to change much like they did in Colorado in early September. The homes themselves were quiet, most people likely at work this time of day. When I’d passed the school on the way into town, its parking lot had been crowded with vehicles.

  Hopefully my own would be fine parked here for an hour or two. There were areas in Denver where I wouldn’t dare leave a luxury vehicle, but I doubted carjacking was common in Calamity, and I didn’t want to park on First. The Jag drew too much attention parked next to large trucks with mud flaps. Today, I wanted to explore without flash.

  “Probably should have worn jeans,” I said to myself, taking in my standard three-piece suit.

  I unbuttoned my charcoal blazer and the vest underneath. Then I laid them in the passenger seat, covering my briefcase. I undid my titanium cufflinks, a birthday gift from my mom, and stowed them in a cupholder. Then I rolled up my shirtsleeves, tugged off my tie and loosened my collar.

  The slacks would stand out since nearly everyone else I’d seen today had been in denim, but suits were all I’d brought along. This was a business trip, after all.

  Leaving my car, I walked toward First Street, shoving my hands in my pockets. When I came to the intersection, I glanced left, then right. Left would take me toward Kerrigan’s gym—the scene of the crime. Right would land me at a hardware store. I went right.

  A bell jingled as I pushed the door inside. A clerk wearing a red vest over his white polo nodded from behind a cash register. “Mornin’.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Help you find anything?”

  I walked toward a hat rack not far from the door. It was teeming with caps of various colors, each embroidered with CALAMITY, MONTANA. Tourist markers. “Are these all you have?”

  “Yep.”

  Calamity it is. I swiped a black version buried beneath the blood reds, bright blues and kelly greens.

  “Bag?” the clerk asked.

  “No, thanks. Mind if I rip the tags off and put them in the trash?”

  “I’ll do you one better.” He plucked a pair of scissors from a vegetable can beside the till, cut the tags and handed over the hat I’d be ditching the moment I made it home to Colorado.

  “Thanks again.” I gave him a nod, then headed out the door, pulling on the hat as I walked.

  With my sunglasses and the hat, maybe I wouldn’t be recognized by those who’d witnessed Kerrigan’s show earlier.

  Grandpa had always told me how she entertained him. Considering it had been my grandfather speaking, I could guess exactly what entertainment meant. He’d gushed about Kerrigan for years, but he’d left out a few details, hadn’t he?

  He hadn’t mentioned how beautiful she was. He definitely hadn’t mentioned that mouth.

  I should have known she’d be a surprise. Everything since his death two weeks ago had been a shock, and that wasn’t counting the many unwelcome blows he’d landed during his life.

  There wasn’t much to do other than deal with them, one by one. I’d put them to rest and move on with my damn life. Including cutting all ties to Kerrigan Hale.

  She had fire. Hopefully that fire could pay her debt.

  I walked down the sidewalk, nodding at passersby. I glanced through the windows of the shops and restaurants, only slowing to take a closer inspection of the real estate office. They had their current listings displayed in their front window.

  “Guess the market isn’t hopping in Calamity,” I muttered after scanning the few printouts taped to the glass.

  Most of the properties of any size had been on the market for months. And the prices? Kerrigan would have to sell two or three properties to pay her loan.

  Not my problem. A sliver of guilt pricked my spine but I shoved it aside.

  This was the only way to move on. A clean break.

  By October third, Kerrigan Hale would either pay off her loan or I’d assume ownership of whatever assets necessary to cover her balance. I made a mental note of the realtor’s name before continuing on. I might need to sell a property or two in the coming months.

  There was little foot traffic as I made my way down the sidewalk. Or any traffic, for that matter. Besides the occasional car or truck, First Street was quiet. Though most places would be compared to downtown Denver.

  Without people bustling by in a rush, I settled into an easy pace. The air smelled clean rather than of city exhaust and concrete. Walking was almost . . . relaxing. When was the last time I’d walked with no destination in mind? Was it always like this here?

  I’d done a bit of research on Calamity before my trip. Located in the heart of southwest Montana, this community was home to roughly two thousand residents. The town was nestled in a mountain valley, and at the end of the street, indigo peaks rose in the distance.

  The retail shops along First played up the Western element. Smartly so. It no doubt appealed to tourists. Most of the buildings had square, barnwood façades. Others boasted red brick and mortar. There was even a bar called Calamity Jane’s. It was closed as I passed by. Otherwise I would have gone in for a drink and to scope it out.

  I reached the end of First too soon when the road opened up to the highway. Tomorrow, I’d have to drive that way to get to the cabin, but for today, I turned and put Grandpa’s sanctuary out of mind.

  Looking both directions, I jaywalked across the road. Was there jaywalking in a town with only one visible crosswalk? Heading in the opposite direction, I set my sights on the building where I’d come to first this morning.

  The Refinery.

  Kerrigan’s fitness studio. According to Grandpa’s records, she’d bought the entire building. On the first floor, she’d created a gym. Above it was a studio apartment.

