by Melissa Tagg
“I told him about you, of course. Raegan Walker, I knew from that first watercolor you ever did in Intro to Art as a freshman that you were something special. I’d been telling Phil about you for years. He couldn’t personally offer you a scholarship back then because he was still new at the school. But today he could open so many doors for you.”
Mr. Hill’s meaning sunk in. This Forrester Carlisle Young, aka Phil Leech, wasn’t just coming to Maple Valley to visit his old friend or stop by the festival. He was coming to see her. “Oh, Mr. Hill, no—”
“Don’t even say it, my girl. There’s no point. He’s already accepted my invitation and I spoke to Mayor Milt and the festival committee. They’re adding him to the judging pool. That part doesn’t matter to you—your piece won’t be judged. But it’ll be great publicity for the event, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not ready for this, Mr. Hill. What if the mural doesn’t turn out well? What if I can’t even finish it?”
“What if it does and what if you do and what if it’s a masterpiece?”
She looked back to her brick-canvas. Primer, chalk outline . . . didn’t feel like nearly enough progress now. Her pulse quickened.
“Take a deep breath, Raegan.”
Not Mom’s voice this time. Sara’s. She’d been just about to leave the woman’s house last week when Sara had stopped her on the doorstep.
“Before you go, let’s try something—a breathing exercise. Inhale four seconds, hold four seconds, exhale four seconds.”
Four seconds in. Four seconds hold. Four seconds out.
Mr. Hill didn’t understand. It wasn’t the thought of a famous artist critiquing her work that sent shoots of dread from her shoulders to her toes. It was that last question. What if it’s a masterpiece?
That last question and what it could mean. Open doors were one thing. But the space on the other side? It might be too big and she might be too small. She wasn’t ready.
I’m not Mom.
Mom, who’d chased a passion all the way to the East Coast, cast her vision and reeled in a dream. Raegan wasn’t Dad or Logan or Kate or Beckett, for that matter, either. She wasn’t Seth.
She was Raegan the homebody with the part-time jobs and the same bed she’d slept in since she was nine.
And here, not five minutes ago, she’d let her imagination wander halfway down the globe because a man named Bear McKinley had kissed her.
They might’ve been magical kisses but they weren’t that magical. They couldn’t change who she was. She was finally acknowledging her panic attacks, yes. Finally reaching out for help.
But she was still a woman with too many fears and too many faults.
“Now, the thing you’ll really want to think about, is what other work you can show Phil.”
Mr. Hill was still talking?
“I know you won’t have much time, but even if you can eke out one landscape—”
“Mr. Hill—”
“Don’t do it again, Raegan, please. Don’t walk away from your gift. Don’t let this opportunity pass you by. Find a few hours some evening and get out your oils. See what you come up with. If nothing else, maybe we can pull out some of your old work to show Phil. Just think about it, Rae. Think about what it could mean.”
Four seconds in. Four seconds hold. Four seconds out.
A canopy of gray shrouded the landscape. “I’ll think about it.” If only to urge Mr. Hill away. Reclaim the solace she’d found on this second-story platform earlier today.
But even when he’d gone, the peace didn’t return.
“You can never, ever tell any of the Walkers about this.”
Bear sat on a stool at the counter in Coffee Coffee, Jamie and Erin on either side of him. Both kids had seemed restless back at the house after supper tonight. He’d finally decided on a little jaunt into town. Thought maybe he might get lucky and run into Raegan, too.
But when he’d glanced at her mural building as he drove past, there was no sign of her.
“Are you talking to me or the kids?”
Coffee Coffee’s young, ever-sarcastic owner, Megan Harrow, stood on the other side of the counter with a towel over her shoulder and her jet-black hair tied in a knot atop her head. He’d always had a feeling she wasn’t nearly as caustic as she generally tried to appear. Megan could dress in black and rim her eyes with as much eyeliner as she wanted—wasn’t enough to entirely disguise her soft side.
