From the Start (8 page)

But the town loved the depot and all its history.
Dad
loved it. And after all he’d given up when Mom got sick . . .

The colors of sunset streamed into the room through long windows fronting the restaurant—pinks and yellows. The front door jingled. Probably that lady with the seven kids and the megaphone.

“There’s some concern about the river, too,” Raegan added. “I guess the dam up in Dixon took a hit.”

Which meant the fear of flooding—always an ominous concern for their riverfront community. Worry knit through her, and threaded into it a kinship with the people seated all around her.

You could stay.

The thought had whispered through her all day. What if she hung around for a couple weeks? Helped out at Dad’s place, at the depot, here at the restaurant. Took some time to think about her future—pray.

Her move to Chicago after college had been so impulsive—the result of Gil’s urging. She’d turned down an internship in DC and everything, a choice that’d left
what-if
imprints all over the back of her mind.

Maybe this time, on the brink of another major life change, she should ease into the decision. Try to figure out whether such a bold move lined up with God’s desires for her future.

Easier said than done, though. It was hard to hear God’s voice over the demands of her own heart. Or the memory of Mom telling her to go write something important. Or her agent and bank account and Frederick Langston and . . . The list could go on and on.

“All right, we can get started again.” Milt called the meeting to order for a second time, and the crowd hushed. “My thanks to Seth Walker for letting us use his place for a meeting space. Electricity still isn’t working at the city building.”

Appreciative murmurs spread through the room, and Kate turned her eyes toward Seth once more. He seemed like such a part of this place. Like Dad. Settled and sure.

Even Raegan, with her part-time jobs and lack of college degree and hesitance to move out of Dad’s house, had an assurance about her.

Her focus shifted to the man standing next to Seth. Colton rubbed one shoulder absently, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly ill at ease.

“You should’ve seen them working in the kitchen today,” Raegan whispered. She must’ve followed Kate’s gaze. “It was like something out of
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
. All they needed were flannel shirts and a song or two.”

Colton wore a baseball cap now, pulled low over his eyes. Trying to stay incognito? Probably smart. Once word got out that a former NFL quarterback was in town, he could say good-bye to any sense of privacy.

Although surely he wouldn’t be in town long. He likely had television appearances and commercial shoots and whatever else celebrity athletes did.

Milt was still talking into the megaphone about the aftereffects of the storm, the pros and cons of moving forward with Monday’s parade and festival. But Colton now edged his way along the wall and toward the kitchen. Where was he going?

When he hadn’t reappeared ten minutes later, Kate gave in to her curiosity, abandoning her seat and as inconspicuously as possible following the path Colton had taken.

She found him near the walk-in freezer. He stood with his back to her, the outline of muscle clear under the light of the hanging fixture overhead, something draped over his shoulder. An ice pack?

“Hey, Colton.”

He turned with a jerk. “Whoa, you keep freaking me out.” He held the ice pack against his right side, barely hiding a grimace as he moved his arm. “I mean, this wasn’t quite as bad as crawling into bed with me—”

“That horse is dead, Greene. Its body is already decomposing. There’s not going to be anything left to beat soon.”

“You took that cliché to new and gross territory, Katie.”

“Uh, it’s Kate.”

“No one ever calls you Katie?”

She shook her head. No one except Breydan. Not since Gil.

“But your full name’s Katharine, yeah?” At her questioning look, he went on. “Logan told me after I asked him how he ended up with a middle name like Flynn. You’re all named after old Hollywood stars.”

She nodded. “My mom loved classic movies. I pulled double-duty, though. Logan, Beck, and Rae just have middle names in honor of Mom’s favorites. But me, I got Katharine for a first name—after Katharine Hepburn—and my middle name is Rose, after Hepburn’s character in
The African Queen.
Mom used to call me Rosie.”

“Rosie. I can see that.”

Silence settled between them then. He was probably wondering why she’d followed him to the kitchen. She was wondering herself. “Shoulder hurting?”

“Turns out the lumberjack thing wasn’t so great for the injury.” He shrugged, another wince on its heels. “Plus, I figured if I stuck around that meeting any longer I’d get roped into riding a float or something.” He gave her the full grin now, and goodness, if it didn’t yank every nerve inside her to attention.
Distance. Need. Distance.

She took a step backward, the drone of Milt’s voice drifting in. “Well, if you want an escape, I was thinking about heading over to the depot after the meeting. I haven’t seen the damage yet. It’s only four or five blocks away. We could skip out early.” Although why Colton would have any desire to see a little depot that barely counted as a regional landmark, she didn’t know. “That is, if you want—”

“I do.” He set the ice pack on the counter top.

Okay. All right, then. So they were leaving. She moved toward the tarp that covered the hole in the wall, pushed it back enough to step through, then waited as Colton hopped onto the grass beside her. With the last of the sun’s light tucked away, a blanket of navy blue covered the sky, first stars like a nubby pattern.

Kate slipped her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she moved toward the sidewalk. The pathway dipped toward the river that bordered the eastern edge of the town square and cut Maple Valley in half.

They continued down the path that traced the river, their shoes pattering over the cement and the occasional hum of lamplight reaching into the quiet. Up ahead, the Archway Bridge reached across the moonbeam-streaked ripples of the river. Over to the west, a series of storefronts watched their movement behind glass window eyes.

A firefly swooped past her ear. “It was nice of you to spend all day helping Seth. Especially considering you didn’t even know him until yesterday.”

Colton shrugged. “But I’ve known Logan a long time.”

“And Charlie?”

“I covered for Logan and Emma once when their babysitter flaked out. I let Charlie jump on my bed and introduced her to Pixy Stix. She’s liked me ever since.”

