by Melissa Tagg
“That sounds like Logan.”
“And I’m telling you, soon as I met him, I thought, Katie needs to meet this kid. Flora thought so, too. We talked about it all the way home from Iowa City. I thought you’d be a good pair because he had a Beatles poster hanging on his side of his dorm room. Remember when you went through that Beatles-obsessed stage?”
“I was fourteen.” She sipped her coffee—Dad’s usual thicker-than-syrup brew.
“That was just my first impression though. Later in the weekend I decided his sense of humor was a perfect match for you.”
“Dad—”
“Now your mom, her reasoning was entirely different.”
“Don’t want to hear it.” Except she absolutely did. There was something therapeutic about talking about Mom. About sitting in Dad’s office, seeing Mom’s picture on his desk, just talking.
Even if the subject matter had warmth flooding her cheeks.
Nah, that’s just the coffee.
Right.
“She thought you’d have cute kids together.”
And of course she chose that second to take a drink. She choked, felt the bitter liquid scorch down her throat, and sputtered. Couldn’t even scold Dad, not the way her windpipe tightened in mortification.
“Ah, Katie, you’re way too easy to embarrass.”
“I’m not embarrassed, Yente. Emma Woodhouse. Dolly Levi. Pick your fictional matchmaker of choice.”
“Fiddler on the Roof and Jane Austen’s Emma, but I’m stumped on the third one.”
“Hello, Dolly!, Dad. You should know this. I watched the Barbra Streisand version a thousand times as a kid.”
“And always got a sore throat from trying to sing like Louis Armstrong. Now I remember.” Dad laughed and regarded her for a moment.
Then, thank her lucky stars, he apparently decided to have mercy on her, because he let the subject of Colton drop and settled into his chair.
“Can’t we talk a little more about the depot, Dad? Can’t we at least try to do something?”
He sipped his coffee, letting her request hover in the air for stretched-out seconds before finally answering. “Listen, Katie, I’m your father, not one of your scripts. You don’t have to fix things for me.”
She set her cup down. “I’m not trying to—”
He interrupted her with only a look. Took another drink. “There’s something God’s been teaching me over the past decade or so—this idea of letting go. Not good at it, never have been. Probably what made me a good soldier and ambassador. But I’m in a different place now. More and more I’m seeing the value in stepping back and waiting. Discerning when it’s right to hold on and when it’s right to loosen up and let go.”
He set his cup on a coaster atop his desk. “If it’s time to let go of this old place—no matter how much your mother loved it or all the memories attached to it—then I don’t want to waste time holding tight to a season in my life that’s hit its expiration date.”
Despite their softness, his words landed with a thud, sending plumes of surprise fogging through her.
“But . . . if it closes, what will you do?”
“I’ll do whatever comes next.”
“You don’t have a plan?”
“Tell me, Katie, when has having a plan ever translated into things going exactly the way you expected?” He leaned forward then, fatherly gaze somehow gentle and firm at the same time. “I’m not saying we should go through life all half-cocked and clueless. But a little flexibility, a little wait-and-see—I’m coming to see that’s healthy.”
That sounded nice, but the problem was, Kate hadn’t had a plan for years. Not since Gil turned her life upside down. For six years, she’d simply been doing the next thing, writing the next script, scrounging up the next part-time job to fill in the financial gaps.
Now she finally—finally—had a real plan. And she wouldn’t trade it for all the flexibility in the world.
“Dad, I—”
But his office door burst open, cutting her off. And there stood Colton. Winded, smiling.
“I’ve got a plan.” His gaze darted from Dad to Kate, focused expression wavering for just a moment. “Nice pajamas.”
She only rolled her eyes.
Dad stood. “For what?”
He grinned. “Saving the depot.”
He’d pulled it off. He couldn’t believe he’d actually pulled it off.
