by Melissa Tagg
Chin down, eyes on the field sprawling in front of them, he echoed her. “So.”
“So Lilah went home.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Raegan told me.”
“How much did she overhear this morning?”
“Not much.”
He finally met her eyes. “So basically everything?”
“Basically yes.”
The space heater’s warmth began to fill the space, wrapping around her like a blanket and humming in tune with the wind. The first stars of the night were just beginning to peek through the sky’s pastel canvas outside the shed’s window.
“Rough day.”
She offered what she hoped was a sympathetic half smile. “Well, I for one had an interesting day.”
Something like relief washed over him, probably at the change in subject. “Tell me.”
During their phone calls of the past week, she’d so many times heard him say a variation of those same words that, like magic, seemed to erase the miles between Maple Valley and Chicago. Just how many hours had they spent on the phone? “You know Seth’s friend Bear? It started with him serving me breakfast. Oh, and the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted.”
His lips almost reached a grin. “I wondered where you were this morning.”
“Eh, woke up early.” Escaped the house like a coward. “Then I spent the rest of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon with Megan.”
“The scary barista?”
“She’s not scary, Colt, she’s just . . . prickly.” She traced the cold metal of the microphone sitting atop the counter. “And also pregnant.”
His eyes widened. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. She had a momentary lapse in judgment with an old boyfriend a month or so ago. She’s pretty upset. And I honestly don’t think she has a single person here in town to talk to.”
“Except you.”
“I think she’s still deciding whether or not she can stand me. But yeah, I’m probably the closest she’s got—weirdly enough.”
Cold air stretched through the window, arguing with blasts of warmth from the space heater. “I don’t think it’s that weird. You’re a good listener, Rosie. Easy to talk to.”
The space between them pulled taut, a delicate tension that dared her to ignore the resolution she’d come to this morning at Bear’s. Distance. Just friends. After all, Lilah was gone now. Maybe the hope that had staked its claim yesterday at the hospital—wow, was it really just yesterday she’d still been in Chicago?—still had a place.
No. It just didn’t make sense. Maple Valley was a bubble on its way to popping for both of them.
“So you had a wretched day. What do you usually do when you have a wretched day? What’s your antidote? You once said your old social worker was awesome at cheering you up. What’d she do besides have you throw figurines at barns?”
His shoulders lifted just a bit. “Norah? We’d throw a football around.”
Of course. Kate looked around the shadowed space, glance landing on the ball in the corner. “Jackpot. Let’s go, Greene.”
Without waiting for him to agree, she grabbed the ball, climbed onto the counter and out the window, football under her arm and bleachers clattering as soon as she touched down. Minutes later, she reached the field, Colton not far behind.
“Never thought I’d see the day when you’d willingly offer to toss around a football.” He zipped up his hoodie as they walked to the center of the field. “We had to coerce you into it that Sunday afternoon.”
“Actually, I should probably give you a little warning.” Clouds rumbled overhead. Please, God, not more rain. Any more and the Blaine River’s banks wouldn’t hold its rushing waters any longer.
“Warn away.” He took the football from her and tossed it into the air, the first hint of playfulness she’d seen in him tonight.
“When I was about seven years old, Beckett begged me to come outside and play Frisbee with him. I was writing at the time, because that’s what I always did. Filled Mead Five-Star notebook after notebook with stories about pioneers and—”
He caught the ball. “Why pioneers?”
“Not relevant to the story.”
“Yeah, but—”
“’Cause I thought going west in a covered wagon sounded cool or something. I don’t know.”
“Apparently the thought of Donner Pass didn’t bother you too much.”
She rolled her eyes. “So I tried to tell Beckett to go find Logan or Rae to play with him, but he insisted.”
“Snake bites. Getting stuck in muddy rivers. Buffalo stampedes. All dangers along the Oregon Trail.”
She pulled the football out of Colton’s hands as if the act might shut him up. “He sends the Frisbee sailing at me. I catch it just fine, but when I throw it back it hits him in the face and knocks out one of his teeth.”
Colton burst into laughter. “Was it a baby tooth at least?”
“Yeah, but that didn’t stop my siblings from harassing me about it.”
The sun’s last hold on the sky had waned as she told her story, now lost to ever-darkening clouds. He pulled the football back from her. “Don’t know why they harassed you. Not your fault. Beckett should’ve caught it.”
“He was four.”
“Well, then, for the sake of safety, do you know how to throw a football?”
“Um, with my arm?”
“There’s technique, Kate.”
“I’m okay winging it.”
“Me and my teeth aren’t. I’ll teach you.”
“Colt—”
“Hey, this was your idea, Rosie. Now, first thing you need to do is grip the ball.” He reached for her right arm. “Don’t palm it. And don’t hold it too tightly. Your thumb and index finger should make an L.” He placed the ball in her hand. “Index finger goes over a seam, ring finger over the laces.” He fiddled with her finger placement. “Good.”
“And now I throw it.” She held her arm back, but he rounded behind her and stopped her arm before she could let go of the ball.