Bear had become a regular at the coffee shop below his apartment back when he’d actually lived in his apartment. The eclectic atmosphere of the place more than made up for his coffee distaste—a boho mix of bright furniture and tables of varying colors, lanky windows that peered into the picturesque riverfront, the fact that he never could guess what kind of music would be playing over the speakers.
This evening it was some languid indie rock band.
“Both,” he answered Megan. “You know how the Walkers feel about their breakfast foods. Like they’re the only people capable of pulling off the perfect morning feast. If they knew how I often I bring the kids in here for donuts, I’d never hear the end of it.” At least three mornings last week.
And apparently the habit had expanded into an evening ritual as well. Though, he had every intention of purchasing extra donuts to-go once Jamie and Erin finished tonight’s treat. That’d take care of breakfast tomorrow. Raegan wouldn’t even be able to make fun of his cereal consumption.
If she was around, that is. How much longer could she keep avoiding him?
Megan pulled the towel from her shoulder and wiped down the counter. “Your niece and nephew might agree to keep your secret, but you forget—I’m tight with that family.”
Yes, he’d seen firsthand a couple of years ago the way Kate Walker had taken Megan under her wing. When a flood had pummeled the coffee shop right around the same time as an unexpected pregnancy had knocked Megan off her feet, Raegan’s sister had become the younger woman’s support system.
It was a Walker thing—gently towing in anyone in need of a lifeline. When he’d first moved to Maple Valley after his prison release, he’d been so intent on appearing put together. Admirable. Unwavering in his faith and untiring in his work ethic. But deep inside, loss had scraped him hollow—Annie, Rio, the life he used to hope for. He’d needed what the Walkers had offered—kindness and a sense of belonging, of family.
And they were doing it all over again now. Not just with him, but Jamie and Erin, too.
Beside him, Erin dunked her donut into a glass of chocolate milk. Jamie had barely touched his own, so intent was he on whatever book he’d brought home from the library this morning. The kids had gone with Raegan for her morning shift. And Jamie had come home talking about a girl he’d met—Elise something or other.
“She can’t see, Uncle Bear. She reads braille. It’s cool.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, Jamie might have his first crush.
Megan pulled another donut from the glass case nearby and slid it in front of Bear. His second.
“I still look hungry?” He’d wolfed down his first in four bites.
“No, but since you won’t buy a specialty drink, I have to make sure your patronage is worth my financial while.”
“I was already going to buy extras for tomorrow.”
“You should really consider giving coffee another chance. I’ve actually had some success lately converting a former coffee-hater. The other day, he didn’t even wince when he tried a drink of my latte.”
“He?” Was Megan actually blushing right now? Megan, the sarcastic barista, blushing. It was worthy of a newspaper article. “Clearly, I’ve missed some things while I’ve been away. Who’s the he?”
“When did you get so nosy, Bear?”
“When did you get so blushy, Meg?”
His phone’s ringtone kept him from anymore teasing. Somehow he knew, even before he pulled it from his pocket, what he’d see on the screen. Unidentified Number. He bit back an aggravated grumble. Fifth call.
But Chief Ross had told him to keep answering. So he did, lurching his phone to his ear and giving only a gruff, “What?”
Megan’s eyebrows rose.
He waited for the familiar breathing on the other end. Instead . . .
“Bear?”
A punch in his stomach couldn’t have surprised him so thoroughly. After a quick glance at Megan, her understanding nod, he spun on his heels and strode from the shop. Sultry air hastened to envelop him as he stepped into the sun. “Rio?”
That had been his brother’s voice, hadn’t it? He may not have heard it in a decade, but he knew it.
But the voice didn’t answer.
“Rio, if it’s you, talk to me. Why do you keep calling like this?”
There was the breathing again.
“Could you at least tell me where you are? Or what’s up with Rosa? This is so far past ridiculous, I can’t even—”
Click.
