Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
Tagger
“You sure on the sage green?” I hold the swatch out in front of us.
Nodding, my mom appears confident in her decision. “The sage.”
There are a million colors, but she picks the same color already on the house.“Sage it is, then.”
I buy all the supplies, and we head over to Sassy’s to grab lunch since we’re out. I’ve been waiting for the topic of Pris to come up since we left the Pass this morning, but she’s not said a word. She picks up a french fry and points it at me. “You were out late last night. Did you have fun?”
Images of Pris on the mattress with that fine ass of hers in the air while fucking her from behind come to mind. The sexy sounds of her moans I worried would reach the house if she wasn’t careful still fill my ears. The hot, slick embrace of that sweet pussy milking me has me shifting on my side of the booth.
I glance outside to rid the memories before I have to leave to handle the situation in my jeans. I turn back to look at my mom, and that does it. “Yeah, a lot of fun.”
“That’s good. Who did you spend time with?”
I push my plate away since I’m done eating and rest my arms on the table, keeping my voice down. “You know who, don’t you?”
A mischievous grin teeters onto her face after a good little laugh. “I can hope.”
“Mom, just say it.”
“Chrissy Greene.” Leaning forward, she says, “You two had such a connection at dinner during your last visit. She has the loveliest personality and what a beautiful young woman she is.” Placing one hand on the other, she leans back again. “I know I’ve said it before, but she reminds me so much of her mother.”
“I’m sure she loves to hear it.”
“How serious is it, Tagger?” Goes in for the kill . . .
No hiding anything from her. Never could. “Serious.”
“Marriage serious?”
I’m not sure if it’s right to talk about things when they haven’t come up between Pris and me, but I’m not going to lie about us anymore. “There’s no proposal planned at this time.”
The gentle upturn of her lips has me feeling I’m on the right track. I’ve thought about the relationship a lot, but I don’t know where Pris stands on the topic. Something else for us to talk about.
I pay the check, and we drive home—no more talk of marriage, and an ounce of pressure was never applied. It was nice to have the time with her and even more to hear how she feels about my girl.
When we return to the house, I recruit Beck to help his ole dad out. While I get the ladder out of the barn and set it up against the house, he’s happy to jump in and play with the power washer. I had no doubt that would be his favorite part.
I pull my shirt off and grab the straw cowboy hat from the hook inside and get to work. Beckett does the same. I want to laugh, but I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him. I’m touched that he wants to be like me.
An hour later, we successfully power washed two sides with the third to go. I’ll tackle the porch last since it will need more attention.
The machine is too loud to hear cars pulling up, but when Pris walks around the corner, visoring her hands over her eyes, a smirk dances across her lips as she looks me up and down. “Looks like I’m missing all the fun.”
I chuckle. “What are you talking about? Looks like the fun just arrived.”
“You flatter me so.” She smiles at Beckett. “Hi, buddy. I like your hat.”
“Grandpa said it makes me a real cowboy now.”
“Sure does.” She giggles lightly and then looks back at me. “Like father, like son, I see.”
She’s so comfortable around my kid that it allows me to see a bigger picture of how it might be some day if we are together in a more permanent fashion. He steadies his hands on the ladder with a tighter grip. “Hi.” Is he showing off for her? I have a future Romeo on my hands.
Before I get back to washing the awnings and knocking some wasp nests down, I ask, “What brings you by?”
“Had a little time on my hands. Need any help?” The woman starts work before dawn and past dusk most days, so putting her to work over at my folk’s house is the last thing I want to do.
She goes to Beck and leans down to look in his eyes under the brim of his new hat. “You’re doing a good job holding the ladder for your daddy.” Sometimes I wonder if she calls me daddy on purpose. Whatever she’s trying to do to me, it’s working. So fucking naughty.
“Safety first,” he says, kicking his legs out like the ladder is only steady if he uses all his strength. I appreciate the effort.
“Always,” she says. “Are you coming out to the ranch to visit the horses?”
He looks up at me. “Can I, Dad?”
“You bet.”
When I look at Pris again, she says, “I don’t mean to keep you?—”
“Do you have time to stick around?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I do.” The response hits different after the conversation I had with my mom, but I wouldn’t mind hearing those words again to try them on for size.
“Sorry, I missed that. The power washer is loud.”
She cups the side of her mouth, and calls out, “I have time. I’ll go hang out on the porch and wait for you.” Blocked. I was never good about missing a touchdown.
After Beck and I finish the area above the porch, we do what we need to clean up. Beck runs to the garden where my mom is picking something, so I take the opportunity to see Pris.
I come up the steps and look around one last time to make sure there are no eyes on us before bending down to kiss her. Her hands slide over my shoulders, and she says, “I sure do like this look on you.”
“Shirtless and a cowboy hat?”
“And jeans making that ass look too good not to appreciate getting a big handful, babe.”
Chuckling, I can’t argue that I like that my girl finds me so attractive. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you squeeze it later.”
“I’d rather be bad.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“I’m not afraid. Bring it on, cowboy.”
That mouth of hers is going to be the death of me. Considering how reactive my body is to her, a change of subject is needed about now. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
“I wanted to see you.” When I sit next to her on the porch swing, she says, “You could have paid someone to do the work.”
“I like using my hands.”
“I like that, too.” Reaching over, she slips hers into mine, and our fingers weave together. “It also is beginning to sound like you might be missing Texas.”
“That’s not what I’m missing most.”
She genuinely looks like she’s waiting for the answer. How is that possible? I clearly need to do a better job of making sure she knows exactly what she means to me.
“You, babe,” I say, bringing our conjoined hands to my mouth and kissing hers. “I miss you most.”