“Not so fast. Gotta get the rest of you ready.” He placed his hands on both her shoulders and nudged the back of her left knee with his foot. “You want to face ninety degrees from your target and point your left foot toward the target.”
“I don’t even know what my target is.” Only that his closeness had the same effect of that space heater back in the press box.
“Hold the football up by your ear.” He moved her right hand. “Wind back.” He covered her hand on the ball with his. “And then you’ll throw in a half-circle motion and release the ball midway through.” He moved her arm forward . . . then back . . . then forward.
“And my other arm?” He was enjoying this, wasn’t he?
“Move it the other direction with your palm facing away. Like this.” One hand still on her throwing arm, he used the other to pull her left hand back. “I’m just showing you the basics. It changes if you’re throwing a Hail Mary or a short bullet pass or throwing while you’re getting tackled.”
Still in his grip, she moved her right arm in sync with her left, tilting her body just like he’d showed her, his movements matching hers . . .
And she released the ball.
Not quite a perfect spiral. But not a bad toss either. She turned, Colton standing so close behind her she almost knocked into him. As if on instinct, he reached to steady her, hands on her waist and laughter echoing around her.
Until, in a heady instant, he went silent—eyes searching hers and hands dropping to his side, even as he kept the space between them tight. And then, softly, “I can’t remember it, Kate.”
Distance. She ignored her conscience, refused to step back. “What?”
“My parents’ death. I know what happened. I know the gruesome facts. I know, for some reason, I wasn’t in the car. I can remember the hundred days before it, and I can remember everything after—every awful appointment with every well-intentioned therapist, drilling me with questions
as if finally getting me to remember might solve all my problems. But it never worked.”
The words tumbled from him, as if desperate for release. With the sun now tucked away under dusk’s covers, only faint moonlight slanted in to outline the contours of his face, eyes that chose that moment to meet hers.
“And that’s why I screw up every relationship in my life. Lilah said I wouldn’t let her in, and she’s exactly right. I wouldn’t let her in because I don’t want to remember. It’s as if there’s only a thin layer of ice between me and the memory, and if someone gets too close to me, the ice will crack and I’ll . . .”
Plunge into a memory he has no desire to reclaim. Stark understanding ushered in such a welling of compassion it was all she could do not to pull him to herself. Attempt to embrace away the brokenness that displayed itself so clearly now in his face. Oh, Colton . . .
Distance.
Her conscience was barely a whisper now. And an irritating one, at that. Colton Greene had had too much distance in his life.
So she gave in, closed the last of the space between them, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She buried her face in the cotton of his shirt, felt his entire body slowly respond—his arms winding around her and tightening into a cocoon of shared emotion.
Forget distance.
This thing with Colton, whatever it was, maybe it’d end up breaking her heart. Here, right now, though, it wasn’t about her heart—but about the heart beating against her cheek.
14
So tell me again what the point of this is. I’ve already been here once. Did the whole peeing in a cup thing.” Megan tapped her foot in a frenetic pace against the base of the patient bed in the Maple Valley Clinic.
Kate placed one palm on Megan’s bony knee to still her fidgety leg. “Yes, but if I remember right, you told me you just up and walked out as soon as the doctor said you were pregnant. This time you might want to stick around long enough to get some info from Doc Malone. Maybe some vitamins. And a due date.”
Megan slipped a chunk of black hair out of her face, revealing a line of silver hoops tracing up her ear. “I can figure that on my own. Chase and I . . .” She looked down. “Well, he was in town a whole two days. So X the date on the calendar and count nine months ahead and there you go.”
“Hey, don’t get all annoyed at me. You’re the one who called and asked me to come with you.”
It’d been a welcome interruption, really. Kate had been wrestling with the sixth chapter of Colton’s book—too distracted by her own thoughts to make much traction with her writing.
It had been almost a full week since the night out on the football field, some of it spent working at the depot to get it ready for tonight’s kickoff to tomorrow’s Depot Day, some of it spent working on the book. Nearly all of it spent in Colton’s company. When she wasn’t with him, she was writing about him. Or trying to.
Hard to write a book, though, when you were falling for its main character.
“ . . . don’t know why I did. It’s not like you owe me anything. You didn’t have to come.”
Kate blinked, forcing her attention back to Megan. She slipped to the girl’s side now and draped one arm over her shoulder. She felt Megan stiffen, but she didn’t push Kate away. “Meg, have you called your parents?”
Her shoulders tightened underneath Kate’s arm. “Are you kidding? If I was a nuisance to them growing up, can you imagine what their reaction would be to finding out I’m pregnant?” She shook her head and started with the foot tapping again. “No thank you. That is one lecture I don’t need to hear.”
“You don’t think they should know they’re going to be grandparents?”
“Oh, I’ll tell them eventually. Maybe when he’s five years old and rockin’ the kindergarten thing.”
The patient room door swung open then, and Dr. Malone came in, white coat swinging and stethoscope around her neck. The doctor wasn’t more than five-foot-two, her tiny frame topped with Irish green eyes and red curls tinted with the faintest hint of gray. She’d been the Walker family doctor as long as Kate could remember, but it’d been years since she’d seen her. Probably not since Mom’s funeral.