Colton looked around the sprawling yard of the railway depot, satisfaction welling inside. At first, he hadn’t been sure Case Walker was all that keen on his idea for pulling together the last-minute event, inviting the media, and probably drumming up the best publicity the railway had seen in decades—maybe ever.
Kate had been the clincher. She’d jumped at his idea the second he presented it. Cajoled her father into going along with it. Went with Colton to the city offices to convince Mayor Milt and the rest of the town’s leaders.
Now here they were, three days later, the field behind the depot packed with cars, and the lawn crowded with people. Maple Valley, for all its quirks, knew how to throw a party.
Best of all, he’d counted three television crews and at least four reporters with notepads and cameras. One radio station had even set up a live broadcast.
And it hadn’t cost the city budget a dime.
“Dude, I feel like I’ve stepped back in time instead of just flown across the country.” It was Joe Kemper who spoke, a former teammate from Colton’s first year in the NFL. The now-retired tight end had led a team Bible study back before Colton had shown much interest in faith. But that had never stopped Joe from inviting him.
And then there was Greg Williams, the quarterback who’d played backup behind Colton back at the University of Iowa, and Darrell Clapton, a former Tigers teammate. Four NFL-ers, Seth and his friend Bear, and a handful of other men from town were going up against the Mavericks football team in the city’s first ever train pull.
The smell of barbeque from The Red Door drifted over the lawn. Seth’s girlfriend, Ava, led a crew of volunteers serving food behind a six-foot table. There had to be a few hundred people, at least, covering the lawn in gathered clumps—eating, chatting, casting interested glances toward where Colton stood with his friends on the boardwalk. The dinner train rested on its tracks, like a proud performer waiting for its turn in the spotlight. Eager fans had made generous donations to join the NFL-ers for a dinner excursion after the train pull. Across the expansive lawn the depot gleamed almost as if it, too, had been made up for the occasion.
Overhead, roaming clouds blurred the sky’s blue.
Please, God, just let the rain hold off. Maple Valley needs this.
And please let his shoulder and knee hold up, too. It’d been days since he’d needed to ice either one. But if anything was going to aggravate his injuries, attempting to pull a train car—even just a foot—could do it.
“I can’t believe you’ve been in Iowa for weeks.” This from Greg. “If I’d known you were here, I’d have brought my boys over from Cedar Falls to meet you. They still can’t believe I once played with the Colton Greene.”
Colton let out a laugh. Greg said it like Colton was synonymous with one of the Manning brothers. “You should’ve brought them today.”
“Too last minute, unfortunately.”
That had been Colton’s concern about the whole event. But Maple Valley thrived on spontaneity. And with the publicity, the tourist traffic in town, surely the city council would agree keeping the depot open—at least for the rest of this year—was a viable option.
“You guys about ready?” Kate ambled toward them, brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. She, more than anybody, had poured herself into making today happen.
“Ready as we’ll ever be.”
They began the walk to their train. Case had picked two empty freight cars for the event.
Kate sidled up to him. “Nice scarf, by the way.”
He glanced down at the thing. “Raegan made them
for the adult team. She said tan was the manliest color of yarn she could find at the craft store.”
“My sister crochets?”
“Either that or she hired out the labor. So who are you rooting for?”
Dimples creased her cheeks as she grinned. “I’m torn. On the one hand, the Mavericks are my team, you know? My school. But you guys have my cousin and Bear.”
His jaw dropped with exaggerated shock. “Excuse me?”
“And you, of course.”
He folded his arms. “Good, because I am your co-writer after all. Which I believe means you owe me at least a little loyalty.”
“Speaking of which, I read those paragraphs you added to chapter three. You’re a good writer, Colt.”
“Eh, years of practice.”
“Practice?”
He stopped, realizing he’d said more than he meant to. And if it was any other day and any other person, if something crisp and fresh as the almost-autumn air around him hadn’t grabbed hold of him, he would’ve clammed up and not said another word.
