by Melissa Tagg
Sara was still a picture of calm and relaxation. None of the doctoral curiosity Raegan might have expected. “Can you tell me about the worst?”
Raegan slid her palms over her khaki shorts until they reached her bare knees. This was what she hadn’t been able to tell Bear.
You have to try. Just say the words.
“It was about a month after Mom died.”
A month that had felt like a year.
A month that had felt like a day.
In her grief, time had turned to elastic, stretching and then constricting, minutes and hours all mixed up and muddled. But then there’d come a day when it seemed somehow life was supposed to simply go on again. Logan and Kate had returned to their jobs. Beckett had resumed college classes, and even Dad had started dressing for work again.
Everyone had someplace to go.
Except Raegan. After being homeschooled the past year—other than art classes and a few other extracurriculars at the public school—she’d spent most of her days at home with Mom. Her decision after the cancer came back.
But now there was no Mom and the house had emptied and her hollow heart couldn’t handle the loneliness.
She could still feel the gnawing despondency that had propelled her to the garage, into her car, onto the road . . .
Raegan pulled onto the gravel lane that separated home from a still-snow-covered field. Dad always said there was nothing quite so head-clearing as a country drive. Maybe if she just got out of the house for an hour or two, listened to the radio and enjoyed the wintry scenery, she could figure out how to resume regular life the way the rest of the family had. Get back to the last classes of her senior year and learn how to function again.
It wasn’t until an hour later that she realized she’d left her phone sitting on the kitchen counter. No matter. She knew where she was. Light snowflakes fluttered outside her windshield, but she’d been driving in rascally Iowa weather for almost two years. She could handle a gentle snowfall.
Raegan let her mind wander, memories of Mom mingling with images from the past month. The funeral—beautiful despite the clinging sorrow. Day after day of family and caring friends crowding Dad’s house. The tears and embraces and attempts at smiles and laughter and hope.
And the casseroles. So many casseroles.
Raegan’s stomach growled and she glanced at the clock on her dash. 4:06? It would start getting dark soon. She’d been gone over two hours. Time to turn around, especially considering the way the snow had picked up.
Except . . . her gaze traveled the landscape around her, attention suddenly sharpening. Where exactly was she?
The first twinge of consternation gurgled to life.
Half an hour later, concern had warped into distress. What had been a pretty snowfall was now nearing blizzard proportions. She’d gotten turned around in a maze of rural backroads. She didn’t have her phone, hadn’t passed a sign for a nearby town in miles—probably wouldn’t have been able to read it if she had, considering the sheets of white against a now-dark sky.
The panic rushed in, alarm darting through her limbs and squeezing her lungs and . . .
The car began to swerve. Ice or gravel or simply her own rattled condition jerking her tires. A shriek flew from her lips as she lost control of the vehicle. And then . . . nothing.
Other than the glare of headlights.
And a voice. “Oh good, you’re waking up, Miss Walker.”
“W-Where . . . ?”
“You’re at St. Luke’s Hospital in Omaha.”
Hospital. Alone.
By the time she’d opened her eyes, the panic was beginning all over again . . .
Raegan’s knuckles were white, fingers clenched in her lap from the pang of the memory. “Apparently I was half out of my mind when the ambulance came. And then I had another attack in the hospital.” She could only remember it in snatches. The racing heart, the retching. The thrashing and the hands of hospital staff holding her down. “The worst is, I injured someone in that car accident. This nice old man. He broke his leg in two places.”
She’d been so guilt-ridden she’d barely heard the ER doctor’s assessment of her own injuries—nothing more than a few bruises. But he’d tossed around words like therapy and anxiety and medication.
Hot tears trailed down her cheeks now.
“They wanted to keep me overnight, call Dad. But I was over eighteen. I got out as soon as I could, found a hotel in Omaha to park in until the blizzard was over. And I had plenty of time to think that night. I played every panic attack I’d ever had over in my head. I made a list of the signs.”