  A vacant studio apartment. She also had a vacant two-bedroom farmhouse on the outskirts of town. And a vacant duplex on Sixth Street. With these vacancies, it was no wonder she hadn’t made a single payment on Grandpa’s loan.

  Kerrigan had clearly overextended herself, and my grandfather had given her a safety net the size of Montana. He hadn’t changed their contract to incorporate a payment plan. He hadn’t called any portion of the loan due. From my vantage point, he’d simply tossed money at Kerrigan without any structure.

  This was the worst investment in his portfolio.

  My portfolio.

  Grandpa had left me his company, though I’d expected Barlowe Capital to go to my mother—so had she. But he’d left it to me in his estate.

  He’d given me the headache that was the gorgeous Kerrigan Hale.

  Maybe he’d hoped she’d fail. Maybe he’d seen her as an easy target, a way to exploit someone young and score some easy properties in Montana. Or maybe she’d paid him by other means.

  With that goddamn perfect mouth.

  I gritted my teeth.

  Whatever his reasons, I wasn’t going to repeat his mistakes. I had no desire to own a studio apartment, a farmhouse or a duplex in Calamity. If Kerrigan didn’t pay, I’d liquidate and forget this town was even on th
e map. In a few months, I’d banish any and all thoughts of her just like I would Grandpa.

  He’d been obsessed with Montana. I’d never understood it. Standing here, beneath the big blue sky . . . sure, it was pretty. The air smelled like evergreens and sunshine. But there were mountains in Colorado too. There was blue sky in Colorado too. There were small towns in Colorado too.

  What was so special about Montana that he’d fly here instead of heading into the mountains outside Denver? It was just so . . . remote. It was like being in a different world. A world away.

  Maybe that had been the appeal. Grandpa had been able to run away to Montana and ignore the roadkill he’d left in his wake. Isolated in the middle of nowhere, he could pretend to be a better man.

  I passed the fitness studio, and the windows were dark. When I’d arrived earlier, she’d had the entire place lit up as she’d sat at the counter just inside the door. It was probably for the best that she was gone. Maybe others wouldn’t recognize me, but she certainly would. And I didn’t need another glimpse of that mouth.

  I’d have a hard enough time as it was forgetting those lips.

  With the gym behind me, I made my way back to the Jag. The walk hadn’t taken long but now I had a better feel for Calamity. A mental image of the town.

  And Kerrigan.

  The clock on the dash showed it was still before noon. I had hours and hours of emails to work through, but as I started the car and returned to First, I found myself on the highway I’d sworn to avoid.

  Go there tomorrow.

  But I didn’t turn around.

  I’d delivered that letter to Kerrigan today. Maybe getting this visit to the cabin over with was the best way to round out an already shitty trip. Then tomorrow I could just go home.

  Go home and get to work.

  My focus was absorbing Barlowe Capital into Grays Peak. One loan at a time, I’d put my own mark on Grandpa’s investments.

  The bastard had put enough marks on what should have stayed mine.

  Once the acquisition was complete, I’d be free of everything Gabriel Barlowe.

  January was my goal. I needed to be free by January.

  The two-hour trip to the cabin went quickly at first, then slowed when I hit the switchback road up the mountain. By the time I made it to the ski resort and the exclusive development where Grandpa had his place, I itched to turn around and leave.

  The private road to the development was gated, and once inside the club’s boundary, the only way to own a property on the mountain was to have a net worth of at least $20 million. My car was the only one on the road.

  At any given time, less than a third of the properties were occupied. These were simply vacation spots where the owners would come for a week of winter skiing or summer hiking, then fly away home.

  This cabin of Grandpa’s was more of a mountain lodge considering it was over ten thousand square feet. Once, I’d loved it here too.

  But that was before I’d disowned my grandfather. That was before my hero had stabbed me in the back.

  I eased into the driveway and stared through my windshield at the cabin. The windows gleamed under the afternoon sun. The dark exterior blended with the surrounding forest. It was truly a gorgeous place. Top-of-the-line. Grandpa hadn’t believed in half-assed.

  My heart raced as I stared at the building. The keys to the front door were in my briefcase.

  Except I couldn’t bring myself to go inside.

  Maybe because he was gone. Maybe because I was so fucking angry with him. Maybe because it would hurt too much.

  Fuck this place.

  I reversed out of the driveway and sped away from the mountain as fast as possible. How depressing was it that I’d rather stay in Calamity?

  The moment I reached town, I stopped at the nearest gas station because they sold liquor too.

  “Anything else?” the cashier asked as he rang up my bottle.

  “Unless you have a better brand of bourbon handy.”

  He blinked.

  “Never mind.” I inserted my credit card into the reader, signed the receipt and walked out of the store with my Jim Beam.

  While I’d been driving, Nellie had emailed me the address to the motel where she’d made me a reservation. I drove straight there, checked in at the desk and disappeared to my room. Number seven.