Instead, with a kind of abandon he hadn’t felt in years, he went on. “After my parents died, I couldn’t remember the accident. Not any of it. DHS required that I go to therapy. Therapists made me journal. I had notebooks full. Dozens.”
The clutter of voices around them, the music piped in from speakers someone had set up, all faded into the distance as Kate watched him. “You still don’t remember.”
He shook his head.
He did, however, remember what’d happened to the journals. The day Norah had called him in for that last meeting, after she’d closed the manila folder with all his case paperwork and told him he was no longer a ward of the state, she handed a box full of his notebooks to him.
He shoved it back at her and walked out of the room.
He’d been such a jerk to the one person who’d cared.
“Colton?”
He met Kate’s eyes. “Yeah?”
“I’m rooting for you.”
Simple words, but he had a feeling they would stick in his head, fill him up on soul-hungry days.
“Greene, get over and join the huddle.” Joe Kemper’s voice pushed into what had become a moment anchored with import.
“I better go.”
Kate leaned forward to straighten his scarf. “Pull hard.”
He jogged over to his teammates, Joe’s pep talk already in motion. “We’ve got something they don’t, men.”
“What? Gray hair?” Darrell, the oldest of the group, joked.
“No, experience.”
Colton watched Kate move off to the side, joining Raegan and Case and the other spectators.
“Sorry to break it to you, Kemper,” Greg said, clapping his hand on Joe’s shoulder, “but I’ve never pulled a train before. Does anyone even know how much these things weigh?”
“No idea, but the point is, we’ve played in championship games. And you don’t get to championship games without intense focus and teamwork. Look at them.” Joe pointed to where the varsity team, in full uniform, gathered at the parallel track. “They outman us and outweigh us. But what was it you were telling us about the team on the way to town, Greene?”
“They haven’t found their footing. They don’t gel yet. Lost their first couple games.”
“Men, we are going to gel. Let’s take our places.”
Colton started toward the train with the others but stopped short, looked back at Kate. “One sec, guys.”
He ran over to her, unwinding his scarf as he did.
“Too hot?” she said as he reached her.
He draped it over her neck. “You wear it. For good luck.”
As he hurried back to the train, he felt the first drops of rain. He joined the rest of his team, picked up one of the chains Case had attached to its base.
And then the whistle blew and the yelling began. He gripped his chain and pulled, Joe’s shouts egging him on with the heaves and grunts from the men around him. “Pull!” Joe’s voice.
He pulled. And pulled. Like playing tug-of-war against a giant with no idea if they were making any progress.
A raindrop caught in his eyelash, and he blinked to flick it away. Joe called again. “Pull!” He felt the sharp pang in his shoulder but gritted his teeth and let his muscles roar.
“Pull! All together.”
Minutes passed, how many he didn’t know. But soon they’d found a rhythm, pulling as one until eventually the freight car’s tires finally squealed. Metal rubbed against metal as the rain picked up.
“We’re doing it. Pull!” Joe again.
Colton’s shoulder would hate him in the morning, but they were going to do this.
And right as the sky broke open and the downpour began in earnest, the cheers of the crowd let him know they’d finished. He let his chain drop, muscles burning and sweat mixing with the rain that slicked over him. His team whooped and smacked each other on the back, and he looked over to see the high school team close to finishing their own pull.
But that wasn’t the moment of victory for Colton. No, that came when he spotted Kate jumping up and down, smile as bright as the sky wasn’t. Next thing he knew, she was in front of him. “The scarf worked.”
He lifted her off her feet, into a hug that had to have taken her as much by surprise as him, rain and cheers wrapping around them.
More shouts broke out as the high school team finished their pull.
But he couldn’t make himself turn. Couldn’t stop looking at Kate, drinking in the sight of her—her smile, hair whipping around her face, the flicker of unadulterated delight dancing in her eyes.
“Kate.”
“Thank you, Colt. For doing this for the depot and Dad and the town. Thank you.”