“Well, Miss Megan, nice of you to return.” The doctor’s smile held a tease and she glanced at the file in her hands. “We’re looking at a May 6 due date.”
Megan let out a slow breath, expression shielded as ever. There wasn’t much to the rest of the appointment. Dr. Malone gave Megan a couple brochures, suggested a prenatal vitamin, and then had them stop at the front desk to schedule a ten-week appointment.
Kate waited until they were crossing the parking lot to ask her question. “Hey, earlier when you were talking about telling your parents, waiting until kindergarten, you said ‘he.’”
Megan halted. “So?”
Kate rounded to the driver’s side of the car and looked over its ceiling. “So was that a slip, or are you hoping for a son?”
Megan jerked open her car door. “I wasn’t hoping for a baby at all.” She thudded into the seat.
Okay. Kate lowered into her own seat slowly, tucked the key into the ignition, but paused before turning it. “You’re not going to be alone in this, Meg. This is a great town with a lot of great people. And you, my friend, supply the coffee. If that doesn’t earn you the support of everyone in Maple Valley, I don’t know what would.” She started the car.
“Yeah, well, you’re not going to be here.”
The comment landed with a thump, and Kate’s fingers clenched the wheel. “It’s true. I don’t live here. But I’ll come home to visit.” Why, though, did the thought of not being here sting almost as much as the glare in Megan’s expression?
It wasn’t just Colton she’d been getting attached to this past month.
It was being in the same state as at least some of her family.
It was family breakfasts and daily trips to the coffee shop and weekend gatherings at The Red Door.
It was home.
When Megan didn’t respond, only turned her focus out the window, Kate shifted into Reverse and turned the car toward the center of town. It was a stilted ride to Megan’s house, the girl’s thanks and good-bye when Kate dropped her off so wooden Kate wondered why Megan had asked for her company in the first place.
Instead of heading toward home, Kate drove to the depot next. She’d planned to spend the rest of the afternoon helping out with whatever final touches needed to happen before tonight’s fireworks and tomorrow’s big day. The sight of the depot and the scenery that wrapped around it brushed away at least some of the lingering unease from her time with Megan.
It was as if, with the turning of the calendar to October, autumn had thrown off any thought of a slow appearance. Instead of tentative pops of color, the tree-strewn hills behind the depot were awash in fiery hues. The depot building glistened in the sunlight, newly laid and newly stained boardwalk lining three sides and repaired track reaching into the rolling landscape.
If the outside looked this good, she could only imagine how great the inside looked.
Dad was walking toward his car when she pulled into the gravel lot to the east of the depot. “Hey, Dad.”
He grinned and angled toward her car, pulling her into a side hug when she slid out of the car. “Hardly seen you this week, Katie.”
“That’s because you’ve been working longer hours than even the farmers.”
A sling still encased his arm, but the scrapes and bruises he’d had when she first arrived home had faded. And a new energy warmed his eyes. “Worth it to see the old place sparkling again. You looking for Colton?”
“Not specifically, though I did text him earlier and tell him I’d come out and help with whatever’s left to do after Megan’s appointment.”
Dad threaded her arm through his, then started toward his car again. “You remind me so much of your mother, Katie girl, the way you’ve taken Megan under your wing. You got her kindheartedness in heaping doses.”
“Dad,
I might feel bad for Megan, but I’m hardly making a real difference in her life. And I’m not doing what Mom did. Mom worked to save entire African villages. I gave a girl a ride to the doctor.”
Gravel crunched under their feet. “You saw a need in front of you and you met it. That’s what Flora did. Whether it was writing that grant proposal and starting a nonprofit or cooking meals and doing laundry and raising her kids. I don’t think your mother ever saw one task as bigger or more important than the others.”
They stopped at his car. “I like it when you talk about Mom.”
The lines in his face deepened with his pleasure. “And I like that you like it. Not all your siblings do.”
“Beckett?”
“Sometimes wonder if that’s why he ended up so far from Iowa. If it’s just too hard . . .” Dad shook his head. “I’ve hung up lots of hats over the years. My soldier hat, my diplomat hat. Won’t ever hang up my parent hat.”
She leaned onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “We wouldn’t want you to. Although, it’d probably be nice of us to stop giving you things to be worried about.” Logan and Charlie in LA, still trying to heal from Emma’s death. Beckett in Boston, so quiet sometimes—more distant than geography excused. Raegan, with perhaps more going on behind her claims of contentment than she let on.
And me. A years-old relationship still dogging her up until last week. A career that couldn’t decide where to land. And a heart that’d made it clear she wasn’t getting away with the easy route.
“Oh, hey, as long as you’re here . . .” Dad opened his car door and reached for a pile of envelopes and papers on the dash. “Marty stopped by with a stack of mail for the depot, and since at it, he delivered my home mail. There’s a big manila envelope for you.”
She took the envelope from Dad, scanning the return address. The James Foundation. It was all the paperwork Frederick Langston had told her about. Copies of previous annual reports. Travel insurance forms, liability waivers.
She let out a long exhale.