Twenty-eight
TWENTY-EIGHT
Bea
I stood at the sink and downed a glass of ice water.
Maybe I wasn’t as stubborn as I thought. Somehow Tag had convinced me to take a nap after lunch because my head had bobbed forward while we ate our sandwiches. I promised I’d only be an hour, but of course, I slept through my alarm. Now here I was, almost three hours later, emerging from hibernation—thirsty and disheveled.
Once hydrated, I charged out to the barn.
Tag had Sawyer clipped in and sat on a bucket, picking his hooves. His back was facing me.
I opened my mouth, but the greeting died on my lips when I noticed the phone wedged between Tag’s shoulder and ear.
I froze. He was talking about me.
“The one I wrote letters to back in the day. You remember, right?”
My feet felt cemented to the dirt floor. I couldn’t move.
“Yeah, but we were kids. It was just somethin’ I did to pass the time, I suppose. It didn’t mean…what?” He gave a loud sigh of annoyance. “I swear, this is why I can’t tell you stuff. Ever since you and Jack got your happily ever after, you’ve been all over me about this.” He wa ited. “I promise you it’s not what you’re thinkin’. She’s more like an employee right now than a friend.”
An employee?
It was true, I did a lot of employee-like duties and yes, he did in fact cut me a paycheck on payday, despite my profuse protesting, but I would definitely call Samuel Taggart my friend. Not my boss . Boss-employee wasn’t the vibe we had at all. Why would he even say that?
And who was he talking to?
He stood up. I dashed beyond the wall of the corridor and pressed myself against the aged wood of the barn wall. I heard Tag drag the bucket to Sawyer’s other side. He sighed again, “Randi, come on.”
Randi, his cousin.
There was a long silence as he listened to her.
“She’s nice, yeah, a little underfoot though, I guess.”
Underfoot?
Another long pause.
“How many times do we have to have this conversation? You know how I feel about datin’. If I even had a type, she wouldn’t be it.”
Type. The word felt like a blow to my ribcage, and I struggled to pull in a breath. Tag and I weren’t an item. So it shouldn’t have hurt me to hear him say I wasn’t his type. But my gosh, every hour that went by with him, I wanted to be an item.
His voice lowered again, and I felt myself instinctively leaning forward to hear better. His voice was agitated, like he was being poked toward rage. “Why not? Well, for starters she’s a guitarist and singer, who hates country music by the way, we have nothing in common. She’s stubborn, loves to talk, and asks a thousand questions every second.” He sighed again, his tone agitated. “I mean, she’s…she’s okay.”
Okay? What does that mean?
His heavy footsteps led away from me, and I heard him slam something down on the tack table. “Alright, fine! I don’t think she’s very pretty. You happy? Damn. ”
I pushed off the wall, a surge of panic running through me.
In my mind, Tag was a ten. A freaking ten .
Why had I let my heart play with the idea of something more with him? Why?
An abrupt and unexpected cry traveled up from my heart, and I squeaked. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I darted for the entrance of the barn, desperate to get somewhere private so I could sob.
“Bea!”
Footsteps sounded behind me. I picked up my pace to the house, nearly running.
“Bea! Wait!”
I didn’t stop, didn’t look back. Honestly, I wouldn’t look back until I got to Denver International Airport. Why bother staying here if I was underfoot ?
His hand clasped around my upper arm, stopping me. “Hang on a sec.” His hand gently turned me toward him. Then he saw the tears. His shoulders fell and his head tipped forward on an exhale. “Dammit, Bea. I had no idea you were…how long were you in the barn?”
I huffed and blinked, sending a few more torrents down my cheeks. I tried to pull away, but he held me steady.
“No, you ain’t walkin’ away right now.”
I finally grabbed hold of rage. “Why? I thought I was underfoot .”
“I didn’t mean?—”
I held up a hand to stop him. “No, it’s fine! You don’t owe me a single explanation.” I jerked my arm out of his hand and marched through the barnyard.
He stepped in front of me, and I skidded to a stop to keep from smacking against his chest. “Listen to me?—”
“It’s fine. I’m fine .”
“For cryin’ out loud, stop?—”
I tried to navigate around him, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and held me in place. “You aren’t walkin’ away until I’ve said something.”
I squirmed but he held me firmer. “You don’t need to say anything!”
