All This Time

by Melissa Tagg

  She rounded to where a built-in ladder led up the side scaffolding. One of the city crew who’d helped erect the scaffolding today had told her she’d need to work in a harness. Something about the city’s insurance policy. But she’d be fine tonight without it. After all, those high schoolers who’d cleaned the brick hadn’t been attached to anything—the safety of the guardrail had been enough for them.

  She was halfway up the scaffolding when she felt the first raindrop. Hurry up. She moved her hands and feet faster, eventually heaving herself over the edge and onto the platform. She rose to her feet slowly, uncertain of the structure’s steadiness. Though metal clanked with her movement, it seemed stable enough.

  She padded over the raised stand, the prickly breeze raising the hair on her bare arms as she looked out at the riverfront. Lamplight fogged the street below. She was only about fifteen feet off the ground, but it was enough to send her pulse hammering.

  She wasn’t scared exactly. Just . . . cautious.

  She turned toward the building, inching as close to the edge of the platform as she dared, only minimally reassured by the guardrail. Yes, a harness was a good idea.

  She reached out to the touch the brick. It wasn’t anything like her usual smooth canvas. It curved and dipped under her fingertips, course and uneven.

  Okay, this was silly. She didn’t suddenly feel inspired standing up here. She felt overwhelmed and intimidated, more uncertain than ever. And chilled—she felt chilled from the wind and the raindrops now pattering against the metal underneath her feet.

  A jagged band of lightning chose that moment to flash in the sky.

  Great, surrounded by metal rails while there’s lightning. Real smart, Rae.

  She needed to get out of here before this turned into a full-fledged storm. But as she crossed to the edge of the platform, an explosion of thunder boomed with enough force to freeze her in place. Not a full second later, the sky let loose. The torrent crashed in, smacking against Raegan, against the platform underneath her, the clatter loud enough to drown out her shriek.

  Another flare of lightning lit her surroundings in a garish clash of light and shadows.

  And the first flicker of dread jolted through Raegan. No. Not now.

  She forced her feet to move toward the ladder but halted when she realized it was slick with rain. Was it even safe to climb down now? If she slipped . . .

  Yeah, but if lightning strikes . . .

  The far-off memory of another frightening blend of isolation and indecision lurked at the borders of her awareness. It only ever swooped in on her in moments like these. As if it laid in wait. As if she hadn’t spent years tamping it down.

  The storm. The ice. The sheet of white outside her car and the swelling of her panic inside.

  Her lungs squeezed as the fear—always the fear—twisted around her now just as it had then.

  She squeezed her eyes closed against the ringing in her ears, the racket of the rain. Listened for Mom’s voice. “One deep breath. And then another.”

  The whispered echoes seemed to grow fainter all the time. The pitch of Mom’s tone, the rhythm of her words—she was losing the memory.

  It’s okay. I’m not lost this time. Just breathe.

  But the next breath wouldn’t come. Only trembling. And numbing. And falling.

  It might have thundered then. Or maybe that was the sound of an engine. But she couldn’t make out the sounds over the thudding of her heart.

  Not again. Please not again.

  “Raegan?”

  Her vision blurred as her knees hit the metal floor.

  8

  Not even a long, hot shower had been enough to scorch from Bear’s mind the image of Raegan in a heap atop the scaffolding stage, trembling and as white as winter.

  He stood outside her bedroom door now, fist raised and ready to knock. But he hesitated. She might be asleep. She should be asleep. He should be asleep. It was after midnight.

  But when he’d tried lying down on that futon down in the basement, when he closed his eyes, he kept seeing her shaking hands and nearly blue lips, kept watching her gasp for breath.

  It played out all over again in front of him, even as he stared at her bedroom door.

  He’d just turned the light out in Jamie and Erin’s room when he’d heard Case and Beckett talking down the hall. Apparently Raegan had taken off an hour earlier—on her bike.

  Because Raegan went everywhere on her bike. She had a car. Why did she so rarely drive it?

