Chapter 6
Tagger
My life in New York is quiet.
Too quiet. And lonely.
But here, around the family table in my childhood home, it’s loud and filled with laughter. One story has led to another, memories shared, and I’ve not felt this content in longer than I can remember.
Seeing the smile on my son’s face has me reaching over and tickling his side to watch him crack up. He’s eating up all the attention he’s been getting, which I love for him. He’ll carry this visit with him for a long time. I hope forever.
Making these memories with him is the best thing I ever did.
I love my son, but Pris makes it hard to look away sometimes.
She was a cute kid when she was a teen—a tiara wrapped around the crown of her pink hat, long hair tousled from blowing in the wind, and a chip on her shoulder I think she inherited from her brothers—leaving dust clouds in her wake of her arrival by horse.
She loved to make an entrance and never cared if she got dirty doing it.
But damn, she’s gorgeous now, and a night-and-day difference from the women in New York.
Anna was a fish out of the water, or in terms of how she used it when we flew back after one night here—tuna was never going to pass for someone with caviar tastes.
I never looked at her the same. I couldn’t. That cut deep, and she knew it. An apology was never given, but she did demand one from me months later for dragging her to the middle of Nowheresville.
It was the beginning of the end of us. However, if I were honest, we always moved in different directions. It just took the switch to be tripped to realize it.
Seeing how Pris and my mom have bonded .
. . I don’t know what it is. It just feels good.
Natural. Nothing is forced between them.
Their eyes shine with their every delight.
They exchange glances, seeming to reference something they shared on the porch, and always start laughing right after.
It’s tempting to be let in on the inside joke, but I’m okay with them having their secrets.
Also, I’m not wholly convinced it’s not the wine kicking in after three glasses each.
Good thing I’m driving her home.
After dinner, my dad wants to take Beck out on the property for his last round of the night, and my mom practically shoves me out the door, promising to put Beck to bed. I give him a big hug and kiss his head. “Be good and get some sleep, okay?”
He grabs my face between his hands, and asks, “Will my face be rough like yours one day?”
Pretending to bite his hand sends him into another fit of giggles, but then I say, “Would it be so bad?”
“No. I want to be just like you, Daddy.”
“You already are, little buddy.” I hug him tight, then send him off to catch up with my dad.
Pris comes toward me after embracing my mom. The top of her dress is caught by the breeze we were lucky to get tonight. “Good night, Mary.”
My mom waves. “Night, Chrissy.”
Heading right for me, I ask, “Chrissy?” I cock a brow and grin. “I can’t have Pris, but she can call you Chrissy?” Shaking my head, I spin the key ring around my finger. “The wound deepens.”
She comes to where I’m leaning against the front of my dad’s truck, choosing to drive it over the rental car.
There’s a little wine in her steps, an easygoing nature in her body that’s loosened her shoulders and gives those hips some wiggle.
With a smile that could win the Peach Festival planted on her face, she laughs.
Stopping right in front of me like we’re on a friendlier basis, I’m greeted with a poke to the chest. “Mary asked, and you didn’t.”
“May I call you Pris, Pris?” I take her waggling finger and hold it between us.
Her eyes are glassy in the floodlight coming off the porch but have no trouble focusing on me—my eyes, mouth, and bite of her lips when her gaze goes lower.
“No.” The grin belies her response. But then she shakes her head.
“Pris is a name to make fun of me, but I will let you call me Chrissy if you want.”
“I’m partial to the original.”
Tugging her finger free, she says, “Christine it is for you, then.” She walks to the side of the truck and pulls the door open before I have a chance. “Come on, big boy. It’s time to get me to bed.”
If I weren’t already standing still, my feet would have come to a complete fucking stop after that request. I crack my neck to the side, then adjust the pants that have instantly tightened before I walk to the driver’s side and climb into the cab of the truck.
This is going to be a long ride to her house.
Letting my mind wander is not something I do. I’m a focused-on-the-prize type of guy. But damn, if she’s not putting images in my head that would lead me to take a detour with her that I shouldn’t.
Baylor.
That’s all I need to remind myself of my place in her life, and my thoughts clear.
I start the engine, keeping my eyes forward as I turn us around.
Pris keeps her cards tucked to her chest, making it nearly impossible to figure out her next move.
I swear she’s flirting one minute, then acting like Beck’s the only one who wanted her here the next, as if I was humoring her.
The truth is, I should have been.
I know the golden rule when it comes to her.
As tempting as she’s become, she’s more than off-limits.
She’s practically outlawed in this pocket of the state.
I’m sure some bill has been filed at the courthouse after passing a Greene County council vote that clearly states that Christine Greene is out-of-bounds when it comes to looking at her, much less thinking about getting her to bed. Even if it is at her invitation.
The road from my place to hers is lit by the moon and stars and the occasional headlight from a passing truck.
That’s left us in the glow of the radio and a few lights on the dashboard.
I steal some looks her way. She catches me once, but the others gave me enough time to take her in a bit more.
The delicate features of her face, the slightest slope of the tip of her nose, and lips that have me trying to remember the last time I kissed someone.
It’s not something I do anymore on dates.
Kissing has them thinking it’s more than it is, and that gets messy real fast. I avoid messy at all costs. It’s not worth the aftermath.
“What are you thinking about, Tag?”
I glance from the road to her eyes on me with her elbow on the door and head resting on her hand. So casual and comfortable. I feel it, too. There are no pretenses with her. She doesn’t give a shit if I made a hundred K that day or if my suit was tailor-made.