The mention of Logan’s wife pricked Kate. Two years since the car accident. And still so hard to believe at times that her sister-in-law was really gone. That somehow Logan managed alone out in California.

Colton cleared his throat beside her. Well, not completely alone.

They came to the bridge, and she angled toward it. “We call this the Archway Bridge. ’Cause it arches.”

She didn’t miss Colton’s stifled chuckle.

“This area floods a lot, which usually forces a couple of the bridges to close, but there’s only been one time I can remember when the Archway was barricaded—which literally cut off one side of town from the other. I was seventeen and got trapped on the west side, our house being on the east. Had to stay at a friend’s house that night.”

The river’s lapping floated up from below as they crossed the bridge, the wood underneath their feet echoing with each step. Why was she babbling on about the bridge?

“When are you guys heading back to LA?”

“Not sure about Logan, but I’m . . . staying.”

The bridge gave way to another span of sidewalk that reached toward the edge of town and the depot in the distance. “You’re staying?”

“Through the end of September, at least. Logan asked, and
I’m not exactly busy at the moment. I guess there’s some big event at the depot in a month or so.”

“Depot Day—usually the last weekend in September or first weekend in October.”

“Right. I’m going to help your dad get ready for that.”

He was staying. For a whole month.

“You?” His arm brushed against hers.

“Actually I was thinking of sticking around, too. I’m between writing projects—”

Colton stopped. “You’re a writer?”

She turned back to him. Why the surprise? “Yeah.”

“Books?”

“One.” Could he see her cringe? One book for a small press that had probably only contracted it because of Gil’s connections. “Mostly screenplays, though. Made-for-TV features. I’m not out there writing impassioned speeches like Logan. Although, I did win an Emmy. Once.” She didn’t know why she’d added that last part. Why she’d given in to the sudden, illogical desire to impress the man. “Sounds more notable than it was, though. This town, my family, I think they view me as a big-shot movie writer, but what they don’t know is I’ve got enough rejection letters to fuel the world’s biggest bonfire and I’m not sure what to write next and I finally have this opportunity to do the kind of writing I’ve always wanted, but no money to make it happen and—”

And why in the world was she telling him this?

Their footsteps quieted as they reached the grass, the depot appearing ahead of them.

“Kate, do you see that?”

He pointed to the depot, and she followed his gaze. A dot of light bounced in the depot’s window, like a firefly bobbing and weaving.

“Someone’s in there. Should we call the cops?” Colton reached into the pocket of his jeans.

Kate let out a laugh. “Or we just go in and tell whatever teenager is pulling a prank to leave.”

“
Or
we call the cops.”

“Every cop in town is probably back at the meeting. By the time we call in, whoever’s inside will be gone.”

She started walking again, slowing as she neared the oblong depot and the steps leading up to its front door.
Ohhh
. The poor building. The storm had peeled back its tiled roof, and the once-charming pale yellow siding was now stripped and scratched. Shutters hung askew, and the wraparound boardwalk was so damaged it was nearly nonexistent.

“It looks awful.”

But when she looked over at Colton, he wasn’t staring at the building so much as peering through its half-open front door. She once again followed his gaze . . . and saw what he saw. The figure standing at the cash register. Completely focused, messing with the cash register.

“Stay out here, Kate,” Colton whispered.

“It’s just a kid. We can—”

Only she never had a chance to finish her response. The kid suddenly darted from behind the counter and barreled through the front door, glass windows rattling as the door smacked into the wall.

And Kate found herself thrust against Colton, his arm reaching out to pull her close, out of the way of the intruder’s barging run. By the time she got a glimpse over his arm, the kid was already disappearing into the night.

4

C
olton had suffered broken bones more fun than this.

“I swear, Walker, this is the last time you rope me into something like this.” He spoke into the walkie-talkie that a couple decades ago would’ve made his eight-year-old self feel like a spy or maybe a soldier. Instead, today he only wanted to chuck the thing out the window of what he was told was a Dodge Ram.

But who would know underneath all the plastic drapery and tinsel of the ridiculously overdone parade float overhead? A cramp tightened through his leg and pinched up his back. His six-foot-three frame wasn’t meant for this tiny space. Hello, claustrophobia.

“What kind of town holds a parade less than a week after a devastating tornado?”

“Dude, if you’re sticking around, you might as well get used to Maple Valley shenanigans.” Logan’s voice oozed smug even through the crackle of the walkie-talkie.

“One month, Walker. I said I’d stay a month.” And up until Saturday night, he’d had a hard time believing it’d actually take that long to help Case Walker repair the depot. But then he’d seen the state of the place.

He’d watched as the shock of seeing the museum building in complete disarray traveled over Kate’s face—shattered glass and tipped display cases, dents in wainscoted walls, downed beams, and everywhere, antiques and mementos tossed around.

In those few minutes of quiet as she picked her way through the wreckage, well, he would’ve agreed to stay a year.

It was only later that the idea had hit him. He’d mulled it over yesterday while seated at the end of the Walkers’ pew in church.

He was going to be here until October. Kate was considering extending her stay.

He needed a writer.

Kate was a writer . . .

Not only that, she was in between projects and apparently in need of money.

Is it crazy?
Or was it an answer to the prayer he wasn’t sure he’d even prayed?

Colton now peered through a rectangle opening that gave him his only view of the outside world. No peripheral vision. No escape from the heat filling the cab like helium in a balloon. If this torture didn’t end soon, he’d pop. “I hate parades. And whatever happened to simple floats on trailers? This isn’t the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I don’t see Dick Clark anywhere.”