Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
He was freaking out.
“Tate, hold on.” She jogged after him as he marched toward his truck. Evening sunlight bathed her dad’s yard with a golden glow. Magenta fireweed in bloom danced in the cool breeze. A squirrel darted across her path, then scampered up a tree.
“Where are you going?”
“To talk to Damian.”
“No, no, no, no.” She picked up speed, darted around him, and stepped into his path, forcing him to stop. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not your place.”
His stormy eyes roamed across her face, checking for injuries she didn’t have, or maybe for a truth she didn’t want to admit.
“That could have been catastrophic, Scottie. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I have to do my job, Tate. I love my work, and I want to be able to keep doing it for a long time.”
“Then you can’t put yourself in situations where you’re nearly mauled by a bear.” His voice lifted, rough with fear.
“Come on. Do you hear yourself right now?” She reached out and clasped both of his warm, strong hands in hers. Heat skittered up her arms at the contact, the memory of their kiss flashing through her like a match struck in the dark. His pulse thrummed against her fingers—fast, uneven.
“Do you hear yourself right now?” she repeated, gentler. “Yeah, okay, that was dangerous, but it’s part of the show. And I know you worry, but your job is equally as dangerous.”
His jaw ticced. “Didn’t you tell me that you were nearly killed when a piece of equipment fell on set?”
She looked away. Of course he’d bring that up right now.
“Then you had a bear show up and you got in a car accident. All in the same day.”
“I told you, the car accident had nothing to do with filming the show. Or the bear.”
“There’s been a hand injury. A broken leg. Do you see a pattern here at all, Scottie?”
“Don’t. Don’t do this.”
“Do what? Show you that I care about you? That your safety matters to me?” He stepped closer, and the clean, fresh-air scent of him slid under her defenses. His thumbs brushed her knuckles, tender yet protective. It made her want to lean in and also to step back.
“Okay, look. I appreciate your concern. Really, I do.” She lifted her chin to meet his gaze head-on. “But I have to stay positive. I have to prove to Damian that I can get those risky shots. Otherwise he’s never going to let me back on another movie set.”
“And that would be a bad thing?”
“Ouch.” His words landed sharp, right where she was softest. “That hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice dropping. He edged even closer, crowding her a little with his height, his presence chipping away at her resolve. “That was too blunt.”
His expression softened. “Let’s focus on us. Not the forces trying to push us apart. Let me take you out. A proper date. No talk of cameras or risks or workplace safety protocols.”
She wanted to say yes so badly her mouth moved before reason caught up. “All right. I like the way you think. When?”
“How about day after tomorrow? That work?”
“I think so. I’m filming here in Redemption for the next few days.” She smoothed her hands down his forearms, feeling the tension in him simmering beneath the skin. “It’ll have to be evening, like seven.”
“Perfect.”
He hesitated, something she couldn’t quite name flashing across his face.
“Just—” he started, then swallowed the words. He leaned down and planted a tender kiss on her forehead. The touch sent a warm ache spiraling through her chest. “Take care of yourself, Scottie. I’ll see you soon.”
She reached out and caught his arm, stopping him. “Maritime pilots thread ships through storms and narrow straits. Don’t tell me you don’t dance with risk too.”
He huffed a breath, almost a smile, not conceding. “It’s not the same.”
“Maybe not.” She let him go. “But your work matters to me the way mine matters to you.”
His gaze softened again, but the worry didn’t leave it. “Seven,” he said, then brushed his fingertips along her jaw and stepped past her toward his truck.
She watched him go, heart tight and stubbornly hopeful, knowing they were both right, and that was exactly what made it hard.
The fireweed shivered. Squirrels chased each other through the trees.
As she headed inside, the show replayed in her head—bear, panicked voices, Elise losing her balance.
Scottie shook off those thoughts. Like Elise had said, everything was fine. They got the shot. That’s what mattered.
He had to find Damian.
Tate slowed his truck outside the café. Several cars filled the parking lot. If Damian wasn’t at the café, he’d try the coffee shop.
His conversation with Scottie replayed in his head.
He’d almost come unglued when he saw the bear come out of the woods, prowl the bank, then head right into the river—straight for Elise and the others.
And Scottie. His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
His stomach whirled. What a foolish decision.
But then Scottie had stepped up to him, fire in her eyes, reminding him his job wasn’t always safe either.
