Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Wedged in the nose of a raft, splashing through class III rapids, was not how she’d hoped to regain her confidence.
Scottie balanced the camera on her shoulder and clawed at the rope snaking along the edge of the inflatable raft.
This should be easy. Except riding backward didn’t help.
Her stomach sloshed as they turned sideways in the river.
“Couldn’t we have gotten this footage with a drone?” she yelled over the roar of a rushing waterfall cascading down the canyon wall.
That would probably have to be edited out later, but she so did not care.
Damian waved from where he stood at the guardrail on the side of the highway as they sailed under the bridge. Lucky him—safe, dry, and probably not at all nauseous.
She’d somehow envisioned floating slowly down the river, grabbing shots of the show’s contestants smiling and laughing as water sprayed over the raft’s edge.
Instead, she stared up at a steep canyon wall on one side and tried to ignore the ominous swirling eddies of dangerous current on the other.
Her insides tilted as if she’d been trapped inside a fun house at the county fair.
Damian turned into a small dot in the distance. He’d instructed her to record each contestant as they paddled for several minutes. She swallowed back a sour taste and fought to keep the camera level.
“Hang on, Scottie-girl!” Carter grinned at her, water droplets clinging to his thick, dark lashes.
“Bit of a bump,” their guide called from his perch at the back of the raft, voice reverberating off the canyon.
Theo pumped his fist in the air. “We’re ready!”
Theo, Elise, and Carter sat facing her, like a row of primary colors: yellow rain gear, blue helmets, and red life jackets.
The guys looked thrilled; Elise’s teeth chattered.
Poor thing. Cold rain fell like tiny needles, pricking their exposed faces.
The other contestants rode in another raft, several yards back.
Filming them would be a challenge as they dipped and bobbed down the river, disappearing from view every few seconds.
“A couple more minutes,” the guide called out. “You all are doing great. Let’s get ready to paddle.”
Scottie’s stomach lurched as they dropped into a trough and the back of the raft ramped up into the air. Elise squealed, clutching at Theo’s arm.
Theo’s eyes grew wide, then a muscle in his jaw twitched as he jabbed his oar into the water and paddled like mad.
Motion had never been her enemy. Roller coasters, ferries in choppy seas—she’d loved it all. But riding backward with expensive electronics on her shoulder was not working for her.
Carter leaned forward. His smile had vanished. “Are you all right?”
“I’m just—” Oh no. No, no.
Heat flushed her face. She managed to thumb the camera off, plant it in her lap, and then she pitched sideways and hurled over the side.
“Uh-oh—camera operator feeding the fish,” one of the guys called out.
The next few minutes blurred together. She clutched the camera tighter, willing away the tears pressing against the backs of her eyes. The river shoved them out into a wide, calmer stretch, and the canyon opened like a fist relaxing.
“Let’s ease our way out,” the guide said. “Nice and slow.”
When they glided toward the side of the river, he hopped into the shallows, water sloshing around his rubber boots.
Carter followed, then Theo. Rubber squeaked against rocks as they dragged the raft onto a sandbar.
Scottie stayed put in the bottom of the raft, arms curled around the camera as if it were a child.
The world smelled like wet neoprene and river mud.
“Come on.” Carter motioned for her to get up. “The van’s here to take us back to Redemption.”
“You can ride shotgun,” Theo said from the shore, scrubbing rain from his face with his hand. “Want some water?”
“Can’t keep it down,” she said, voice rough.
“Okay. Here—we got your gear.” Theo’s tone gentled. He lifted the camera out of her arms with steady hands.
She let him. Then she slipped her palm into Carter’s outstretched hand and let him lever her upright. Her legs felt like limp spaghetti.
Elise clapped her on the shoulder as she stepped around her. “You’re a rock star, girl.”
Minutes later, Scottie sat cocooned in the front passenger seat of the rental van. The AC blew cold on her overheated face. She peeled out of her rain gear with fumbling fingers and sat in fleece pants, a T-shirt, and a plaid button-down.
Damian slid into the driver’s seat, phone to his ear, his voice clipped with production-speak. Scottie tipped her head back and shut her eyes, trying to breathe past the aftershocks.
“You all right, girl?” Damian asked after he ended the call and dropped his phone in the center console.
“That was awful. Why did you make me do that?” Her tone came out more plaintive than she’d have liked. Fantastic.
“What? Filming a whitewater rafting trip? Perfect. The audience will love it. The town of Redemption will appreciate the publicity.”
“Well, I did not love it,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her temples.