He closed his eyes, a defeated sigh slogging through him. It was Rio. It had to be.
Bear should’ve been calmer. Nicer. Patient. He should’ve . . . he should’ve not blown it, that’s what. Because a swift and surprise longing suddenly filled in all the gaps of his unanswered questions—to talk to his brother. Not just fire off bulleted questions like he’d done.
But just . . . to talk.
He opened his eyes. Across the road and down a sloping green, the Blaine River tussled against the day’s gusting, damp air, coming rain heavy on the horizon. He’d been here in Maple Valley during the flood almost two years ago. Had spent hours sandbagging in the wind and the rain with the rest of the town. He’d felt like he was defending his own home.
But that phone call—his certainty of Rio’s voice on the other end—it was an inexplicable inner tug. A pull in a direction that made no sense. Atlanta wasn’t his home. It couldn’t be.
Why, then, did one measly syllable—his name—uttered on a call that lasted less than thirty seconds, seem to reach inside him now? Was that really all it took to charge the fortress—anger, resentment, endless frustration—he’d built around his heart where Rio was concerned?
He turned from the river and looked through the windows of Coffee Coffee. Up at the counter, Jamie had finally closed his book and now sat on the stool next to Erin. He was attempting to balance a half-full glass of milk on his head while Erin looked on, clapping with glee.
It was getting late and the sky would break open any minute. He needed to get them home.
But he couldn’t help one more glance at his phone. God, if that was Rio—or even if it wasn’t—be with him wherever he is. Please.
It was the first prayer his heart had murmured for his brother in so many years. Too many. And it kept replaying, becoming a jumbled, wordless refrain, as he gathered the kids and paid Megan for their donuts and drove back to the Walkers’ house.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, his windshield wipers were moving at full speed. No thunder, but lightning glazed the underbellies of the clouds. Where was Raegan’s car?
It was the first question he asked when he found Beckett in the living room.
“She’s working on the mural this evening,” Beckett said as he padded through the room, oblivious to Bear’s instant concern.
Bear followed him into the kitchen. “Have you looked outside? It’s shaping up to be a monsoon.” Just the dash from the car to the house had turned him into a wet mess. Jamie and Erin had already gone upstairs to change.
Beckett opened the fridge. “Well, then, let’s hope she has an umbrella.”
“Has she checked in with you? Or Case?”
“Uh, pretty sure Dad stopped tracking her whereabouts around age eighteen, McKinley.”
Beckett had barely pulled the pitcher of OJ from the refrigerator when Bear slammed it closed.
“Hey, careful. You about took off my hand.”
“She doesn’t like storms. I don’t get you. Last time it stormed, both you and Case were concerned. Remember? I ended up going into town to pick her up. Now suddenly you don’t care?”
Beckett took a swig of OJ straight from the pitcher. “She’d taken her bike into town that time. She’s got her car tonight. I don’t know why she insists on riding her bike all the time. She’s a funny girl sometimes.”
“She’s not a girl, Beckett. She’s a fully-grown woman.”
Beckett set the pitcher on the counter with a thud. “I don’t need you to tell me my little sister is a woman.”
Bear glared at him from across the island. “Did you ever stop to ask yourself why she does what she does? Why she hates storms so much?”
“Why don’t you tell me? You clearly know her so much better than I do.” Sarcasm ran rampant in his voice.
“I’ll tell you this, riding her bike is about more than riding her bike.” He was saying too much. He knew it. But how could nobody in this family have figured out there was more going on inside Raegan than she ever let on?
“So now you’re her psychiatrist in addition to being her hero?”
Bear slammed his fist into the counter.
Beckett froze, his scowl slowly dissolving into a jumble of shock and comprehension. “You’re serious.”
“What’s all the racket? Sounds like . . .” Case’s voice drifted as he came upon the scene of the two men facing off.
“Yes, I’m serious, but I don’t have time for this,” Bear finally said. “I’m going to find her.” He turned from the kitchen.
