Not that he didn’t appreciate their skills, but every one of them, starting with Pete, had the mind-set of a star football player: Give me the ball, Coach! Put me in, Coach!
They needed teamwork. As the liaison between the team and the sheriff’s department, Sam kept pounding the word into their heads. He understood, really. The team had fractured after the chopper crash last spring. The frantic search for Chet and Ty, the differing opinions of how to find them. Sam hadn’t made any friends when he brought in Miles Dafoe as incident commander this summer.
Pete had wanted to take point—Sam knew that. But his brother was the most alpha of them all, always fighting to be lead dog. If he wanted to lead, he had to prove he was trustworthy.
As if.
Sam flipped the burgers, the smell of hickory rising in a rush of smoke. Flames curled around the meat, sizzling. Sierra brought a tray of buns over and set it on the side table. “Looks good.”
“Thanks for letting my mom join us. Pete was supposed to pick her up from her chemo today, but as usual . . .” He lifted a shoulder.
“I think it’s sweet how you help your mom,” Sierra said, smiling up at him.
And in that moment, Sam let Pete live. This time.
“But should we be worried about him? Because he was supposed to show up at Jess’s today and help her tear out her upstairs bathroom. Last I saw her, she was wrestling with the old commode by herself.”
“That’s typical Pete—his promises are sort of like wishes on stars. Don’t count on him for anything.”
Sierra frowned, then gave a nod and headed back inside.
Maybe his words had emerged too sharp, but really, Jess should figure out she couldn’t count on Pete to help her fix that money pit.
He was probably out doing something crazy—BASE jumping, fatbiking down some trail, maybe even speed-climbing Grinnell Glacier.
Or, more likely, he’d picked up some girl along the way, ditched the hike for a more scenic view.
Poor Jess. Sam dearly hoped she didn’t expect more from Pete than he could give.
Sam pulled the burgers off the grill, slipped them into the buns, and set them on the glass deck table. Sierra had set a pretty table—red place mats, white dishes, a spray of white hydrangeas in the middle, probably cut from his mother’s bush out in front of the townhouse.
He rapped on the sliding glass door, spied his mother laughing with Sierra.
It warmed his entire body to see his mother smile. She looked good today. Despite the chemo, she hadn’t lost her dark hair, although the treatment had definitely stripped pounds from her already thin frame. She always took time to look her best too—putting on her makeup before she went into the clinic. She simply refused pity for the cards life dealt her.
Thankfully, the worst of it was over—now, she just took chemo once a month to keep the cancer from resurging and stopped in weekly to check her blood levels.
Sierra opened the door, carrying a pitcher of iced tea. “Oh, that smells so good, Sam.”
He took the tea from her, set it on the table, then came back to steady his mom, putting a hand on her elbow.
“I’m fine, Sam,” she said. But Rachel Brooks had been saying that since the day his father died. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me, Sam.” She’d smiled through her grief, helping his uncle take over the Sweetwater Lumber and Construction Company. She hadn’t deserved what Pete put her through, or his absence during her year-long battle with cancer.
Sam didn’t know how she’d opened her arms, welcomed his kid brother home without a word. But Sam had done the same, just for Mom.
She deserved at least a snapshot of a happy family.
He slid a chair out, held it for her.
“Sam, I feel terrible to cut in on your date with Sierra,” she said as he scooted her up. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“Aw, Mrs. Brooks, I love seeing you,” Sierra said, so much warmth in her voice, Sam believed her. “And we love to eat together.”
She left unspoken the fact that Rachel still struggled with a meager appetite, probably wouldn’t eat at all if Sam, or Pete, didn’t cook.
When Sam took his place at the table, his mother took his hand and said grace.
He tried to concentrate on the prayer and not on the fact that if Pete had shown up when he was supposed to, he and Sierra might be having dinner at his place.
Although, Mom’s view was definitely better than his untamed backyard forest.
Mom squeezed his hand, then reached for the iced tea. “I hear you’re going to listen to Ben King tonight.”
Sierra helped herself to salad. “He has a new single. He’s releasing them one at a time, sort of like teasers to his new album. He’s only doing three releases. The rest will be on his album. It comes out next spring, I think.”