All This Time

by Melissa Tagg

  That eventually this romantic bubble might pop. That Bear would return to Atlanta or maybe even Brazil. That there were still things he hadn’t told her about his past, about Annie.

  That even though she’d taken a series of big steps in recent weeks—the mural, the counseling, this date—she might one day reach the end of her bravery. If she couldn’t finish the mural, if she couldn’t tell her family about the panic attacks, if she couldn’t leave Maple Valley . . .

  It was Bear who’d cut off her thoughts then with another kiss. And another . . .

  And that was the other reason their game of Rummy had stretched until it was pointless. The talking, the laughing, and the kisses.

  “Should we call it a night?” Bear asked now. “Before you do start drooling?” He rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  “I told you, I don’t drool.”

  He only laughed and tugged her to her feet. “Come on. Help me blow out the rest of the candles. We don’t want to burn this place down.”

  They padded in a circle around the room, blowing out each candle until darkness cloaked the space. The shadows and the quiet, other than a humming wind, might have been eerie if not for Bear’s hand enfolding hers. Soon they’d erased any sign of their presence in the old store, climbed out the window they’d come in, and settled into Bear’s rental car.

  A peaceful silence owned the drive home. Raegan had to fight to keep her eyes open. If only tonight didn’t have to end. If only those things she’d said about love and fear and faith were as easy to live out in everyday life as they were to say during a hushed, middle-of-the-night conversation.

  Bear parked the car behind a lineup of vehicles in Dad’s driveway. Such a crowd he had living here now. What would it feel like when it thinned out? When it was only Raegan’s and Dad’s cars left in the driveway?

  “What are you thinking about, Rae?” Bear turned off his headlights.

  “How this house was meant to be full.” Did he hear the hint of sadness in her tone? She didn’t want their date to end this way. She forced a grin. “And how I really hope someone remembered to leave the doors unlocked. Since you drove, I didn’t bring my keys.”

  Sure enough, minutes later, they stood in the backyard, having tried every door. No luck. Bear turned to her. “Soooo . . . do we just ring the doorbell?”

  “Are you kidding? Get drilled by my dad—or worse, Beckett—about what exactly we were doing out so late?”

  “I see your point. Except we’re adults, not teenagers out past curfew. And it’s not as if we were doing anything inappropriate.” His lips spread. “Then again, a couple of those kisses—”

  “Bear!”

  “So how are we going to get in?”

  “Simple.” She walked around the corner of the house, flip-flops squeaking in dewy grass, and pointed. “Scale the lattice, heft ourselves onto the porch roof, and go in my bedroom window.”

  “You don’t think this is just a little excessive? What if you can’t get your window open? Also, you’re wearing a dress.”

  She laughed. “I figured out how to open my window from the outside forever ago. Beckett thinks he’s the only one who ever snuck in and out his window as a kid. Not so.”

  Before Bear could protest, she started climbing the lattice, praying nobody from inside picked that moment to look out the front windows. Bear was right, of course. This was excessive. Obviously she could just wake up someone inside the house and ask to be let in. No biggie. But then she’d be opening herself up to a lifetime of teasing. No thanks.

  In less than a minute, she’d lifted herself onto the porch roof, Bear right behind her, and padded on hands and knees to her window.

  Her window opened with ease. Except she’d forgotten the distance from her window to the floor. She tumbled into her bedroom with a light squeal, laughing as she righted herself and stood.

  Only to see Logan standing in her doorway, arms folded. Wait . . . Logan?

  She heard Bear scramble in behind her.

  Her oldest brother lifted his eyebrows. “Morning, Rae. Bear.”

  Bear should be happy.

  No, he should be jumping up and down with glee. Still damp from the shower he’d hopped in and out of after too-few hours of sleep, he stared at his phone—the email from John staring right back. He read it a second time.

  Bear, you’ve finally been cleared of all the vandalism. It was a few local teenagers. Apparently it started out as a result of boredom. Escalated into stealing our furniture when they realized they might be able to make a quick buck.