He couldn’t argue with that. But he wasn’t recklessly taking chances to prove himself or earn a promotion.
There were protocols. Checklists. Lines you didn’t cross. And he’d never been injured at work.
He parked and hurried across the crowded lot, then stepped into the café. Tisha, Ethan’s girlfriend, stood behind the counter, pad and pen poised to take a customer’s order. She shot him a warm smile.
He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and scanned the room—booths full, counter stools lined with regulars, air thick with the scent of coffee and butter.
Several familiar faces turned toward him.
The din softened. The feeling that he’d walked into a meeting that had started without him lifted the hairs on his arms.
David Sutter—local outdoorsman, always plugged into Redemption’s pulse—smiled as he passed. “Heard you’re in the running for that empty seat. Town council. Good for you.” David clapped him on the shoulder and kept going, bell jangling as the door shut behind him.
“Thanks,” Tate muttered to no one, pulse ticking up. Not why I’m here. Don’t get distracted.
A cluster of seniors filled the booth closest to the door. Mrs. Manning, retired librarian, and Olive, her grumpier counterpart, glanced up.
“You know, somebody’s got to do something about that show,” Olive said, mouth puckering as if she’d bitten a lemon.
Mrs. Dawkins came in behind him, her horrid perfume announcing her arrival.
She eased past, then stopped and looked him up and down.
“I certainly hope you’re here to do something about this.
I watched that show last night. That bear could have eaten every last one of those young people.
” She lifted her chin. “I signed that petition, you know, to get your name on the ballot. It’s high time you earned the nomination, son. ”
She glared and moved on, sliding into an empty seat opposite Olive.
Mrs. Manning gave him a gentle smile. “I thought the show was exciting, but I understand everyone’s concerns. If you’re looking for the folks who run the show, they’re in the back booth.” She reached for her coffee. “Good luck.”
“Thanks for the tip, ladies.”
He wove through the crowded tables. Snatches of commentary floated up as people clocked where he was headed.
“I certainly hope you’re here to talk some sense into that Damian,” one of the retired teachers at the counter said, leaning toward her friend. “Those Michaels kids were always a little different, remember?”
He felt Tisha’s concerned gaze track him as he moved along. The air seemed to change pressure—expectation gathering like a weather system rolling in off the gulf. A small, cool thought cut through his irritation.
You sure about this?
He ignored it and kept going until he reached Damian, sitting across from Tabitha in a corner booth.
“Damian? Tabitha? A word, please?”
Tabitha froze, a spoonful of yogurt halfway to her mouth.
“Tate. Good morning,” Damian said, polite smile in place. “How can I help you?”
“We need to talk about that almost-bear-mauling.”
“Not much to discuss,” Damian said. “Too soon to see the ratings, but based on what I’m hearing, the audience loved it. And they voted to keep Elise on.”
“Why does that even matter?” Tate said. “Everyone standing in that river and on the banks could have been mauled.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Damian said. “Do you think I’d stand by and let a bear maul multiple people?”
Tate fisted his hands at his sides and plowed on, heat rising on his neck. “Even if he mauled one—what were you thinking?” His voice climbed before he could level it. The café’s chatter thinned. Silverware clinked against plates like little bells.
“Tate, do I tell you how to do your job?” Damian’s shoulders squared, his expression hardening. “I don’t think I do. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I understand you have a fondness for one of my camera operators.”
A murmur went through the room. Scottie’s name wasn’t spoken, but it hung in the air between them.
“Don’t make this about her. Make it about safety. About facts. You know that was foolish.”
The small warning light blinked in his head again. Wrong venue. Wrong approach. He mentally flicked it off.
“But we can’t let our emotions cloud our judgment, can we?” Damian went on, his voice smooth. Unruffled. “I’m sure we can agree on that.”
“You’d better rethink your approach, Damian. Before someone is gravely injured.”
A smattering of applause broke out around the room—claps, a fork tapped against a mug, a satisfied “There you go” from somewhere near the pie case.
Praise hit him like a shove from behind. See? Doing the right thing. He caught Tisha’s wince and almost recalibrated. Almost.
He turned and left the café, adrenaline flooding his veins. Outside, the cool air slapped his face. His legs shook and his fingers trembled as he strode across the parking lot toward his truck.
He climbed inside and slammed the door, gritting his teeth. Somebody had to say it. If being the bad guy kept Scottie safe, he could live with that.