From the Start (21 page)

“Never start a water war with a Walker, Colton.”

He barreled against her, pushing the nozzle away from his face. “You forget I’m a lot bigger than you.”

She was giggling like a kid, completely trapped against the shower wall. He reached behind her to turn off the water, the strawberry scent of the shampoo filling the space and steam clouding the air around them.

And so much laughter.

Until, finally, they quieted. Only the dripping of water and the sound of the bathroom’s overhead fan.

And her heart suddenly hammering in her chest.

She looked at Colton, saw the rapid pace of his breathing.
What were we thinking?
And why was Colton looking at her like—

“I should go.”

She clambered out of the tub, grabbed a towel from the shelf on the wall, wrapped it around her shoulders, and all-out fled from the room.

She reached Beckett’s bedroom door just as Raegan’s voice called for her.

“Hey, sis, did you—” She broke off, staring at Kate’s wet clothes. “What happened?”

“Long story.” Or not so long. But
“I just had a water fight in
the shower with Colton”
would invite more scrutiny than she could handle.

She took in Raegan’s appearance then, the slump of her shoulders and the frown pulling at her mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re planning to close the depot. The city council decided to put it to a vote. All Dad and Colton’s work will be for nothing.”

9

D
ad? What in the world are you thinking?”

Kate’s words came out sputtered and uneven as she jogged from her car to the cover of the train depot’s jutting overhang. The depot’s recent paint job made it fairly glow against its hilly backdrop. Flecks of autumn color—red and yellow and orange—were just beginning to poke through the canopy of green and brown covering the landscape.

And there was Dad, denim-clad legs visible halfway up a ladder perched on the wooden platform in front of the depot. The overhang hid the rest of him.

Kate slipped the hood of her sweatshirt from her head as she reached the depot. She still wore her pajama pants. Hadn’t even taken the time to put in her contacts. She’d hoped to find Dad this morning before he left the house, but a torrent of emotions mixed with overnight storms had kept her tossing and turning past midnight.

Do not think about Colton.
Do not think about water fights in showers.

This morning rain still twirled downward from portly clouds—their underbellies lit by stray lightning and a pastel sunrise. She stopped at the foot of the ladder, nudged up her glasses and tipped her head. “Really, Dad? Working on outdoor
light fixtures in a storm? Aren’t you asking to get electrocuted? And with one arm in a sling?”

He grunted, unscrewed a bulb, and glanced down. “Catch.”

Next thing she knew, the old bulb dropped, and she jerked to catch it.

“And for the record, young lady, the sky’s barely making a peep right now. More chance of me falling off this ladder and breaking a leg than getting electrocuted.”

Kate propped one slipper-clad foot on the ladder. “That’s comforting.”

About as comforting as hearing this old depot and museum might be closing. Would be, according to Raegan and, apparently, the city council.

How could they just give up on the place? After all the work Dad had put in. All the history this little building housed.

Metal scraped against metal as Dad screwed in the new bulb overhead. He nodded his head in satisfaction and climbed down the ladder. Faded jeans and a flannel shirt—so different from the military uniforms and tailored suits he used to wear.

Same grin, though, even if weathered by surrounding lines.

“So?” he asked, one eyebrow raising—a trait he’d passed on to only Beckett. Kate used to spend hours in front of the bathroom mirror, attempting to pull off the same expression. “What has my night owl up so early?”

She tipped her head toward the building. “This place. You. Wondering what you’re going to do.”

His lips pressed together, and he reached for the ladder, wood clacking as he folded it together. He hefted the ladder with one hand, and Kate jumped in to secure its other end.

They carried the ladder around the corner of the building, toward the shed attached to the side of the depot, where they stopped as Dad dug in his pocket for the keys.

“You are going to do something, aren’t you?”

Lingering raindrops slanted in, dotting her sweatshirt. She waited while Dad put the ladder away and relocked the shed. When he turned, she recognized the determination in his expression. Oh, he might dress differently, might’ve retired from government service years ago. But he was still solid as a tree. Like that oak giant in the town square that’d refused to bend in the tornado.

“It’s the council’s decision, Katie. It’s expensive to keep up the depot—maintain the rail and the cars. And now with all the damage . . .”

“But you and Colton have been working like crazy. Colton said he thinks you can have it ready for Depot Day.”

“If they vote to close it, there’s not going to be a Depot Day this year.” A windy gush hurled wet air their way, and Dad patted her shoulder, turning her toward the depot’s back entrance.

“But surely the businesses in town will be upset. The depot’s a tourist draw, Dad.” The scent of lemon and pine enveloped her as she entered the building.

“A tri-county draw, at best. And unlike the antique stores, it isn’t even open all year round.”

The light from frosted glass sconces along the walls mingled with soft sunlight to showcase the work Dad and Colton had done in recent days. Pale green covered the upper half of the walls wrapping around the room, while rich walnut wainscoting reached up the lower half. One end of the room opened into the small, now-dark eating area where the depot served ice cream in the summer and hot cocoa and apple cider during chilly fall months.

The wooden floor still showed nicks and grooves from decades of foot traffic and the recent storm. None of the glass display cases had been replaced yet, and the walls seemed empty
without shelves full of knickknacks, old passenger books, and railroad paraphernalia.

But it was beginning to look as she remembered.