  Point is, we’ve got some church leaders down here who are feeling awfully sorry about the way they treated you. I spoke with the mission board yesterday. They got your application and they assured me you’re under serious consideration. The goal is to open the clinic by the end of November. Will you have your EMT certification by then?

  Elizabeth sends a hug . . . and I do too. – John

  Bear dropped onto the futon. Footsteps pounded overhead. Had Logan already spilled the beans on how he’d found them in the wee hours of the morning? Tumbling in Raegan’s bedroom? Bear was still surprised Logan had let him leave the room without a drawn-out explanation. Hopefully he hadn’t interrogated Raegan.

  Unlike Raegan, Bear had actually known Logan was coming to town. A surprise Raegan would discover soon enough, and he looked forward to being a part of it.

  He tapped the Reply button on his phone. Paused.

  John wanted him back. The mission board considered him a credible candidate. He could be back in Brazil by Christmas. Finally fulfilling his promise to Annie.

  He should be furiously typing a reply—one filled with all the joy John’s email should’ve prompted.

  Should’ve. But didn’t.

  And he knew exactly why. His reason had a face he’d memorized by candlelight during a first date that had been so much more than a date. It was the culmination of five and a half years of waiting and wishing. It was a bend in the road that changed everything.

  It was as if, for so long, the lights in every chamber of his heart had dimmed, perhaps without his even knowing . . . but then that one kiss on Friday night had lit the first bulb. And with last night, all the rest had flickered to life. No, not flickered—flashed. Until his heart was so bright, he could feel it heating every inch of his mind and body and soul.

  In the wee hours of the morning, as he’d driven Raegan back to the house, he’d realized for the first time he was grateful he’d been forced to leave Brazil. If he’d stayed, he would’ve missed out on so much—getting to know Jamie and Erin, falling in love with Raegan.

  Love. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Something deep and something wide. Strong roots that wove two hearts together while branches grew and stretched and reached toward a lifetime of possibilities.

  He’d never felt this with Annie.

  Annie. He dropped his phone, then flopped onto his back. Brazil is what I’ve been praying for, God. Since the day Annie died, it’s the only thing that’s ever seemed to make sense. But now . . .

  Was he just that fickle? He’d made a promise. A vow. Was he honestly lying here considering going back on it? After all Annie had given?

  Dear, sweet Annie. Annie who had seen him as more than the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Who’d studied with him for emergency medicine tests. Who’d introduced him to church . . . even better, to a God who—she insisted—had a plan for him. Who’d taken him home to her family and proudly introduced him as “someone who’s going to save lives.”

  How many times over the years had he wished he could forget those words? The cruel irony was simply too much.

  He’d made a promise. He’d. Made. A. Promise.

  But that was so many years ago. And he hadn’t known then that he’d meet Raegan Walker. That she’d turn out to be . . . everything.

  “Bear?” Case Walker’s voice boomed from the top of the basement stairs.

  Uh-oh, had Case heard about the bedroom
window incident? Despite his mental turmoil, just the thought of Raegan climbing up the lattice wearing that wrinkled dress made him nearly shake with silent laughter. “Yeah?” he called up.

  “Sam Ross is here to see you.”

  Bear jumped off the bed. The police chief? Did that mean he had news about Rio?

  Bear bounded up the steps, the front door already open to reveal not only Sam Ross, but another man with him on the porch. Bear stepped outside, and Sam didn’t waste any time with the introductions.

  “Bear, this is Detective Tate Rollins.” Sam pulled off his ball cap. “From Atlanta.”

  Bear’s attention jumped to the other man. He looked pure military, from his crew cut to his bulk to the strict crease in his slacks.

  “I made some calls after you came to see me the other day. Ended up talking to Rollins here. He’s got some questions for you.”

  And he couldn’t have asked them over the phone? Dread trickled through him. Rio . . . “Wow, uh, okay.”

  The detective whipped his sunglasses away from his head. “I need to know the last time you talked to your brother, Mr. McKinley.”