When I give myself time to think about it, no one has asked me about my thoughts or well-being in years besides my mom.
One thing I’m damn sure of is there’s no way in hell I’m telling her those soft pink lips of hers were consuming my thoughts when she busted me. “I forget nights are about the stars. I don’t see them enough back in Manhattan. There’s too much light pollution at all hours.”
She glances out the window as if reminded the stars are there whenever she needs.
“Like the sun guides my day, the stars keep me company at night. I leave the blinds open so I can always find them if I wake before the sun.” She laughs to herself. “I probably sound so country to you.”
“No. I always did the same when I was growing up here.” Wrenching my hands around the wheel, I look at her again. “Now I close every blind in the apartment with the push of a button. Life is weird.”
“I can’t say I wouldn’t mind a button some days.”
“Do you mind me asking you something, Pris?” I keep my eyes on the road ahead, giving her the freedom to say no.
“I’m an open book. Ask away.”
This time, I turn my attention to her long enough to see the slight upturn at the corners of her mouth. “I know why you came back, but why’d you stay? You had just graduated from college in Colorado, and Baylor said you had a job offer waiting in Denver.”
Her eyes connect with mine only momentarily before water fills the inside corners, and she looks away toward the window. “That’s not something I hide, but can we talk about it some other time?”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry if that’s a sore subject.”
“No,” she says, her hand resting on my forearm. “It’s okay. Really. I’ve been drinking and had too good of a time to drag up complicated answers.” Her hand slides over my arm, leaving a path of warmth where her fingers once were. “You can ask me something else. Anything you want to know?”
So much more than I should be allowed. “I’ve been assuming you’re single because I didn’t think to ask.”
“I’m so single.” She sits back, and with a dramatic swing of the back of her hand to her forehead, she adds, “Painfully so.” When her laughter fills the cab, I can’t stop myself from soaking it in just to feel the same.
I’m rarely wrong, but now she has me questioning what I was assuming all along about her dating life. Could she really be out here without any prospects? “Painfully so, huh? There’s no way you’re telling me you don’t have a regular roster of guys begging to take you out on a date.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence. I needed the ego boost.” Her hands follow along in the air in front of her with every word she speaks. “As for guys, sure, some stop by with flowers, acting like fools, thinking that’s what I’m into.”
I chuckle. Listening to her is highly entertaining. I'm not sure I ever heard those words used together quite like it. “So you’re not into fools? Or you don’t like flowers?”
“I love flowers.” Noted. Though I’m not sure why I need to know this tidbit of information. I’m not typically one to hold on to trivia that will never be used. “But flowers aren’t going to make me fall in love.”
I grin. “Oh yeah? What makes you fall in love with someone?”
“Their heart. Their intentions. The way . . .” she says as if she’s known the answer her whole life.
She’s fascinating, and when I glance over at her again, she’s staring at the stars through the windshield with a smile on her face. Beautiful. “The way?”
Turning to me, she continues to smile. “The way he looks in a cowboy hat.” She starts laughing. “Shallow, I know, but I was always a sucker for a hot cowboy.”
“You know what you like. Nothing wrong with that.”
She angles more in my direction. “What about you, Tagger? What tickles your fancy when it comes to women?”
“A great ass,” I reply with a smirk. “Unoriginal, I suppose. But you know what really attracts me to a woman?”
Her lips part as her chest fills with the deep breath she’s taking. With a slow blink, she whispers, “What?”
“A woman who knows who she is, what she wants, and has her own goals and ambitions.” I run my palm down the thigh of my pants. That was heavier than even I expected. It’s not how I want to end my night with her. “That, and a great ass.” I chuckle.
Her laughter trails through the window she’s cracked open. “Gotcha. Great ass, and a woman who can hold her own.” Leaning her head back against the headrest, she asks, “Is that what made you fall for Beckett’s mom?”
Anna. Not my choice of topics.
“Um.” I scrape my hand over my head. “That was different.”
“How so?”
The wind from my sails dies down, and with a rub of my temple, I sigh. “A lot of things led to our relationship.” I can see the curiosity in her eyes, but why drag down a good night? “If you don’t mind, that’s not something I want to talk about tonight.”
“I’m sorry.” The sincerity in her voice has me reaching over and rubbing her shoulder. I don’t know why I fucking do it, but now that I’m touching her—my palm against the soft fabric, the tips of my fingers against her soft skin—I don’t want to stop. “I didn’t mean to bring up—”
“No, it’s fine.” I return my hand to the steering wheel despite not wanting to. “I’m just enjoying my time with you too much to ruin it.”
She reaches over and nudges me with her hand. “Careful, Grange, or I’m going to get the wrong impression.”
“There could be worse things.” I drive over the cattle guard and onto the ranch. Time seems to have sped up on the way back, making me wish I’d driven a little slower.
“Is this flirting?” Her pretty smile returns. “I’m so out of practice I might not recognize the signs.”
“Trust me, babe, you’ll know when I’m flirting.” Okay, that was fucking flirting. I just flirted with Pris Greene.
Baylor’s little sister . . .
Who’s all grown up . . .
And looking at me like kissing might not be so out of the question . . .
Fuck.
Am I about to kiss her good night?
Do I want to kiss her? I kind of do . . .
“Oh my God!” she says, dropping her head behind a hand visoring her view.
“What is it?”
“My dad. I’m so embarrassed.” She sighs heavily, staring through the window as I pull up to the house. “He waited up.”
There goes that option.