“You tried to pinpoint your triggers.”
Raegan nodded, using the tissue Sara had handed her at some point to wipe her eyes. “Except sometimes there aren’t triggers. Sometimes it just . . . happens. So I made another list—all the things I need to avoid.”
“Things like?”
“Being alone in a new place. Getting lost. I bought a bike after that. Doesn’t help much in the winter, but at least in the spring and summer and fall, I can bike as much as possible. I don’t have to worry as much that I might . . . hurt someone again.” She blew her nose. “I thought it was working just fine. Life, I mean. I knew what to avoid. I knew what I needed to do. Until the other night . . . I was okay.”
Sara leaned forward. “But here’s the thing, Raegan. Life can be so much more than okay.” She took both of Raegan’s hands in her own.
More than okay. It sounded wonderful. But getting there . . . “How?” Her voice came out tinny and uncertain and . . . and hopeful.
Sara squeezed her hands. “You’ve already taken the first step. You’re here right now.”
One good thing about this short-term job working for Sara Jaminski—it gave Bear an ideal opportunity to take out his frustrations on an endless number of inanimate objects.
Bear tossed a lumpy cushion from an old bench onto the growing mountain behind the cabins. The late-morning sun cast golden beams through cotton clouds in a picture-perfect sky. The mowed pasture behind the cabins gave way to prairieland—wildflowers, tall grass, knots of dogwood and hickory nut trees. The sky was a blue-gray swirl draping the horizon.
Erin’s singsong voice carried on the breeze, along with the squeaking of the tire swing he’d rigged in a nearby tree. Jamie was spending the afternoon with Beckett, having taken a liking to that four-wheeler Beckett rode around the orchard.
This was Bear’s fourth day of work at the ranch, and if he could put in a few good hours lugging junk and debris today, a full day tomorrow, he could start on the actual cabin repairs by next week.
And if he kept busy enough, he might be able to tune out the unsettled choir warbling in his head. The one continually and needlessly reminding him of all the messes in his life . . . and his helplessness to sort out any of them. After that hospital meeting this morning—the email from John he’d received not much later—Brazil felt further out of reach than ever before. He still hadn’t gotten ahold of Rosa. He had no idea where Rio was. He’d seen that blue Taurus again—this time waiting in the hospital parking lot when he’d emerged.
And then there was Raegan. She filled every leftover nook in his too-full mind—and much more of his heart than he wanted to admit.
The lilt of Erin’s singing reached his ears once more. At least someone was enjoying this day. Bear had made sure to check on her every ten minutes or so, but so far, she hadn’t come close to tiring of the swing.
Bear wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and dragged himself into the third cabin. Its musty smell assaulted him the second he stepped over the threshold. At least there was no sloping ceiling beam hanging loose in here like in the one remaining cabin. He was saving the worst for last, half worried the roof might up and cave in on him the second he stepped inside. He’d warned Erin to stay out.
He gripped the edge of a busted table now, hefting it with a grunt. A muscle pulled in his shoulder, but he ignored the pain and inched his way backw
ard toward the cabin door.
“Bear?”
He dropped the table and a second leg splintered. He glanced over his shoulder to see Raegan in the doorway, her pale hair tangling about her shoulders and the light from outside silhouetting her figure. He swiped the back of his palm over his forehead and turned. “What are you . . . ?” He breathed in too much dust and coughed before he could finish the question.
“What am I doing here? I was at Sara’s house. I saw your car out here. Well, that is, my car.”
They hadn’t traded back yet.
She eyed his broken load. “Can I help you move that table?”
He took in her white cotton top and spotless jeans. “Everything in here is covered in an inch of dirt. You’d ruin your clothes.”
She stepped into the room, pulling a band from around her wrist and then lifting her hair into a haphazard ponytail. “If you’ll recall, my mascara destroyed one of your shirts yesterday. I owe you.”
“I’ve got it, Rae. Honestly. You could give Erin a push on the swing, though. I’ve been lax.”
