Chapter 2
Chapter Two
He was not ready.
Scottie Sheridan was about to cannonball back into his life, and the ripple effects of her arrival would probably be his undoing.
Tate smoothed his hand over the blue painter’s tape he’d adhered to the drywall around the cabin window.
Super straight. Good. They were so close to getting this place finished after last winter’s fire, and they already had guests booked to stay over Labor Day weekend.
Which was only two weeks away. No time to waste. No room for surprises.
He reached down, tapped the volume on his phone, and started his favorite classic-country playlist. He hummed along to a George Strait tune as he popped the lid on the can of grayish paint and poured it into the tray.
The scent of latex and sawdust mingled with damp pine drifting in from the open door.
Outside on the grassy area in front of the cabin, his nephew Brody played fetch with Sailor, Tate’s goldendoodle puppy.
Tate watched his dog chase the tennis ball, then get distracted and trot after Brody. The boy laughed, then tumbled into the grass and let Sailor lick his face.
Smiling, Tate shifted his focus back to his project.
He had to get the painting done before Brody got bored watching Sailor.
His thoughts kept circling back to Scottie.
Her wild curly hair, that smile, the impish gleam in her blue eyes.
Back in the day, she’d depended on him to look out for her, and to be honest, he’d always enjoyed being that guy.
But then she’d left for her big adventures and things had gotten tough between her and Lainey.
And Gary’s chronic health conditions meant he was a handful.
Tate couldn’t really blame Scottie for choosing her big life over her complicated family drama. After all, she never did like confronting pain head-on.
He slid the roller onto the tray, made sure it was evenly coated with paint, then stepped closer to the wall.
The drop cloth crinkled under his old sneakers.
Humming softly, he rolled the paint onto the wall as two women approached the cabin.
His sisters, Megan and Caroline, came in carrying bedding and towels.
“I know,” Caroline said. “It’s wild, right?”
“How can Ethan be so low-key about this? A chartered helicopter flight to Port Frisco?” Megan sighed, then glanced at Tate. “Can you believe it? Do you think he’ll have any of the contestants on board? I mean, I’m head over heels in love with Jude, but that Carter Wynne is?—”
“Whoa, ladies, where are you going with all that? I just started painting,” Tate said, eyeing the white fabric piled in their arms.
“Take it easy, Safety Patrol,” Megan teased. “Don’t you worry. We won’t let any paint get on the bedding. Mom wants it out of the laundry room.”
“Relax. We know what we’re doing, big guy,” Caroline said, then pinned him with a long look that made the skin on his neck turn warm.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “What?”
“I guess you’ve heard the news by now.”
“What news is that? There’s a lot going on around here. If it’s the dude with the broken leg, then yes, I already heard.”
“That’s old news,” Megan said, drifting closer and dragging a toe along the drop cloth, probably just to watch him flinch.
“Back off with your linens,” he said, motioning with his head toward the closet.
“But I have something super important to tell you.” Megan’s voice carried a teasing lilt. “It’s about Scottie. Scottie Sheridan. She’s coming back.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Yeah, I know. And?”
The sisters looked at each other, and he forced his expression to remain neutral.
Megan’s smile faded. “What do you mean ‘and’? She was like your bestie.”
“Total besties,” Caroline echoed.
“My bestie? C’mon, really? I’m thirty years old. That was a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah, but you spent a ton of time together.” Megan shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Drove her everywhere. Remember?”
“That’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Caroline added, eyes dancing. “You used to drive her everywhere, but now she’s going to ride in Ethan’s chopper, probably with that hot billionaire who’s joining the show.”
“No way.” The roller slid from his hands, landed in the tray with a wet splat, spraying paint on his jeans. George crooned about going to Amarillo by morning. He stifled a groan, hoping that his sisters would just let it go.
“Uh-oh,” Megan said, dropping the duvet cover and sheet set onto the unmade bed. “What happened?”
“He doesn’t like helicopters. Remember? Don’t worry. Ethan’s pretty good at flying one.” Caroline’s tone was all innocence, which was how he knew she was winding him up. “What’s your concern?”
“I think it’s the hot billionaire,” Megan said in a mock whisper.
Sighing, Caroline shook her head. “People are going to lose their minds when he shows up.”
Oh brother. “Who are you talking about?”