“Bear,” Beckett called after him.
But he kept walking. Past Jamie and Erin now sitting wide-eyed behind a coffee table strewn with puzzle pieces. Out the front door and into the rain.
13
Crinkled tarp whipped against the side of the building—against Raegan—as she struggled to secure it in place.
“Raegan!”
The scaffolding shook as Bear bolted up it.
“What are you doing here?” She had to shout to be heard over the racket of the rain on the metal platform. Her clothes were plastered to her body, the unwieldy plastic refusing to cooperate. Oh, why hadn’t she listened to her instinct and covered her work forty-five minutes ago when the clouds had first rolled in?
“You shouldn’t be out in this.”
“It’s just rain. I won’t melt.” A sharp gust of wind jerked the tarp free and slapped it against Raegan. It covered her face and arms and nearly knocked her off her feet.
She heard Bear’s pounding footsteps as he hurried to her, his hands snatching the plastic away from her as laughter burst from her lips. She swiped dripping hair from her face, allowing herself to see the stern set of Bear’s jaw as he thrust the tarp away.
“That was funny, Bear. I just got attacked by a tarp. You’re allowed to laugh.”
Exasperation fueled his voice. “I was worried about you.”
“As you can see, I’m fine. Wet, but fine. Losing a wrestling match with the tarp, but fine.” Except after pulling the tarp away from her, Bear hadn’t held on to it. The pummeling wind blew it against the guardrail. Raegan lunged for it.
Too late. The maelstrom carried it away as if it were nothing more than a kite.
“Great.”
“Let’s go, Rae.”
“But the mural—” Her attention darted to the wall. Pastel streaks ran down its side. “I almost had it covered, Bear. That’s an entire day’s worth of work—ruined.”
Rain streamed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, but I thought I was going to find you up here having a panic attack. Do you have any idea how worried I was? I flipped out on your family back at the house, didn’t just break the speed limit on the way into town—shattered it.”
“What did you say to my family?”
He ignored the question, reaching for her, pulling her to him. “All I could think about was the last time.”
The last time. When he’d found her on her knees hyperventilating, coming undone. She squeezed her eyes shut against his chest. That was how he saw her now.
>
Maybe she should love that he cared enough to race into town and find her. Maybe she should relish his arms around her. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?
No. Not like this.
She pulled away, hugging her arms to herself. Rain fell in slanted sheets, but even through the deluge she could see the confusion in Bear’s expression.
“Is this about Friday night, Rae? Are you . . . should I not have . . . ?”
She shook her head before he could form a full question.
“I really am sorry about letting the tarp fly away.”
She turned away. What was wrong with her? The man was drenched because of her. He’d come looking for her in a storm for the second time in as many weeks. He’d demonstrated his friendship, his kindness, his dependability over and over and over. He’d entrusted her with his secrets—some of them, anyway.
Why this abrupt and entirely nonsensical urge to now shut him out? To refuse the comfort of his embrace and the relief of his rescue?
“Let’s go on a date, Rae.”
She spun around. “What?” A snappish wind nearly drowned out her surprise.
“I’m tired of pretending I’m not crazy about you. Every other thing in my life might be a murky mess, but how I feel about you . . . I’m sure about that.” He was yelling to be heard.
But even if he’d only whispered, she would’ve recognized his sincerity just by the look on his face. Even as he blinked raindrops from his lashes, an earnest light shone from his eyes.
Bear McKinley wanted her. The very hope of her heart for so many years, playing out right in front of her as a storm swirled and shook the scaffolding.
And all she could do was stand there. Shake her head. Deep breaths. Four seconds in, four seconds hold . . . she couldn’t. “I can’t, Bear.”
“But—”
She scrambled across the platform, dropped to her knees, and lowered herself over the edge. Her feet slid against the wet rung at first contact.
“Raegan, please.”
She held tight and hurried down.
“At least be careful,” Bear called after her.