  The trickle gave way to a river. “It’s been years. I went to see him right after . . .” He’s a detective. He’s looking for Rio. Obviously he already knows the bare facts. He met Rollins’ eyes. “After I was released from prison. That was almost seven years ago. Kept in touch with his wife—Rosa—now and again, but not Rio.”

  Skepticism curled in the detective’s voice. “You haven’t talked to him once since?”

  Bear only shook his head. A lie? After all, there’d been that phone call, that voice he could’ve sworn was Rio’s . . .

  But he didn’t know it for a fact. And something sharp and protective held him back from saying more. Why, though? If a detective was searching for Rio, then it confirmed everything Bear had feared for weeks now—that something even more serious than Rio’s usual on-again, off-again criminal activity was at play.

  “And yet, you’re caring for your brother’s kids,” Rollins prodded.

  “Yes, at the request of my sister-in-law. Look, I want to know where Rio is too. And I want to know why his wife hasn’t answered a single call of mine in a week. I want to know why she told me Rio’s in jail if he isn’t.”

  The detective’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what she told you? And you don’t know where she is either?”

  The accusation in Rollins’ voice was unmistakable. “I already told Sam all of this,” Bear answered. “No, I don’t know where Rosa is. She seemed to believe someone was threatening Rio. She was going to go to her father—who happens to be Luis Inez. He’s—”

  “I know all about Inez.” Rollins turned to Sam. Nodded. A signal.

  Sam sighed. “I really don’t think this is necessary.”

  He didn’t think what was necessary?

  But Detective Rollins only replaced his sunglasses. Sam turned to Bear. “Could you come down to the office, Bear? Just for questioning.”

  “Questioning about what?” He slammed his attention into the detective. “Do you think I know more than I’m saying? That I’m actually pretending to have no idea where my brother is? Or that I have something to do with his current whereabouts?”

  Rollins’s eyebrows shot up above his glasses. “You said it, not me.”

  His pulse hammered. “Sam, this is ridiculous.”

  Chagrined agreement huddled in Sam’s expression, but he didn’t back down. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour. Please. Don’t make this more awkward than it already is.”

  Detective Rollins was already moving down the porch steps to Sam’s waiting car. A bird whistled somewhere, a happy tune that would’ve felt just right thirty minutes ago, when Bear had first woken up to vibrant memories of last night’s date. For those few perfect moments before John’s email, nothing else had existed.

  Did it have to fall apart so quickly?

  “Why would I have even come to you, Sam, if I knew something more? If I had anything to do with . . . anything?”

  “This feels as off to me as it does to you, trust me. About spit out my coffee when he came waltzing in to the department, claiming to be from Atlanta. But I checked him out, Bear. He’s legit, and apparently he’s been looking into your brother’s whereabouts longer than you. May be that he has information you want. You’re not being accused of anything.”

  Not yet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” Or socks, for that matter. “And I need to make sure someone can keep an eye on the kids.”

  A car door clanked. Sam nodded. “Do whatever you need to. Drive yourself in. I’ll have coffee waiting.”

  Bear didn’t bother to say he didn’t drink the stuff. Didn’t say anything. Just turned, resigned and worried.

  “Bear?”

  He turned back to the police chief. “I’m going to show up.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” Sam combed his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Rollins and another officer I spoke to in Atlanta both felt very strongly about getting child protective services involved.”

  Bear’s empty stomach groaned, his jaw tightening. “But Jamie and Erin . . . they’re doing just fine.”

  Sam toed the porch’s floorboard. “Rollins told me in cases like this, it’s protocol to call CPS. I expect you’ll be hearing from a Georgia caseworker soon.”

  “Fine. They can call. I’ll talk to anyone I need to.” He swallowed the anxiety rising up his throat. “But they’re not going to . . . take the kids away, are they?”

  Sam didn’t have an answer.

  “It’s not like he was arrested, Rae.”

  Logan lugged four buckets of paint—two in each hand—by their metal handles. He hefted them into his trunk alongside the other five they’d already loaded after Raegan signed for the order at the hardware store.

