* * *
TAG LIVED OUTSIDE Rankins on twenty-two tree-studded acres located approximately halfway between Bering and Emily’s place, which was a few miles away, and the town of Rankins in the opposite direction. Two years ago, the property had become available, and Tag had snagged it. With a family in mind, he’d built the house mostly himself, a roomy two-story lodge-style home. There were four bedrooms, one of which he used as an office, two and a half bathrooms, a spacious living area and, according to his cousin Janie, a “kitchen that would make a foodie drool.” He’d indulged in some extras like hardwood floors, exposed wood beams, copper sinks and a hot tub.
Upon finishing the house, he’d been surprised by two things: how much he looked forward to getting home each evening and how much he wished he had someone to share it with. Interesting double edge. Tonight, tired as he was, he was solely focused on the first, although it wouldn’t happen for at least a couple more hours. He had a stop to make.
Mickey Patterson had been his high school basketball coach, and Mickey’s wife, Sheila, his third-grade teacher. They owned the property next door, and even though Tag couldn’t see their house from his, that still made them neighbors. Mickey’s arthritis was gradually slowing him down, and Tag often lent him a hand with projects and tasks around his property.
As he approached the Pattersons’ driveway, a brand-new for-sale sign on the opposite side of the road caught his eye, and he braked, slowing the pickup to a crawl. Why would Park Lowell be selling his property? A shareholder and member of Snowy Sky Resort’s board of directors, Park had told anyone who’d listen that he planned to build his dream home out here.
He turned, traveling along the Pattersons’ long gravel drive until he reached their home. Parking behind Mickey’s rig, he then grabbed two hockey sticks from his back seat before scaling the steps of the porch.
Mickey opened the door before Tag could knock, stepped out and closed it behind him. Tone muted with anxiety, he said, “Thanks again for helping me out with this, Tag.”
“You know I don’t mind, Mick.”
“She’s real stubborn and uncooperative. I couldn’t get her to so much as flinch.”
“She’s determined, I’ll give her that. It might be time to move her out once and for all?”
“’Fraid so. I hate to saddle you with it.”
“It’s no problem.” Tag handed Mickey one of the hockey sticks. “Let’s go see if we can talk some sense into her.”
They headed toward the small workshop a short walk from Mickey’s house. Tag spotted the prickly female huddled calmly in the corner as soon as they entered the building. But, then again, a critter covered with quills didn’t have much reason ever to get riled.
Twenty minutes later, without incident, they’d herded the wayward porcupine into a pet carrier.
Mickey seemed pleased. “Time for a beer?”
“Sure.”
They settled at the dining room table. A Mariners game was on the TV in the living room beyond, and Tag noted happily that the team was up by two.
“Hey, I noticed a for-sale sign on Park Lowell’s place. Know anything about that?”
“Yep. I guess he’s selling. Goofy bird thinks he can get twice what he paid for it.”
“Really?” It used to be that Park was always up to one money-making scheme or another, but after he’d tangled with Hannah over a ploy involving the ski resort, Tag had thought those days were past.
“Yeah, I ran into town to have coffee with Scooter Tomkins yesterday. It’s listed with Nadine, and she told Scooter how much he wants for it.” Nadine was Scooter’s sister and the owner of Rankins Realty, the largest of the two real estate agencies in the valley.
“Huh.”
“I know. I’m surprised, too. Supposed to start on his house right about now. Wasn’t too happy about having him for a neighbor, but Scooter said some highfalutin couple already checked the property out. And I generally subscribe to the better-the-devil-you-know philosophy.”
“Me, too, Mick,” Tag agreed. “Me, too.”
* * *
PORCUPINE RELOCATION COMPLETE, Tag finally pulled into his own driveway. He was looking forward to heating up the leftovers that Emily had given him, putting his feet up and watching the last couple of innings of the ball game. As soon as he saw his cousin Janie’s SUV parked out front, though, he remembered he’d made another commitment.
Inside his house, he found Janie’s son Gareth watching the game. A basketball, the teen’s constant companion, sat on the sofa next to him like an important guest.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. I had to relocate that problem porcupine for Coach P.”
Gareth laughed. “No problem. I just got here, like, five minutes ago. Where did you take it?”
“About ten miles up toward Glacier City. I’m hoping it won’t be motivated enough to come back upstream no matter how tasty Mick’s saplings are. You want some dinner before we shoot? Emily sent me home with enough lasagna for a week.”
“Sure. Only a couple innings left in the game and it’s tied.”
A basketball scholarship was taking Gareth all the way to the University of Oregon. Tag liked to think he deserved a tiny piece of the credit for developing the kid’s skills. He’d put a ball in Gareth’s hands almost as soon as he could walk and then taken the brunt of Janie’s ire when the toddler dropped it and face-planted right over it. Instead of crying, Gareth had immediately stood and patted the ball, giving credence to Tag’s claim that Gareth was dribbling at nine months old.
Janie’s first husband had died when Gareth and his younger brother, Reagan, were in middle school and she’d been pregnant with twins. For two years, until she married her current husband, Aidan, she’d been a single mom. Tag and Bering had done their best to pick up the slack.
Basketball was Tag’s sport, too, and he loved that it had become his and Gareth’s thing. He wondered how much longer he could fool the kid into believing Tag was still the better player.
“Did you hear back about that camp?”
“Yep, I’m in.”
“Awesome.”
“Coach said the best thing I can do now is have a ball in my hand every day between now and next season.”
“He’s right about that.”
“I need to work on my outside shooting. Which reminds me, did you hear we’re having a basketball tournament on Saturday at Iris’s party?”
Tag’s three youngest siblings were triplets, of which Iris was one. Hazel and Seth were the other two. The party was at Bering and Emily’s. Years ago, Tag and Bering had installed a regulation-sized basketball half-court. Games and tournaments were a regular and eagerly anticipated part of their lives.
Tag grinned. “That should be fun. Edible prize from the Donut Den?”
“Yeah, but Mom said we can’t be on the same team anymore.”
Tag scowled. “Who made her boss?”
“Emily. She put Mom in charge of the teams and the bracket.”
“Well, in that case, we’re screwed.” As a former corporate executive for one of the largest oil and mineral extraction companies in the country, Emily’s charm and organizational skills, combined with the sheer force of her will, left no room for argument.
Gareth chuckled his agreement. “Yeah, but the party will be epic.”