  With my bourbon in hand and my travel bag on the floor, I sat on the edge of the bed and tore off my Calamity hat.

  “Shit.” I raked a hand through my hair. I was ready for the day to be over. My plan was to drink, then collapse on this surprisingly comfortable bed.

  The interior of the room belied the rustic edge of the outside. With the plush white bedding and soft tan carpet, there was a hint of fresh paint in the air like it had been remodeled recently. I toed off my shoes, then opened my bottle.

  The bourbon would have been better with ice, but ice meant leaving the room, and the next time I walked through the door it would be to get the hell out of Montana.

  The first drink burned, and I cringed at the taste, wishing I’d bought a can of Coke at the vending machine beside the motel lobby. With no other options, I settled for a glass of tepid water from the bathroom tap.

  I relaxed on the bed with my drink in one hand and my phone in the other to check my emails. The bottle stayed close on the nightstand. I drank until the text on my phone was blurry and my head was spinning. My stomach growled as I opened the motel’s amenities binder for a place that would deliver. I was just keying in the number to the pizza place when an incoming call flashed on the screen.

  Area code 406. A Montana number.

  “Hello.” My voice was heavy from the alcohol. Not slurred, but anyone who knew me well would know I’d been drinking.

  “Is this Pierce Sullivan?”

  The woman’s voice was . . . familiar. “Yes.”

  “This is Kerrigan Hale.”

  I sat up straight, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “Ms. Hale.”

  “Kerrigan.”

  I wasn’t calling her Kerrigan. “Ms. Hale.”

  “Pierce.”

  “You can call me Mr. Sullivan. How did you get this number?”

  She growled. “Your assistant.”

  Nellie? What the hell? Why would she give out my number?

  “You gave me her business card with your letter.” She slurred that last word a bit. Or maybe my ears were drunk.

  Better to keep my mouth shut.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  I hummed.

  “Good. I just wanted to call and say that I hate you.”

  A laugh broke free. I’d expected her to beg, to plead for more time or for me to change my mind. But hate . . . hate was much, much better. “And?”

  “And nothing. I hate chew.” Okay, that was a slur. Right?

  Before I could find out, the line went dead.

  I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it. Did that really just happen? Yes. I wasn’t that drunk. And I could definitely picture her snarling those words.

  I hate you.

  She was probably still in those black leggings she’d been wearing earlier. They’d wrapped around her toned thighs and trim calves. The top she’d been wearing had boasted her fitness studio’s logo and had fit her like second skin, stretching across her full breasts. The curved neckline had dipped low enough to show a hint of cleavage and the edge of a peach sports bra.

  Peach, like the color of her lips.

  The mental image made my cock jerk.

  “Fuck.” I scrubbed a hand over my face.

  Okay, I was drunk. I did not need to be thinking about Kerrigan Hale’s legs or breasts or lips.

  Food. What I needed was food. So I went back to my task, calling the pizza place to place my order, then pouring just one more bourbon.

  I wasn’t even three sips in when a knock came at the door. Calamity, Montana, had the fastest delivery on earth. Maybe that was its secret appeal. I dug a crisp hundred-dollar
bill from my wallet and opened the door, expecting to be met with the scent of garlic and cheese and pepperoni.

  Instead, she stood there.

  And I might be drunk, but she most definitely was too judging by the way she swayed and worked to keep her eyes in focus.

  “How did you find me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Small town. One hotel. Marcy at the front desk said you were here.”

  “So much for guest confidentiality,” I muttered. “What do you want?”

  “I . . . hate you.” She gave me an exaggerated nod to accentuate her statement. “And . . . I’m not going to let you steal my dreams.”

  “All you have to do is pay. Then you can keep your dreams.”

  “I will.” Her wrist twirled in the air between us, like she was conjuring up her next words. “I hate you.”

  “You said that already.” And the constant repetition of those three words was beginning to bother me.

  Why? No clue. I didn’t care that she hated me. Did I?

  It had to be the alcohol. I’d done a damn good job at shutting out any and all feelings since my grandfather’s death. Being in Montana was screwing with me.

  Or maybe it was just her.

  God, she was beautiful. Kerrigan had thick, silky, chestnut hair. High, flushed cheekbones. Pretty brown eyes the shade of milk chocolate.

  Those eyes might be hazed but there was no mistaking their fire. It hadn’t dulled in the slightest from our confrontation on the street.

  She was not the meek country bumpkin I’d expected to meet today.

  Kerrigan opened her mouth, like she was going to say something, but stopped herself. I suspected it was another I hate you. Then she frowned, a crease deepening between her eyebrows. Hell, even those were pretty.

  Grandpa, for all his faults, had excellent taste.

  She shuffled forward, raising a finger to my chest. Her gaze narrowed. Never in my life had I seen an angry woman I wanted to kiss so much. That mouth drew me in.

  The bourbon was definitely in charge here because before I knew what was happening, I leaned in.

  And kissed the scowl off her face.

  Chapter Two