  She stood at the side of the car, hands hidden in the oversized pockets of her overalls. Not the height of fashion, but perfect for keeping spare chip brushes easily at hand as she painted. Because today was the day she’d put color to brick and bring her mural to life.

  If she could force herself to focus. “I wasn’t thinking about—”

  “You were.” Her brother’s cheeky grin might be subtle—Logan had never been as obvious as Beckett—but it wasn’t invisible. She supposed she deserved it, though. He had seen Bear climbing in her bedroom window last night—well, this morning—and after an initial exaggerated, teasing questioning, he hadn’t brought it up since. Surely Beckett, or even Kate, would’ve told everyone else by now and she’d have never heard the end of it.

  “You’re not a mind reader, Logan.”

  The breeze skimmed over his hair. Logan had the rest of the family’s inky brown eyes and dark hair. He had Dad’s quiet strength and Mom’s sense of humor. “Not reading your mind, I’m reading your face. It’s been pinched with worry for the last forty-five minutes.”

  That was the other thing Logan had—a keen perception that reminded Raegan of Sara.

  And he was right, she was worried. Had been ever since she’d come down from her bedroom to find Bear in the middle of the living room, explaining to Dad that he had to run into town—to the police department. He’d tried to appear nonchalant, but she’d recognized the tick in his jaw, his too-straight posture.

  Bear had spared her only a brief glance before heading out. One that promised they’d talk later. She’d been tempted to jog after him, but then Logan’s daughter, Charlie, had bounced up to her for a hug, followed immediately by Amelia, Logan’s wife.

  She still couldn’t believe they were here—not when they were already planning to come for a visit next weekend. They’d all had the date mentally blocked off for months—what would’ve been Mom’s sixtieth birthday. So why show up late last night? Was there some town happening this week she was forgetting?

  A breeze whistled in, rattling a bronze street sign hanging from a vintage lamppost. Few cars dotted the curb along Main Avenue, odd for a weekday morning. And not
a single person walked the town square’s path. “Does Maple Valley feel a little ghost-towny today to you?”

  Logan watched her now, one hand still raised to his open trunk. “If they were going to arrest Bear, they would’ve.”

  She reached up to close the trunk for him. “I was trying to change the subject, if you didn’t notice.” She rounded the car and opened the passenger-side door. “Let me try again: How is it you wound up in town so much earlier than planned?”

  Logan met her eyes over the top of the car. “Missed everyone. Don’t really like being the only Walker living out of state.”

  Might be part of the answer, but it wasn’t the full answer. She knew Logan well enough to know that. But she also knew him well enough to know he wasn’t one to be rushed or poked or prodded. He was like Bear in that way.

  But unlike Bear, who tended to eventually spill his hidden thoughts in a rush of emotion, Logan would take his time, parse through whatever contemplations filled his patient mind until he was ready to reveal them. Gradually, evenly. It was both his most calming and endlessly frustrating trait.

  She dropped into the passenger’s seat, and seconds later, Logan pulled away from the curb.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually going to start painting today. I feel like I’ve been getting ready for this for months.” Had it really only been two weeks?

  “Why didn’t you tell any of us you were painting again, Rae? Why’d you hide it away at Bear’s? You know we would’ve all supported you, and we never would’ve had that stupid intervention.”

  “So you admit it was an intervention?”

  “Raegan.”

  Logan was the only sibling who could say her name that way and not prompt a roll of her eyes. She could giggle with Kate and confess almost anything to Beckett.

  But Logan . . . with just a word, a look, he made a person feel exposed. He had this way of seeing deeper, hearing the words that went unsaid.

  “I wasn’t ready. Just thinking about painting again . . . it felt like this quiet experiment. I didn’t know where it was going. All I knew was, I felt this nudge in my spirit.” She’d thought it might be God at the time. But she hadn’t been sure. And she’d been even less sure about what might happen when she picked up a brush once more. What if her talent had leaked away in the years she’d ignored it?