  Both father and son had been concerned about the upcoming storm. Bear had jumped in, offering to run into town and pick her up. But when he’d arrived at the Hay & Feed building, he’d seen Raegan’s bike, but not the woman herself.

  Until glaring lightning had shined a spotlight up above. His focus sprinted up just in time to see Raegan fall to her knees.

  He was soaked through by the time he reached the top of the scaffolding’s ladder. He’d crouched next to her, saying her name, brushing her wet hair away from her face. But it was as if she couldn’t see him or hear him, could only pant for breath.

  His mind had grappled for explanation. Was she suddenly sick? This seemed like an attack. Asthma? But she wasn’t wheezing . . . more like hyperventilating.

  A panic attack?

  It was another growl of the thunder that finally seemed to snatch her from the trance. With his arms around her, he’d felt it—the slow easing of her breathing, her loosening muscles. “Raegan?”

  She’d tilted her head as if only then sensing his presence. “Bear?” She’d blinked, pulled away, stood. And then, “Please don’t tell my dad.”

  It was the last thing she’d said to him all night. After he’d helped her down the scaffolding, stuffed her bike in the trunk, he’d finally asked, “Are you okay now?”

  But she’d only turned to the window, shivering.

  He’d flicked off the car’s A/C.

  Bear lifted his fist once more. Raegan clearly hadn’t wanted to talk earlier, and she’d escaped to the second floor the minute they’d walked into the house. He’d respected that. Figured they’d talk tomorrow.

  But that was before he’d spent an hour tossing and turning. Besides, technically it was tomorrow.

  “Uncle Bear?”

  He whirled before he could knock. Jamie stood just behind him, wrinkled white tee and tousled hair, sleepiness heavy in his eyes. “Hey. What’re you doing up?” Uncle Bear. It was the second time Jamie had called him that. Maybe those few minutes up in the haymow had done more good than he realized.

  Even if they had left Bear as unsettled about the kids and their future as he was about Raegan now.

  “I had a dream about my dad.”

  Bear rubbed his cheeks, stubble like sandpaper under his palms. “A good dream or a bad dream?”

  Jamie only shrugged.

  “Do you need a drink of water? A snack?”

  Jamie’s head tipped, and even in the dim of the darkened hallway, Bear could see the reservation in his nephew’s eyes. The anxiety. “What’s jail like?”

  Bear’s track pants rustled as he knelt, his mind whirling with the wish that Jamie didn’t have the details on his dad’s whereabouts. Then again, there’d been plenty of times growing up when Bear had spent multiple nights in a row wondering where his own parents were. Not knowing didn’t feel any better than knowing.

  “Bear?”

  His gaze met his nephew’s. Jail. Jamie wanted to know what jail was like.

  A picture of Rio flashed in his mind. Rio in an orange jumpsuit in a hovel of a cell, stark gray walls and a lumpy mattress. Except, no. He wasn’t picturing his brother. The face in the image was his own.

  “It’s a little lonely, Jamie. And the food probably isn’t that good.”

  Memories trampled in: The isolation even in crowded quarters. The smells—metal and sweat and worse. The rattle of cuffs and bars. Days bleeding into one another too slowly to distinguish.

  His desperate attempt to
keep believing his choice was worth it.

  The anguished letter that told him it wasn’t.

  Annie.

  “Do you think my dad is scared?”

  He closed his palms over Jamie’s skinny arms, did his best to level his tone into something close to reassuring. “I think your dad is just fine. And maybe it’s best to try not to think about him for a little while. Think about that game of basketball Seth and Beckett promised for tomorrow—just us guys. You need to rest up so we can win.”

  Jamie nodded, not entirely relieved, clearly. But at least he didn’t ask anything further about Rio. And once again, he’d let Bear near enough to comfort him without pushing him away. Bear squeezed his hands lightly over Jamie’s arms before steering him toward Beckett’s bedroom. He tucked the boy into the top bunk, leaned over the bottom bunk to kiss Erin’s cheek, and quietly closed the door as he left the room.

  Raegan’s door stared at him from across the hallway.