“Since when do you get motion sick?” Damian asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Since you made me ride backward. In a raft. On a river.”
“Huh.” He shrugged. “Well, I hope you feel better soon. Come on. We’ll get you back to town. We’re done for today. You can rest.”
Great. She didn’t want to be a baby about this. Honest, she didn’t. And Damian wasn’t wrong. She’d done all kinds of unusual tricks to get the shot. But today was not her day.
Less than an hour later, the van climbed the hill and stopped in front of the bed-and-breakfast.
“Wow. What’s going on here?” Damian squinted as he stared through the windshield. “Theo, did your publicist arrange this?”
Seven or eight cars were parked along the road leading up the hill and in the small gravel lot.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Theo opened the sliding door and stepped out. “Lainey mentioned she had zero vacancies this week.”
Scottie opened the door carefully, testing her stomach.
Theo grabbed her knapsack and the camera case from the back. “Bring this,” he asked, chin tipping toward the camera, “or leave it with Damian?”
“Leave it with Damian. I don’t want to see that thing right now.”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “Understood.” He leaned toward the open window. “Damian—leaving the camera in the back.”
“Got it,” Damian said. “Get some sleep, you two. See you tomorrow. Filming at the café.”
Theo offered a thumbs-up and fell into step beside her. Gravel crunched. The house hummed with activity. Through the windows she spotted people milling about, and laughter spilled from somewhere out back.
“Is Lainey having a party?” Theo asked.
“No idea.” Scottie groaned as she climbed the steps. “I don’t want to think about party food.”
“Yeah, you don’t look so good.”
“Thanks for that,” she muttered, and pushed the door open.
Pop music blared from a portable wireless speaker, bright and bouncy. The air inside smelled like butter and garlic and something briny—crab dip, probably—and sugar warm from the oven. Her stomach rolled a warning.
“We have to—” She cupped her hand over her mouth. Words fell apart. She breathed carefully through her nose.
“Uh-oh.” Abbie, one of Lainey’s friends, stood nearby holding a can of sparkling water. “Are you all right?”
“Rough day,” Scottie said. She scooted past the clumps of people in the hallway and kitchen and beelined down the short corridor toward her room.
Sanctuary was a narrow twin bed tucked in one corner of the sewing room, clean sheets, and an old quilt folded back.
She fell onto the mattress and closed her eyes.
A couple minutes later, someone knocked. Gently. Just two taps.
“Nope. Not interested,” Scottie called, her voice raspy. But even as she said it, the door opened a crack.
Megan McGuire slipped inside, rain dots jeweling her blonde hair. “Hey. Theo said you had a rough day. Can I get you anything?”
Scottie grunted and pushed herself up on her elbows. “I got motion sick. Whitewater rafting. That’s never happened before.”
“Huh.” Megan dragged the tufted ottoman closer and sat, concern knitting her brows. “Want some crackers or Sprite or something?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. What’s going on out there?”
“Lainey’s having a party. She invited a few people over. Folks are curious about Theo, and she wanted to give some friends a chance to hang out.” Megan winced apologetically at the thump of bass from the speaker. “Sorry you don’t feel well. It’d be great if you could join us.”
“I’m hoping this will pass. I’ll feel better in a little while.” Maybe. She hated missing out, hated feeling fragile. “What have you been up to?”
“Hold that thought,” Megan said, already half rising. “Let me go get you a drink and some crackers. I’ll be right back. Then we can catch up.”
When the door shut, Scottie fished her phone from her knapsack. Ten texts, twelve emails, and four DMs.
“No, thanks.” She powered it off, then dropped the device on the mattress and listened to the house. Laughter in the kitchen, a burst of clinking glasses, then Lainey’s voice bright and bossy.
Megan returned and handed over a cereal bowl with square crackers and a cold can of Sprite. “Here you go. Little sips, yeah?”
“Thanks.” She slid upright and tucked one knee under herself, accepting the bowl and cold can of pop. The first mouthful of bubbles prickled her tongue.
They’d been good friends back in the day. Well, mostly good. Megan had trotted after Tate, and Scottie and the boys had shooed her away. Now that she was thirty and Megan twenty-eight, those two years didn’t seem like that big a deal anymore.
“I hear you’re everyone’s favorite barista these days,” Scottie said.
“Ha! I don’t know about that, but I try.” Megan reclaimed the ottoman, folding her hands in her lap and then unfolding them.
“Yeah? You seeing anyone?”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Wow. We’re going there, are we?”
Scottie plucked a cracker from the bowl and nibbled the corner. “Just curious.”