“Erin is content as can be.” She stepped over the table’s broken leg and scanned the room. “If you don’t need help with the table, I’ll move this.”
The queen mattress in the corner with so many stains it was impossible to tell what color it’d been originally? Even he’d been avoiding that gross monstrosity. “Rae—”
She ignored him, bending over to grasp one corner of the mattress. She gave a futile tug. When it didn’t budge an inch, she backed away, hands on her hips. After a moment, she moved to another corner and tried again.
This time when it didn’t move, she gave it a kick, sending a plume of dirt into the air around her feet.
Despite this day’s frustrations, he couldn’t help a grin—one he didn’t hide nearly quick enough when she tossed a look back at him. “Don’t you dare make fun of me, Bear McKinley.”
“Did I say a word?”
“Here I am trying to do a nice thing for you.” She gripped the mattress.
But before she could give it a third yank, he sidestepped the table and crossed to the opposite side of the mattress. He lifted it easily.
“Thank you.” Raegan cocked one eyebrow. “And for the record, this is what graciously accepting help when it’s offered looks like. You should take note.” She scooted backward.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been accepting help from you and your family for almost two weeks, Walker. You do remember that I’m staying in your dad’s house, right?”
“How could I forget? I can hear you snoring in the basement all the way upstairs.”
He could see the muscles straining in her arms even though he’d taken on the bulk of the mattress’s weight. “I do not snore that loudly.”
“There’s never any cereal left in the cupboards.”
Yes, and he’d left cash on the counter twice now in an effort to help pay for groceries. Each time, he’d come back later to find it sitting on the futon in the basement. “I’m sorry, I just really like my cold cereal.”
“Clearly you haven’t been around my family long enough. We know how to do breakfast right. And it doesn’t include Lucky Charms.”
They’d nearly made it to the doorway. “You Walkers and your rules and traditions. I’ve never considered you as snobs, but when it comes to breakfast—” Wait a second. Something had just registered. “You said you were at Sara’s?”
She paused, backed up against the table he’d abandoned. “Yeah. I, uh . . . took your advice. We had a good talk. Set up a regular appointment and—” She paused. “Stop wobbling the mattress, Bear.”
“I’m not—” He stopped. The mattress definitely was wobbling. Shaking. As if something was inside . . .
He dropped the mattress in time with Raegan’s squeal.
“Do not tell me that’s a mouse in there.” She backed away. “Do not.”
“Might not be a mouse. Might be a rat.”
She shrieked again. “Do something!”
A shudder skated through him as a lump in the middle of the mattress moved again. “Do what?”
“I don’t know. Jump on it?”
“That’s your solution? Jump on the bed? You want me to kill it by—” His own yelp escaped when the whole mattress jerked. “Let’s just get out of here.” He scrambled around the mattress, grabbing Raegan’s arm as he passed and tugging her through the cabin door.
Raegan had burst out laughing before they even spilled outside. “Bear McKinley is scared of mice.”
“Me? You were the one screeching in there like a banshee.”
“Fine, we’re both pathetic. We literally just ran away from a rodent.”
He swiped the back of his hand over his forehead, probably leaving a trail of dirt. “I was only rescuing you. If you really want me to go back in there and mercilessly kill whatever animal is living in that mattress, I will. I saw an old badminton racquet in one of the cabins. I can use that.”
She clasped her hands together. “My hero.”
“But you’ll have to live with it on your conscience.”
She stepped toward him. “Bear—”
“I’m serious. I’ll do it. I’ll march right back in there and—”
She interrupted him by closing the space between them and lifting up to her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. It happened so fast he was still mid-blink when she stepped away.
But not so quickly the touch of her lips didn’t stir his awareness. “What was that for?”
“For hounding me to talk to someone. For suggesting Sara. It wasn’t easy talking to her and I have a feeling it’s only going to get harder. But I need to do it. I realize that now. It’s not so much that the weight is off my shoulders, but I’m not shouldering it alone now.”