  “So, should I be concerned about this?”

  He spun for the second time that night, heart leaping into his throat at the sound of Case Walker’s voice.

  Raegan’s dad stood just feet away, shadowed by the doorframe of the master bedroom. Strange that he’d barely run into the man since that first night Case arrived home, what with the carnival over the weekend, all his activities with the kids the past couple days.

  “Uh, hey, Mr. Walker. Sorry, concerned about . . . ?”

  “Finding a young man hovering outside my daughter’s bedroom door in the middle of the night. Doesn’t that seem like the kind of thing a father might not appreciate?”

  If there wasn’t the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of Case’s mouth, Bear might feel the need to flee to the basement. There weren’t many people he found intimidating. But Case Walker exuded strength and authority, even if he was generally one of the most mild-mannered men Bear had ever encountered.

  “Sir, I was only . . . that is . . . I just wanted to make sure she’s . . .”

  “Lighten up, son. I was only badgering you for my own enjoyment. I think I know you well enough to know there’s not any funny business going on here.” Case crossed the narrow hallway to stand in front of Bear, one eyebrow raised. “There’s not any funny business going on, is there?”

  “No, sir. Of course not.”

  That was a full-on grin breaking across Case’s face now. He patted Bear’s shoulder, then waved his hand toward the stairway. “What do you say you and I have a midnight chat?”

  Didn’t exactly sound like a request.

  “And enough with the sirs,” Case added as he started down the steps.

  The stairs creaked into the quiet of the night, the rest of the house nestled into sleep. No, it definitely hadn’t been the best idea to tiptoe his way up to the second floor earlier. He should’ve stayed down in the basement.

  What were you going to do, anyway? Wake Rae up for a middle-of-the-night heart-to-heart?

  When they entered the kitchen, Case pulled out a stool from the massive island counter that spanned the middle of the room. “Sit.”

  A flashback toddled in—of Raegan at the carnival, the exact same tone in her voice when she’d commanded him to sit so she could paint his cheek. People were always telling Raegan she was exactly like her mother. But she had plenty of her father in her, too.

  Bear sat and proceeded to watch as Case went about filling his coffeepot with water, dumping in heaping spoonfuls of decaf coffee. Within minutes, the pot groaned as the coffee began percolating.

  Case turned from his roost at the counter. “Now then. Let’s talk.”

  Was it pathetic—the slight twinge of fear that rattled through Bear? “Listen, sir, about Rae—”

  “I didn’t mean let’s talk about Raegan and I thought I told you to drop the sir.”

  “Sorry.” And he didn’t want to talk about Raegan? “I just assumed—”

  “That you were about to receive a lecture on dating my daughter?”

  “I’m not dating your daughter.”

  “You would be if you had any sense at all.”

  Bear didn’t know whether to laugh or go hide under the dining room table. “You’re very forthright, Mr. Walker.” At Case’s amplified glower, he tacked on, “Case.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll return the favor by shooting straight with me.” He folded his arms. “About Sara.”

  Sara? That’s what he wanted to talk about? “I don’t understand.”

  “How much has she filled you in on?”

  “Sir—Case,” he stumbled. “She hired me to clean out and repair the cabins on her property. That’s all. She hasn’t filled me in on anything other than the details of the job.” She hadn’t even approached him with a W-4 or that dreaded background check yet. With each day that passed, he grew more hopeful he might be able to avoid that awkwardness altogether.

  Could be a lot worse than awkward. If Sara knew the full scope of his criminal record, he could find himself out a job. Unless she proved more gracious than some of the church leaders down in Brazil.

  And you really want to return?

  Wasn’t so much a matter of want. With everything in him, he needed to return. How else was he supposed to repay John and Elizabeth for all his choice had cost them? How else was he supposed to keep his vow to Annie?

  He’d promised to go with her back when she was alive. He’d promised to go for her after her death.

  “Bear?” Case was looking at him now as if trying to read the jumble of thoughts crowding his over-tired brain.