Instead of pulling away, she buried her face in his neck.
And he knew the truth in that moment—he hadn’t concocted this plan, called in his friends, and worked twelve, fourteen hour days the past three days just for the sake of the depot. Or Case.
He’d done it for Kate. Because of how much it meant to her.
And how much she’d come to mean to him. Maybe it was all the time spent together. The way she had of seeing past his exterior, his fame, his failures, to the memories and vulnerabilities he usually kept buried.
In just a little over two weeks, Kate had unearthed in him a longing he hadn’t realized he even had—to be known, seen. Not as California DHS Case 174—the foster kid who’d lost his parents and teen with a penchant for trouble. Not as number 18—quarterback for the LA Tigers.
But just as Colton. The guy who’d finally done something right.
She lifted her head then, gaze locked with his.
Then jumped when Case Walker’s voice barreled in. “Anyone who wants a train ride, we’re taking off in ten.”
The first second Kate could manage, she escaped to the dinner train’s bathroom—a space that made the walk-in closet back in her townhouse seem cavernous. She’d already used a tissue to wipe away the worst of her rain-smudged makeup. But now that she had access to a mirror, she wanted to see the real damage.
The train’s movement rumbled under her feet, and she steadied herself against the sink before braving a look in the mirror.
“Delightful. Just . . . delightful.” Yes, she’d gotten rid of the mascara smears, but in the process had cleared away whatever was left of her makeup. But surely the fluorescent light bulb over the mirror exaggerated her pale skin and circle-rimmed eyes, right?
“Psst, Kate, you in there?”
“Uh, yeah, Rae.”
“Let me in.”
“How do you know I’m not . . .” Oh, never mind. She unbolted the door and Raegan squeezed in. “What do you need?”
Raegan’s hands clamped onto Kate’s shoulders. “Ohhh . . . my goodness. Oh. My. Goodness.”
“I really look that bad?”
Raegan jostled her shoulders. “No. I’m talking about that scene outside. With the scarf and the hug and Colton.”
>
The train jolted underneath then, and Kate knocked into the wall behind her. A rush of claustrophobia squeezed her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bold-faced lie. That moment in the rain . . . Well, she couldn’t talk about it now. Didn’t want to. Something had happened in that moment, and she wasn’t ready to shine a spotlight on it for anyone else. Never mind that it’d happened in front of half the community. And cameras.
But for now, she wanted to hold it close. It wasn’t only that hug, it was what he’d told her before the pull. Offered her a glimpse of his past that couldn’t have been easy for him. And then the way he’d looked at her. Like today, this whole thing, was his gift to her.
Except, oh, what was she saying? You can’t do this, Kate. Couldn’t let a two-week friendship balloon into something unreasonable in her imagination. She was setting herself up for hurt.
He’s going to go back to LA. I’m going to go back to Chicago. Then New York. Then Africa. She had to rein her heart in now, before it leapt too far from her control.
“You’re so good at playing dumb, big sis.”
The sarcasm lacing Raegan’s tone did nothing to quell the annoyance rising in Kate. “And you’re so good at reading into things.”
Raegan’s lips curved. “Come on, it was plain as day, obvious to everyone who saw it. Dad noticed. Seth noticed. Someone wearing a blindfold would’ve noticed.”
The pungent aroma from the potpourri in the dish at the corner of the sink threatened to overwhelm Kate’s sense of smell. Too much. Too small of a space. “Why would anyone be wandering around blindfolded?”
“I don’t know. Why do you deny what’s in front of your face?”
Kate folded her arms. “Which is?” She shouldn’t have asked.
“You and Colton. Sparks. And not those flimsy sparklers that last like three seconds. I’m talking fireworks. Ka-boom.” She made little exploding motions with her fingers.
“I think you made your point. And you’re wrong.” She tried to reach around Raegan for the door handle, but Raegan moved to block it.