“Come on back to my office. You haven’t had your morning coffee yet.”

“How can you tell?”

Dad grinned. “Your forehead’s all pinched.”

She followed him past the raised ticket booth that had windows open to both the inside and outside. “That’s because I came here hoping we could come up with a plan to save the depot. Instead you seem . . .”
Completely at peace, actually.
And it didn’t make sense.

He led her into his office in back—little more than a closet, really. No oversized mahogany desk and matching hutch like he’d had back when they lived out east. Barely room for a small rolltop and a couple padded chairs.

She lowered into the chair edged into a corner while Dad pulled a mug from atop the desk.

“I’m surprised Colton isn’t here yet. He’s been getting here by seven most mornings.” Dad peered inside the cup, then used the edge of his shirt to wipe it out.

Kate smothered a smirk at his cleaning method. “I’ve been worried the time we’ve spent working on his book was taking away from his time helping you.”

“Not at all. He’s a hard worker, that one. And more than a little handsome, according to Rae.” Dad reached for the coffeepot at the corner of his desk. “Though, truthfully, if I was going to pair him with one of my girls, it’d be you.”

“Dad.”

He turned on an innocent smile and handed her the mug. “What? I’ve thought the two of you would make a good match from the start. Can’t a man make an observation?”

“Play matchmaker, you mean?”

“Potato, po-tah-to.” He poured his own cup of coffee. “And for the record, by ‘from the start,’ I mean since I first met him—Parents’ Weekend at Iowa. Logan called up a couple days before to ask if we could include Colton in whatever we ended up doing that weekend—seeing as how he didn’t have family visiting and all.”

“That sounds like Logan.”

“And I’m telling you, soon as I met him, I thought, Katie needs to meet this kid. Flora thought so, too. We talked about it all the way home from Iowa City. I thought you’d be a good pair because he had a Beatles poster hanging on his side of his dorm room. Remember when you went through that Beatles-obsessed stage?”

“I was fourteen.” She sipped her coffee—Dad’s usual thicker-than-syrup brew.

“That was just my first impression though. Later in the weekend I decided his sense of humor was a perfect match for you.”

“Dad—”

“Now your mom, her reasoning was entirely different.”

“Don’t want to hear it.” Except she absolutely did. There was something therapeutic about talking about Mom. About sitting in Dad’s office, seeing Mom’s picture on his desk, just talking.

Even if the subject matter had warmth flooding her cheeks.

Nah, that’s just the coffee.

Right.

“She thought you’d have cute kids together.”

And of course she chose that second to take a drink. She choked, felt the bitter liquid scorch down her throat, and sputtered. Couldn’t even scold Dad, not the way her windpipe tightened in mortification.

“Ah, Katie, you’re way too easy to embarrass.”

“I’m not embarrassed, Yente. Emma Woodhouse. Dolly Levi. Pick your fictional matchmaker of choice.”

“
Fiddler on the Roof
and Jane Austen’s
Emma
, but I’m stumped on the third one.”

“
Hello, Dolly!
, Dad. You should know this. I watched the Barbra Streisand version a thousand times as a kid.”

“And always got a sore throat from trying to sing like Louis Armstrong. Now I remember.” Dad laughed and regarded her for a moment.

Then, thank her lucky stars, he apparently decided to have mercy on her, because he let the subject of Colton drop and settled into his chair.

“Can’t we talk a little more about the depot, Dad? Can’t we at least try to do something?”

He sipped his coffee, letting her request hover in the air for stretched-out seconds before finally answering. “Listen, Katie, I’m your father, not one of your scripts. You don’t have to fix things for me.”

She set her cup down. “I’m not trying to—”

He interrupted her with only a look. Took another drink. “There’s something God’s been teaching me over the past decade or so—this idea of letting go. Not good at it, never have been. Probably what made me a good soldier and ambassador. But I’m in a different place now. More and more I’m seeing the value in stepping back and waiting. Discerning when it’s right to hold on and when it’s right to loosen up and let go.”

He set his cup on a coaster atop his desk. “If it’s time to let go of this old place—no matter how much your mother loved it or all the memories attached to it—then I don’t want to waste time holding tight to a season in my life that’s hit its expiration date.”

Despite their softness, his words landed with a thud, sending plumes of surprise fogging through her.

“But . . . if it closes, what will you do?”

“I’ll do whatever comes next.”

“You don’t have a plan?”

“Tell me, Katie, when has having a plan ever translated into things going exactly the way you expected?” He leaned forward then, fatherly gaze somehow gentle and firm at the same time. “I’m not saying we should go through life all half-cocked and clueless. But a little flexibility, a little wait-and-see—I’m coming to see that’s healthy.”

That sounded nice, but the problem was, Kate hadn’t had a plan for years. Not since Gil turned her life upside down. For six years, she’d simply been doing the next thing, writing the next script, scrounging up the next part-time job to fill in the financial gaps.

Now she finally—
finally—
had a real plan. And she wouldn’t trade it for all the flexibility in the world.

“Dad, I—”

But his office door burst open, cutting her off. And there stood Colton. Winded, smiling.

“I’ve got a plan.” His gaze darted from Dad to Kate, focused expression wavering for just a moment. “Nice pajamas.”

She only rolled her eyes.

Dad stood. “For what?”

He grinned. “Saving the depot.”