Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The rain was relentless.
Scottie adjusted the waterproof cover on her camera, trying to block out the worst of the drizzle.
The moisture clung to every surface, creeping into crevices on the equipment.
She tugged the hood of her rain jacket tighter around her face and blew on her cold fingertips, but it did little to chase the chill from her bones.
Above her, the gray skies over Port Frisco mimicked her mood, heavy and oppressive.
The thick, soupy fog sank lower and threaded through the evergreen trees and cottonwoods like wispy fingers of cotton.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her rubber boots sinking deeper into the muddy ground.
Okay, come on, focus. Get this shot.
But her mind had other plans.
Her dad’s face flashed in her thoughts—pale and drawn, the gash on his cheek angry and red.
How had he gotten into a fight with his neighbor?
She still couldn’t believe it. The image made her wince.
He’d stood up for himself, sure, but look where it had gotten him—injured, in pain, and requiring a late-night trip to the ER.
Guilt gnawed at her like a beaver determined to fell a tree. What if she’d taken him home herself? Maybe she could have intervened, defused the tension before it escalated. Instead, she’d been…making out with Tate in the woods.
Her stomach flipped at the memory. She could still feel the warmth of his lips brushing over hers, the tenderness in his gaze as he looked at her as if she was the most important thing in the world. And oh, the way he’d held her face—gentle, reverent, as if she was something precious.
And then it had all come crashing down.
Luke had stepped out of the shadows with news about her dad, shattering the moment.
The kiss, the way Tate had defended her and said she was his business, and his quiet confession in the woods that he’d wanted to kiss her since they were sixteen—it all swirled in her mind now, leaving her with more questions than answers.
Had he really meant what he’d said? Or had they both been caught up in the moment? And if she didn’t feel the same way about him, then why’d she let him kiss her?
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if she could somehow massage the ache away through her waterproof jacket. She’d gone and left Redemption without talking to him, and now here she was, soaked to the bone, back at Port Frisco—and miserable.
Scottie blew out a breath, sending mist curling in the cold air. She adjusted the focus on her camera again. Wide shot, she reminded herself. Elise and Carter were supposed to come hustling out of the woods with their backpacks, racing to be the first to the dock.
The rain had turned everything into a muted blur. The colors of the trees and gear dulled under the overcast sky, and the contestants moved sluggishly, their clothes drenched. Elise had already fallen in the mud twice and had a meltdown each time.
“Scottie!”
She jolted at the sound of Damian’s voice, turning to where he stood under a makeshift canopy, holding his phone. He looked frazzled, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.
“Yeah?” she called back, wiping a bead of water from her face.
“We good on this angle? If so, we need to get the shot and move to the next location.”
She hesitated, glancing at the shot again. “It’s fine, I guess,” she said, her voice uncertain. Her fingers brushed over the slick buttons of her camera. “But my equipment’s getting too wet, and everyone’s frustrated. The mud’s slick, and?—”
“Scottie,” Damian interrupted, groaning as he ran a hand through his hair. “We’re already behind schedule. We can’t wait for perfect weather. This is Port Frisco. It rains. We deal with it, okay?”
“I’m not saying we need perfect weather,” she said, raising her voice over the patter of rain. “I’m saying this is dangerous. Look.” She pointed toward a slope dotted with rocks and loose gravel. “You expect people to race down that? What if they fall? That could be a serious accident.”
Damian narrowed his gaze at her, his frustration evident. “You’re overthinking this. We know what we’re doing. Besides, this is our third take. Elise and Carter have got it.”
Scottie clenched her jaw, biting back a retort. “Fine,” she said tightly, turning back to her camera. “But it only takes one mistake, Damian. Just one.”
He didn’t respond, stepping back under the canopy to check his phone. Scottie exhaled sharply, her frustration simmering. He wasn’t listening. He never listened.
The rain came down harder now, and she adjusted the camera settings to compensate for the gray light. Her years of experience kicked in, her hands moving automatically even as her thoughts swirled.