“Don’t you watch professional basketball? He’s courtside all the time at?—”
“No, I don’t. I’ve got better things to do.”
“Yeah, like clean up that paint,” Megan said, pointing. “You’re off your game today.” “Something on your mind?” Caroline teased.
“How about you two just finish with that bedding and move along?” Tate glared at them. “Unless you want to paint this wall.”
“Nope, nope,” Megan said. “Leaving that up to you, Safety Patrol. You look like you’ve got this.”
They kept jabbering away about which contestants on the reality show, Ultimate Alaskan, they thought had a chance of winning. He retrieved the roller and tried to pretend his pulse hadn’t kicked up at the sound of Scottie’s name.
How was he supposed to know which billionaire had joined the show? Who had time to pay attention? Tate glanced at the paint spatters on his jeans. Thankfully, the drop cloth had caught the rest. His mother would have a fit if he got paint on this new luxury vinyl tile.
Routine. Finish the cut-in. Roll in W sections. Keep the roller steady. He added more gray paint onto fresh, clean drywall and tried to ignore Megan and Caroline’s conversation.
Dropping that roller was a clumsy mistake.
Because he didn’t want anybody, least of all his siblings, to know how much he still cared about Scottie—her safety, her relationship with her family.
Everything in him wanted to protect her from getting hurt.
He’d spent a very cold winter junior year idling at the curb outside the gym so she’d have a ride home after cheer practice.
Then he’d made sure there was a spare phone charger in her backpack when she went on road trips with the basketball team.
He’d even reminded her to call her dad so Gary wouldn’t worry.
Of course she’d laughed, bumped his shoulder, called him “the best,” and raced off to sit with someone else at lunch.
She’d used words like buddy and friend to describe their relationship.
He’d just smiled and tucked his pain away.
“Hey.” Caroline poked her head out of the bathroom. “Remember how she’d come over for dinner sometimes, and if Mom served broccoli, Scottie put all of hers on your plate and you’d let her?”
Tate glared at her. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Even though it was exactly how he remembered it—the way she never asked, just piled it on as if she knew he’d let her, because he always did.
Caroline clicked her tongue. “You hate broccoli.”
True. He turned away.
“You used to make her playlists. Mix CDs.” Megan tucked one of the pillows inside its case. “How many did you give her?”
He refused to look away from the wall. “No idea.”
“You hung her favorite air freshener in your car,” Caroline said. “Those blue tree-shaped ones.”
“That was for everyone,” he said. “Cars get stinky.”
Megan laughed. “Sure. For everyone.”
George slid into another chorus, and Tate pressed the roller carefully into the corner, determined to maintain even pressure so the paint wouldn’t leave a ridge. If he finished this wall, then maybe the curtain rods and curtains could go up tomorrow.
“Anyway,” Caroline said, “it’s not like you two were ever, you know, a thing.”
“Exactly.” Tate kept painting. How much longer was it going to take them to make that stupid bed and put towels away?
“Just super good friends,” Megan added.
He set the roller down with care this time. “She’s coming back because someone broke a leg. She’ll be here for a few weeks, then she’ll move on to her next assignment.”
“Hope you’ll get to hang out some,” Megan said. “But maybe she’ll be out at Port Frisco and you’ll be busy working.”
“We’ll see.”
The mere suggestion that he might not see much of Scottie planted a cold ache in his gut. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to confirm his sisters were watching him. But he wouldn’t give them any hints that their words had gotten under his skin.
A storm had been brewing in the Sheridan family for years. And there wasn’t a guideline, a manual, or a checklist that could stop it. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. Because he would do just about anything to help Scottie.
She already missed California.
Sidestepping a puddle, Scottie hurried toward the white minivan idling outside the tiny airport in Redemption, Alaska.
Damian stood near the back with the hatch open.
His sleek outdoor gear—olive-green nylon cargo pants and a black quarter-zip fleece pullover—looked a little too polished for their rugged hometown.
Square shoulders and a muscular build granted him an air of confidence.
Shaggy brown hair, a trimmed beard, and remnants of a tan screamed California surfer vibe.
He took her rolling suitcase and backpack with ease.
His green eyes sparkled as he pulled her in for a quick side hug.
“Good to see you, girl. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for picking me up,” she said, shivering as raindrops speckled her cheeks.
“Oh boy. You’re cold already. That’s not a good sign.”
“Nope.”