There was something soft and fragile in the way she looked at him now. Her eyes seemed bluer than ever and the smattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose alone were enough to distract a man.
“A few minutes ago, you mentioned accepting help from me and my family. But you’ve helped me, Bear McKinley. More than you know.”
Even if he’d known what words to say in reply, he couldn’t make his voice work. Not with the clamor of desire rising inside him. To finally give in, throw caution to the wind and admit the magnetic pull he felt toward this woman . . .
But also to free his every care and concern, let them all fall at her feet, come what may. It consumed him—the need to tell her about Rio and prison and Brazil and why he’d left. To tell her about this morning’s discouraging meeting with the EMS director and then about the application John had just sent over this afternoon. The one with the question he’d dreaded:
Have you ever been convicted of a felony? Circle YES or NO. If yes, explain.
Maybe even to tell her about Annie.
“Bear?”
Could she see it on his face? The anguish he couldn’t stand much longer? “Raegan, I—”
He was cut off by the sound of crashing wood, a shriek. Erin! Oh Lord, he’d forgotten . . . he’d completely forgotten. Hadn’t even looked to the swing—the empty swing.
He whirled and bolted for the cabin, the one he’d told her not to enter. A thick haze of dust and debris blasted him inside. That loose ceiling beam lay crooked over broken chairs and a bunk bed and . . .
And Erin.
His chest constricted at the sight of her, skinny arms and legs sprawled on the dirt-covered floor, her little body shaking as she coughed. “Erin, honey, I’m here.” He clambered over a mess of wood and metal, thrusting the jagged beam out of the way and kicking aside the chair blocking his path to Erin.
Her cough morphed into a wail. “Uncle B-Bear!”
He pushed away a damp mattress and stooped to Erin’s side. “I’m right here. Try not to move for a second, okay?” His attention swept over her, hooking on her scraped up forehead, the blood on one knee. If she’d taken the brunt of the beam’s fall instead of those chairs, if she’d been a foot or two
to the right . . .
She was trying to sit up now, trying to reach for him. A good sign. Satisfied that she hadn’t broken any bones, he gathered her to him. “It’s all right, Erin. I’ve got you.” His legs burned in his crouched position.
“C-Couldn’t breathe.” Erin buried her face against him, her scratched up arms winding around his neck.
“You must’ve had the wind knocked out of you. Tell me what hurts.”
“E-Everything!”
Only as his pulse steadied was he able to muster the barest smile. Oh, he loved this dramatic little girl. He caught Raegan’s gaze from the doorway, nodded to assure her Erin was more scared than hurt.
“Am I going to die?”
He patted his niece’s mussed hair and stood, lifting her with him. “I think you’re probably going to survive. My heart might be another story. You might’ve just shaved off a few years of my life.” He carried her out into the sunlight where he could get a better look at her injuries. Amazingly, nothing that some disinfectant and Band-Aids couldn’t handle, although she might end up with a nice-sized goose egg on her forehead.
Still, considering what could’ve happened . . .
He shuddered.
“Are you cold, Uncle Bear?” She still gripped his neck.
“Not cold. Relieved.” And angry at himself. He’d been so caught up with Raegan he’d not so much as glanced at the swing when they’d come outside. What had he been thinking, even having Erin out here with him when he’d known how dangerous that loose beam was? “Let’s get you home, Erin.”
His phone rang just as he bent to lower her to the ground, but she clamped her legs around him, refusing to let go. “I want to stay with you, Uncle Bear.”
He pulled a leaf from her hair, ignoring his phone. “I just need to grab a few things from the other cabin.”
Erin touched his cheeks with both hands, her large brown eyes still rimmed in red from her tears. “No, I want to stay with you forever.”
He just looked at her, this child who’d so thoroughly stolen his heart with her infectious laugh and easy affections. The sun had browned her skin after so much time playing outside, no matter how much lotion he slathered over her. “I want you to stay with me, too, Erin.”