“I was tempering my hopes just in?—”
“You don’t have to, not with me.” I lean over and kiss her once more. “My parents know I’m seeing you.”
“Ah.” She looks out past the porch. “Lauralee knows.”
“I think your dad does as well.” Her mouth is hanging wide open, implanting thoughts inappropriate for the situation.
“He hasn’t said anything to me.”
“He hinted at it when I came by yesterday.”
She takes a sobering breath and angles toward me on the swing. “So what you’re saying is that everyone knows, but we’re still pretending they don’t?”
“Seems that way. So what if we were a couple like any other instead of hiding?”
I see the joy in the blue of her eyes as potential fills them, but she bites her bottom lip and gnaws before licking it. “How do you feel about a hard launch at the Peach Festival?”
“Two days? That will give me time to talk to Beckett.” I look up at the corners of the cream-painted ceiling, analyzing the work required for this part of the house. When I look at her, I say, “And to get this house painted. Can I pick you up on Thursday at five?”
“I’d like that. The three of us can go together.”
“It’s a date.” A hard launch is the same as a soft launch when it comes to small towns. Go big or go home, as they say. I’m ready.
Shortly after she takes off, I get my son to help me clear off the porch of all the junk that’s collected over the years: an old bike tire that never got patched that might be from my brother’s bike back in high school, two stacks of cracked clay and ceramic pots never glued back together, and even an old stove that outdates me turned into another dumping spot. My dad helps me move that to a pile of garbage we need to deliver to the dump.
When it’s just me and the kid again, I spray the ceiling and upper corners and let him power wash the lower parts. “Hey buddy, I wanted to talk to you about Miss Christine.”
He only glances at me before aiming at a hole where a lizard just disappeared. “She said I can name the next colt that’s born on the farm.”
“Oh yeah? That’s a big responsibility.”
“She said I’m old enough.”
“You are. Almost seven in July.” I try for casual. I don’t need to make this bigger than it is. She is my girlfriend. I could just say it or do it the hard way, which is what I’m leaning toward right now. “I know you like her a lot.” He nods but pays no real mind to me as I nervously stumble through this awkward conversation. What am I looking to get from it? His approval like her dad’s? I could disregard Thomas Greene’s opinion, then work on winning him over in time. That’s not the case with Beckett. If he doesn’t want her in my life on a larger level, that will be a problem I’m not sure we’ll be able to solve.
Will I give up Pris if my son wants me to?
I don’t owe my happiness in exchange for his well-being. It’s not one or the other. They can exist in the same universe. But it will make it more challenging and probably put an end to moving to Texas. Not that I’m moving here only for her, but she’s a big part of the pull I’ve been feeling to be back here.
When he messes around with the washer, I say, “Let’s take a walk and dry off.”
He drops the wand like a hot potato. I shut it down, and we start for the pasture to lean against the rails under a big tree-shaded spot. He squats and draws in the dirt with a stick. “She’s nice to you.”
The stick stops, and he looks back up at me as if he knows where this is leading before continuing his art. He’s six. No way he knows. I’m not even sure he’ll understand after we discuss it.
He says, “She’s nice to you, too.”
“She is.”
Looking at me once more, he squints with the sun in his eyes. “She likes you.” He stands and drags the stick around on the ground a few times, causing a mini dust storm. “You like her.”
I try to tamp down the surprise in my tone when I ask, “Why do you say that?”
“Because of how you look at her.”
“How’s that, buddy?”
“She’s your secret ingredient.”
Damn. The kid has a way with words and gets straight to the point.
He comes to lean against my leg and looks up at me. “It’s okay if you want to marry her.” I’m glad he can’t feel the way my heart beats harder, but I wish he knew how he eased the clenching in my chest, the tightness with something newer. The secret ingredient.
Two days of painting, while covered in sweat, leaves me barely any time to finish the last side of the house before I need to shower to get to Rollingwood on time to pick up Pris. Add in the paint Beck sprayed on me—twice—and that shower took longer.
I’m plenty moody. My arms and back are sore. I swear that the hard spot at the back of my head is paint the shampoo did not remove. I haven’t had any updates from Anna on the promotion or Paris, for that matter.
Add in that Pris and I haven’t had time to reconnect in the loft since I’ve been here, and it makes me wonder why I took on this job. She was right. I could have paid someone to do this while I did what I really wanted to do. Her.
A fun night is what’s needed to get my mind off things with a guaranteed good time afterward. I practically warned her already when I told her not to wear underwear under the dress tonight. She likes to tease and bonus, she likes sex with me, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if that’s how she showed up anyway.
Seeing her look so goddamn beautiful helps.
We reach the fairgrounds just after six. Beck wants out, so Pris opens the door to free him. “Stay close,” she says like he’s already one of her own. She leaves the door propped open, but when she looks at me, she smiles. “You owe me a proper hello, cowboy.”
I reach over and rub her leg, then kiss her. “If by hello you mean fuck, I’m down.”
Under a lifted brow, she smirks. “Well, you’re not actually down, but I’m happy to let you go down later.”
“Promise?”
She starts laughing. “Promises. Promises.” She hops out of the truck, then leans over the seat, and says, “Ready to go break the one who’s holding you back?”
“Thank fuck your brother isn’t here.”
“He’s going to find out. You ready to face that music?”
I open my door, but before I get out, I take her in once more. Together for more than a month, and we’re ready to blow our cover. Seeing that angelic smile of hers, the one that shines only when she sees me, has me feeling invincible. “I’m ready to be with you, so I’ll do whatever it takes, babe.”
Walking around the back of the truck, Pris holds Beckett’s hand, so I take his other. “Ready to have some fun?”