She needed to focus on the technical details—exposure, framing, capturing the contestants’ movements. And she was. Really, she was. But today she couldn’t stop worrying about everything that could go wrong.
Condensation fogged her lens, threatening to damage the equipment. Electrical cables crisscrossed the ground, some half-submerged in puddles. The trucks parked near the slope looked dangerously close to sliding.
“Scottie!” One of the grips waved at her, his yellow raincoat slick and shiny.
She motioned for him to come closer. “What’s up?”
“The dolly’s slipping,” he said, gesturing to a platform they’d set up for tracking shots. “We’re trying to secure it, but the ground’s too soft.”
She nodded, her stomach sinking. “I know,” she said, crouching down to inspect the platform. Sure enough, the wheels were sinking into the mud and the entire setup tilted precariously. Water dripped from the hood of her jacket as she adjusted the platform.
“We’re probably going to have to move it to solid ground.”
“There isn’t any solid ground,” the grip said, his voice grim.
Scottie stood and pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’ll talk to Damian, all right? Thanks for letting me know.”
She turned back toward the canopy, rain falling harder now and stinging her face. This was turning into a logistic nightmare, and Damian’s insistence on pushing forward only made things worse.
Her hands trembled as she made more adjustments to her camera. Her mind flashed from her dad to Tate to the kiss that had left her reeling. What would Tate say if he saw her like this—worn out, soaked to the bone, fighting a losing battle?
He’d probably tell her to trust her instincts. To speak up.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to pay attention. People were depending on her to do her job. She couldn’t afford to spiral—not now.
But as she glanced at the slope again, the knot in her stomach tightened.
Something was going to go wrong. She could feel it.
If that van didn’t pull up to the resort in the next fifteen minutes with Scottie inside it, Tate was texting his friend Cal for an ETA.
He glanced down at the laptop, his mouse hovering over the button to submit his application.
Doubt spilled through his mind like ink on paper, staining every thought.
Did he really want to run for the vacant city-council seat?
Tomorrow was the deadline to file. The special election was only a month away.
Tate sighed, leaning back in his chair. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the desk.
He cared about Redemption, about the people who called it home.
But was he the right person for this? Between his full-time job, helping his family, and wrangling Sailor, how could he possibly find time to serve on the council?
The front door opened, letting in a gust of cold, wet air. A young couple from Michigan—guests staying in cabin two—stepped inside, drenched from head to toe.
“Oh wow. Weather’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Tate said, standing to greet them.
The guy pushed back his hood and grinned. “We still had the best hike. Could we trouble you for some extra towels? We’re going to dry off before heading out for dinner.”
“Absolutely,” Tate said.
“I’ve got it.” Before Tate could move, his dad rolled into the room in his wheelchair, a stack of fresh towels folded neatly on his lap.
Sailor barked and lunged at the end of his leash.
“Honestly, Sailor, you’re jumping on my last nerve,” Tate said, tugging the puppy back. He’d tethered Sailor to his belt loop, a trick he’d learned from some online forums about training rambunctious dogs. Sailor responded by grabbing his own leash in his mouth and growling as he tugged.
“Glad to hear you all enjoyed your hike.” Dad rolled over to the couple by the door. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, sir. Much appreciated,” the man said, taking the towels.
“You bet. Hope you guys have a great night.” Dad turned and wheeled back to the desk, parking beside Tate. “What are you working on there?”
“Oh,” Tate began, but Sailor yipped, interrupting him. The puppy went up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on Dad’s lower leg.
“What a handsome dog you are,” Dad said, scratching Sailor behind the ears.
“Dad, don’t encourage his leaping,” Tate said, exasperated.
Dad looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “His leaping is the least of your problems, son.”
Tate sighed, tugging on the leash. “Tell me about it. Sailor, down.”
The puppy flopped onto his belly, resting his chin on his big paws. His soulful eyes locked on Tate, radiating remorse.
