Twenty-three
TWENTY-THREE
Bea
P raline and Sprinkles?
Thank goodness Tag waved us to the truck, because I couldn’t handle it. Immediate tears pooled in my eyes. Was there a chance those names were coincidental? Was he really naming horses after me? After us ? My mind wouldn’t let me accept it. It was too sweet and pure to be real.
His pets.
Big, worthless, pets costing him money.
I frantically sniffed as we approached the truck.
I had to be reading into things. Sprinkles had dots on her back. He might have named her that because she kind of looked sprinkled with dirt or something. That had to be it. No way he named his horses…after us .
Something in my head hit a brick wall. My heels dug in, refusing to draw obvious conclusions. There was no possible way he missed me as desperately as I’d missed him. If I let myself spiral that direction, I would get hurt. And it would be my own fault for making mountains out of molehills and reading between nonexistent lines.
Plus, he’s the one who stopped writing me. Not the other way around. If he cared enough to name a pair of horses after our friendship, why did he stop sending letters?
It felt like all the oxygen in the Texas atmosphere had drained. My breaths were light and heavy, his letters squeezing around my heart so tight I felt lightheaded.
I didn’t come to Meadowbrook because of…old feelings or anything like that, right?
No . I shook off the thought. Of course I didn’t.
When I was a teenager, I did maybe have a tiny little crush on him, but it wasn’t anything serious. Nothing Jackie liked to pretend it was. His words gave me butterflies and that was all . I might have checked the mail every day for a year after he stopped writing, but eventually, I made peace with the end of us. Our relationship was destined to peter off because nothing truly lasting could’ve bloomed from words on a page.
Even though I’d always cared for him as a friend, our letters changed in the final year. Our worlds were imploding. His and mine simultaneously. When Peter got his leukemia diagnosis, I sobbed over a letter. The pages puckered and the words smudged in the places I’d swiped off tears.
That letter changed the temperature of our relationship. From there on out, our communication became more and more vulnerable. More honest and heartfelt. More knowing and known. Maybe that was the biggest change of all. We stopped talking like we were trying to get to know each other.
Because we already did.
As Tag drove the truck toward the barn, I flattened my palm against my stomach, trying to quell the tripping sensation.
After he told me her name was Sprinkles, he had run his hand through his hair and gripped it, allowing his forearm to linger in front of his face. Like he wanted to hide his expression behind it. In fact, I’d seen him do the hair-swipe-arm-linger thing multiple times. Always when he seemed uncomfortable. Why would he be uncomfortable?
My heart came up with crazy ideas it couldn’t afford to entertain. If I got even a whiff of confirmation that he had cared about me like that , my heart was in serious trouble. The mere idea wrecked my insides. My stomach flipped like it was dropped from a great height into a bottomless pit. I took a steadying breath and glanced over at Tag with new eyes.
What if?
No.
I couldn’t go there.
Sprinkles was sprinkled, and that was that.
He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel as the truck bounced and crunched up the gravel drive. Stress tore me up from the inside, so I grabbed my grapes and ate the rest, desperate for something to distract myself. Tag sipped his now-cold tea, which had sloshed a little onto the console.
The light outside the windows had grown to a warm orange, darkness nowhere to be found. I allowed myself to study him for the remainder of our two minute drive. His hat was wedged into the dashboard, I think the rim hitting the headrest bothered him, because he never wore it while he drove. His curls were smashed against his head. They appeared the softest in the morning, untouched by the heat and sun and dust of the day. Today, his t-shirt was plain gray, the tiniest bit too snug. Like he’d bought it years ago and filled out or maybe it was left in the dryer too long.
I snapped my attention out the windshield as I realized I was ogling him. Yes, I wasn’t blind. I’d noticed how cute he was when we met. But now, for some reason, my heart raced as I took in his details. I felt like a flustered teen all over again, not sure what to do or say. The what ifs collided with my thoughts of him, and the blend was torturous but delightful, throwing my entire balance off-kilter.
My heart didn’t know what to do with the sudden change. Was I excited? Scared? Both?
Yes. Both .
We got out of the truck and went into the barn, where he threw feed into ten stalls. Belatedly, I realized I’d followed him from stall to stall without uttering a word, my hand resting over my wildly trashing heart. I was so deep in thought, I bumped into his shoulder when he stopped at the last stall door .
“Oh, sorry.” I shook off my stupor, forcing myself to pay attention and stop letting my imagination run amuck.
