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“Uh-oh. I know you don’t care about upsetting Dr. Spider-Fingers. What else is going on here? Is this about Tag?”
The hot coffee scorched her mouth, and she was glad for it. It was a familiar pain, one she could identify and handle. “I think Tag and I are over.”
Flynn eyed her warily. “What do you mean you think? Did he break up with you?”
“He didn’t have to.”
“Ally, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THAT MORNING, THE day marking Tag’s first official campaign event, broke with early summer temperatures predicted to reach a high of only fifty-five degrees. A light cloud cover hid the blue of the sky and tempered the sun, but most attendees, especially the James campaign volunteers, were feeling fortunate the forecasted thundershowers appeared to have bypassed Rankins.
For anyone complaining about the jacket weather, a reminder of their good fortune loomed off to the northeast where a storm was boiling, the horizon so thick with angry gray clouds the mountains weren’t even visible. Hannah reported flakes were falling at Snowy Sky Resort.
The waterfront park in Rankins had long been a popular venue for community events. The last few years, under the guidance of Emily and the tourism bureau, the area had been expanded and transformed into a true gem. The brilliant landscaping included sidewalks and a boardwalk around a portion of the bay. Dotted here and there were unique benches and metal sculptures by local artist Kella Jakobs. The attractive timber-frame pavilion, large playground, basketball court, tennis courts, restrooms and the waterfront location ensured community use remained high.
Today, to encourage turnout of the possibly not quite so politically minded, Emily was providing entertainment. A miniconcert by Whiskey Cake, a popular country band from Anchorage, was slated to kick things off. Emmet Brummel, a comedian from Seattle, had been flown in to do a stand-up routine.
Tag’s friend Ryder was going to deliver a Memorial Day address. Senators Fincher and Marsh would give short speeches that concluded with Marsh introducing Tag, who would then wrap the event up with the official announcement of his candidacy.
The atmosphere Emily had created around the pavilion fueled the festive occasion. Pots of red, white and blue flowers decorated the tables, and matching baskets suspended from attractive metal hangers outlined the perimeter. A raffle ensured that some lucky partygoers would win a display to take home to their patios and porches.
Tag approached the small crowd gathered around two large grills, the smoky scent of Grizzly Quake brats drifting through the air. Bering, Jonah, Aidan, Gareth and Reagan were in charge of grilling. Hannah and her husband, Tate, were stringing a banner Reagan had made across the portable stage. Tag hoped Reagan’s superbiodegradable paper wouldn’t melt if it started raining.
“Weather is cooperating nicely,” Bering said.
“How could it not with your wife in charge?” Jonah asked wryly. “Not even Mother Nature would be brave enough to cross Emily when she’s in go-mode.”
“True,” Bering said, while laughter and agreement followed. “Although, I have to say, Hannah’s enthusiasm is getting a little scary, too.”
“Is Ally coming?” Gareth asked. “Kyla wanted to thank her for hooking her up with Dr. Ramsey.”
Just hearing Ally’s name made Tag feel as if there was an arrow lodged in his heart, and every mention, every thought of Ally wedged it a little deeper. They needed to talk, and he was dreading it with every fiber of his being.
“She’s helping Iris with some of the food,” Bering supplied before Tag had to admit he didn’t know. He’d both hoped and feared that she’d show, but at hearing those words, a grateful riff of affection played inside him. Last night’s conversation had left him frustrated and despondent. He wished he could put this rally on hold until he could figure things out. He’d barely slept the night before, and as the day broke, a disconcerting feeling threatened to overwhelm him. He’d written it off as a combination of a bad mood due to what happened with Ally and nerves.
But as the day wore on, he couldn’t shake it. It was like a tidal wave was bearing down on him; he couldn’t see it, but he could feel it—the force and rage rushing toward him, ready to sweep him away. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