Dad tipped his head back and laughed, the sound warm and familiar. Tate couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m trying to decide if I really want to run for that empty seat on the town council,” Tate admitted, glancing at the laptop.
“Ah. Feeling conflicted?”
He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I care about this town, Dad. I’d do just about anything to make sure people are safe.”
“I know you would, son. Sounds like you have plenty of signatures on your petition to file. That’s good.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What do you think of the competition?”
“There are a couple of other candidates, but I’m not too worried about them.
” Tate paused, watching the rain blow sideways outside the window.
No van. No Scottie. “But something’s holding me back.
Between helping out here, my job, and this puppy, I don’t know if I have the time to devote to serving on the council. ”
“And if you’re starting a new relationship, you need to factor that in,” Dad added with a knowing smile.
Tate’s stomach flipped. “A new relationship?”
“Did you think I didn’t hear about that kiss?”
Tate winced. “Oof. That might be a dead end.”
“Really?”
“Scottie and I’ve known each other for years.”
“Exactly.”
“That might be the problem. I’m afraid I have feelings for Scottie that she doesn’t feel for me.”
“Oh, that’s not the vibe I’m getting,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair. “Your sisters are convinced this is all going to work out.”
“Either way, I want to serve my community, but it needs to be for the right reasons.”
“Agreed.” Dad nodded. “You’ve always been concerned about others. You’re calm under pressure, a logical thinker. You’re smart.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that.” Tate reached over and clapped his father on the shoulder, but the knot in his chest tightened.
The hum of engines and the crunch of gravel interrupted their conversation. Tate glanced outside.
“I hope that’s your mother and Emma with the pizza.”
“What pizza?”
“Damian asked us to order enough pizza for the crew and contestants,” Dad said.
“Seriously?” Tate chuckled. “That’s a lot of pizza.”
“Well, he was willing to pay the going rate, and Dockside Pizza Company was more than happy to fill the order.”
“So you expect the crew and contestants back shortly?”
“I do,” Dad said. “Cal’s was one of the boats hired to ferry them in from Port Frisco. I’m sure they’ll be here soon. This weather is probably slowing them down.”
“Probably.”
The door opened and Emma came in carrying a stack of pizza boxes, her red rain jacket dripping.
“Here, let me help you,” Tate said, unhooking Sailor’s leash and tucking the puppy into his portable canvas carrier in the other room with a treat.
Tate grabbed his coat and stepped outside, rain pounding the roof and parking lot. His mom was unloading more boxes from the van.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, handing him six more boxes.
“I’ll get the rest,” Tate said, taking them inside.
Emma set the boxes on the counter. “The oven’s already warming. I thought we could keep some of this hot. They’re not here yet, are they?”
Tate shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. They told us to plan for seven o’clock.”
He glanced at the oven clock. 7:15.
A few minutes later, voices and footsteps filled the great room. Relief swept over Tate as he scanned the familiar faces—Damian, Carter, Elise, Theo. But his gut twisted when he didn’t see Scottie.
“Hey,” he said, tugging on Tabitha’s sleeve. “Where’s Scottie?”
“She went to her dad’s,” Tabitha said. “Lainey was waiting for her at the dock.”
“Oh. Got it. Thanks for the update.”
“No problem.” Tabitha smiled and followed Damian into the dining room.
Tisha came in through the back door, shaking off rain. “Hey, I thought you guys might need some extra help.”
“That would be awesome,” Mom said, appearing behind her. She handed Tate a small pizza box. “Here. I got something for Scottie and her dad. There’s enough for Lainey too, if she wants to eat. There’s a bag of salad and some cookies on the counter. Grab those and go.”
Tate blinked. “Wait, how did you?—”
She winked and gave his arm a squeeze. “I know things, honey. I’m looking out for you, always.”
Tate’s heart swelled, but he didn’t say a word. He grabbed the food and headed for the door.