“Bea, I wanna introduce you to someone.” He opened the half-door, flipped a lightswitch, stepped inside, and murmured, “mornin’ big girl,” to a horse who gave a soft nicker of excitement. He held the door open for me. “Come in. Just watch your step. I gotta muck these once I turn ‘em out.”
I stepped in. The stall was huge, much bigger than the others. A ginormous head pushed up to mine, eager to socialize with the new girl. Instinctively, I pulled back. I wasn’t afraid, but it was hard not to react when every horse was so dang big. And this horse was not only tall, she was wide .
Tag flattened his palms against her shoulder and pushed her backwards. “Back up and let her meet you proper.” She responded by huffing a breath and turning a small circle, stopping on the opposite side of the stall. “She doesn’t like bein’ bossed.”
She was dark brown, like chocolate. Her mane and tail almost looked black. I was thankful for the overhead light that allowed me to see…tiny scars covering her flanks? Little flaws in her coat were slightly discolored and some patches of hair were missing altogether, the tough skin beneath visible from a distance.
Recognition clapped against my brain, knocking the breath out of me. “Tag?”
He watched me as he ran his fingers through her mane.
“Is this Tillie?”
He nodded, holding a smile back. Tag stood tall with his head up, obviously very proud to show her off.
“Tag.” I breathed in disbelief. “She is beautiful.”
“She is.”
“How old is she? I don’t know why, but I’m shocked you still have her.”
“She’s nineteen now.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize horses lived that long.”
“They can live thirty years.”
I approached her slowly. “Is she—still a little skittish?”
He breathed a laugh, a gentle smile breaking free. “Not in the slightest. She’s a completely different horse. All her trauma’s behind her. She’s one of my biggest babies now.”
I held out my hand to Tillie, and she pushed her nose into my palm, greeting me for a few seconds. Then I touched her face, working my way up between her eyes and gently touching her by her ears.
Tillie closed her eyes and sighed.
I moved around to her side, scrubbing my hands down her neck and touching her soft mane. I caught a faint soapy or maybe floral scent on her? She still smelled like a horse, but it was clear she was well taken care of. Maybe even pampered, given the size of the stall.
Tillie sighed and stepped sideways, almost knocking me off my feet.
“She’s tryin’ to get closer to you.”
“Really?”
“She likes you.”
“Awww, I like you too, Tillie. Can we be friends?” She sighed again, shifting on her hooves. I ran my hands down her side and stopped, looking to Tag. “She’s a big girl!”
“You really came at a great time.”
“Why’s that?”
“She’s about to foal. Hopefully in the next week or so.”
My voice raised in pitch. “She’s having a baby?!”
He nodded.
“No way! Tag! That’s amazing! Will we be able to watch?”
“As long as she doesn’t do it when our backs are turned. I’ve been checkin’ on her ten times a day.”
“When’s her due date?”
“Yesterday. But it’s normal for them to carry a few weeks longer.”
I refocused on Tillie. Tears stung my eyes and my voice squeezed. This gorgeous horse was one of Scribbs’ only friends. He had loved her so much. Loved her all the way to the peaceful horse she now was. I could only wonder how different Tag was because of her. The project of Tillie had given him a purpose as a teenager.
Seeing them together, as sweet friends, made the tears flow.
I ran my hands down her back to her flank, letting my fingers find the tiny scars that marred her color. There must’ve been two dozen or so. “Look at her, Tag.”
I glanced up at him. He was watching me, not Tillie.
“You gave her the best possible second chance.” I sniffed. “She’s happy, sweet, becoming a mama, having a full long life. It’s so beautiful…sorry, I don’t know why I’m emotional.”
If I wasn’t listening for it, I would’ve missed his quiet response. “Tillie’s stall is a safe place for that.”
I looked up, searching for his gaze, but he kept it down and away, his hand raising to swipe the back of his neck.
He was speaking from experience—I had no doubt. And again, I found myself craving deeper knowledge of him. What had these walls seen? Heard? Felt?
I dabbed tears off my eyelashes with my wrist. “This is so exciting.”
“It is. When I was a kid, we’d birthed calves every other day, but I’ve only seen a foalin’ once.”
We chatted for a few more minutes about the coming baby and lavished Tillie with attention. She rested her head on Tag’s shoulder, and he gave her a noisy kiss on the forehead before we left.