  “Whatever the deal is with you and Sara, I’m in the dark. If you’re worried I’m going to spill some sordid story to Raegan, don’t be. ’Cause I’ve got nothing.” He spoke too rigidly, almost harshly.

  But between his worries about Jamie and Erin, his concern for Raegan, his fear of Sara finding out about his criminal record, the desperation that seized him the moment any thought of Rio or Annie hurdled in, he was at the end of his patience.

  Case’s eyes narrowed. “Nobody said anything about sordid.”

  “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

  The coffeepot grumbled and Case turned, freeing Bear from the weight of his scrutiny. He waited mutely while the man pulled a couple mugs from a row of hooks underneath the cupboard.

  “Coffeepots that pause automatically are one of the best inventions of the last century,” Case said as he poured both cups, the overbearing aroma of the brew filling the kitchen. His tone had gone lighter. A conscious shift or solely the relieved result of realizing Bear didn’t know his and Sara’s story? “Kate always tells me to get one of those fancy Keurigs, but as long as I don’t have to wait for a full pot to perc, I’m happy enough with my Mr. Coffee.” He set one cup in front of Bear. “Drink up.”

  Bear stuffed down his distaste and lifted the mug, taking a long swallow. He gasped at the strength of the drink.

  “I know. My kids say I like it way too muddy. I say all their taste buds just need to man up.”

  Then no way was Bear going to tell Case he avoided the stuff whenever he could. He forced another gulp.

  “Listen, son, you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

  Bear’s gaze snapped upward. Case’s expression was neutral, his attention on his coffee mug. He’d said it casually enough, but the offer was rife with significance, whether Case knew it or not. Bear could talk to Seth. Sometimes he could talk to Raegan, if he could keep himself from making too much of their familiarity.

  But ever since leaving Brazil, he’d sorely missed having a father figure on hand. Time and again while living in Maple Valley, he’d seen Case Walker take one of his offspring under his wing—offer just the right words or support at just the right time.

  What must it have been like for Raegan and her siblings—even Seth, who’d spent so much time at his uncle’s house—growing up with a dad like Case?

  “I appreciate that . . . Case. Truth is, I have a lot of uncertainty in my life ri
ght now. I don’t know why Jamie and Erin’s mother hasn’t called in a few days. I’m concerned about what’s going to happen to them when they have to go back. I’m worried about my own future.” I’m worried about your daughter.

  “And your brother?”

  Bear’s throat dried, the bitter taste of the coffee clinging. “He’s the least of my concerns right now.” Not even close to true.

  Nor had it been true in any of the past five, six, seven years when he’d told himself Rio didn’t deserve any more of his care or compassion. But it’d grown so much easier simply to not think about him.

  “Well, he’s one of Jamie’s concerns, that’s for sure.”

  Case had heard that hallway conversation?

  “He might need to talk about his father, even if you don’t.”

  Bear bristled. “And what am I supposed to tell him? Make up some excuse for why Rio apparently cares more about his chancy lifestyle than his own kids? Pretend he hasn’t made one horrible choice after another?”

  Case didn’t appear affected by Bear’s rising vexation. “I’ve never known avoidance to convert into healing, Bear. That’s all I’m saying.” He sipped his drink. “All it does is stretch out the hurt. That boy is hurting.”

  “But anything I have to say about Rio . . . I’m not sure it’d help.”

  “You don’t have to recite a homily in his honor, son. Just talk. Let Jamie in. Search your heart for a happy memory to share with him.”

  Bear swallowed. “And if I can’t find one?”

  “Then you probably aren’t trying hard enough.” Case closed his fingers around his mug. “In which case, you might want to ask yourself who you’re really trying to protect. That boy or yourself?”

  Seventeen hours since the last attack. So this was what square-one felt like.

  Raegan pushed her way through the red metal door leading into the men’s locker room. The sound of splashing and echoing voices drifted in from the indoor pool, and the smell of chlorine clung to the air.

  There were days when having multiple jobs was a blessing. Between her shift at the library this morning, the depot this afternoon, and now the pool this evening, she hadn’t had to see Bear once.