“Yes, I do.” His voice was hot over my ear. “I was just sayin’ stuff to get her off my back, alright? ”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s a convenient cop out. But okay.”
I needed to stop before I embarrassed myself. Tag and I weren’t a thing. For some reason, it felt like we were, but we weren’t. And it was my own fault for forgetting that. For all I knew, Tag was simply tolerating me during my stay at Meadowbrook. Just because we had history and chemistry didn’t mean he automatically wanted me.
But all the reasoning in the world couldn’t calm me.
“I’m not copping out, Bea.”
“So you lie to your cousin?” I pushed him away, and he let me go. “I thought you guys were close. People who love each other shouldn’t lie.”
“I wasn’t lying, I was just?—”
“Just what?”
He lifted his hat, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “I?—”
“Have you ever lied to me?”
He said nothing.
“Wow.” I turned on my heel to walk away again.
“So, that’s how it’s gonna be? We’re not even gonna talk like adults?”
“I’m not interested in talking with someone who lies, Tag!”
“I don’t—I’m not a liar. You’re takin’ this to the extreme.”
I spun and faced him, hands on my hips. “Okay then. Out with the truth right here and now.”
His jaw ticked as he swallowed. He hesitated a few long seconds. His voice was almost a growl. “Fine. The truth.”
I folded my arms over my chest, waiting.
“Randi is upset with me for not”—he shook his head, searching for the right word—“mingling, I guess, with other singles. She wants me to be romantically…involved with someone ‘cause she feels guilty I’m alone all the time. If I told her the truth about you, she’d never stop pesterin’ me. And I don’t want her gettin’ any wild ideas.”
“So what’s the truth? Because if that ”—I waved toward the barn—“is your honest take on me, please say it to my face so I can get my ass out of Texas and stop making a fool of myself.”
He took a deep breath and his hands came to his hips, his expanded frame doing nothing but making me more angry. His strong stance only lasted a couple of seconds before he lifted his hat again and that’s when I noticed he had started to tremble. But he still didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t know where to start.
“Start with our letters. Were you truly just passing the time?”
“No.” His neck moved with a firm swallow. “Were you?”
“No.” I moved us to the next point. “Am I your employee or your friend?”
His shoulders slacked like he’d forgotten he’d said that. “Friend.”
“Does my talking or question asking frustrate you?”
Every question I asked made him look more white, a little sicker than before. “Not in the slightest. I…” He stopped.
“Finish.”
“I love your company.”
My heart leapt.
His eyes.
Pulled down in the corners, shimmering with a tiny sheen of moisture. He was telling the truth and my breath tumbled out at the realization.
“Am I underfoot?”
“Yes.”
My heart fell. “Oh.”
“But I love it.”
I squeaked. “You love it?”
“I’ve never had more fun teachin’ someone about the ranch. You’re funny and blunt and hard workin’. It’s gonna be…quiet around this place when you leave.”
Hope thrummed in my chest. I scolded it—premature.
A few beats of silence passed as I let his words sink in.
He confessed again, his voice deepening in its tenderness. “I told her you weren’t pretty.” He let the sentence hang in the air between us. He didn’t elaborate because he didn’t need to. The truth was spoken in the caress and heat of his gaze and in the way it quickly traveled across me.
I swallowed hard as heat spread into my belly.
He continued, “I also told her you aren’t my type, but that’s ‘cause I have zero intentions of ever gettin’ involved with someone and settlin’ down. Family life isn’t for me. I won’t ever be more for anyone. And that’s got nothin’ to do with you bein’ good enough. You are more than good enough and some man some day is gonna be blessed to have you.” His jaw clenched when he finished.
It felt like someone pushed my heart off a cliff. It flopped into my stomach as a sick feeling curled around my throat.
Why ?
The word reverberated off the walls of my mind—deafening.
Why would Tag not want…love?
My heart shattered for him.
And also for myself. Because at that moment, as clear as I’ve ever known anything before, I knew my own truth.
I wanted to love Tag.
And maybe I already did. Or maybe I always had and never stopped.
His eyes roamed my face. His expression was so full of pain I wanted to cry.
I took a steadying breath. “Last question. Why did you really stop writing me?”
He broke eye contact and gave a shaky exhale. “Bea. It’s so?—”
“I deserve to know why I lost my best friend.”
He blurted, “Age.”
“Age?”
“Yes, age. Bea, you were a little girl.” He shook his head. “I never should’ve written you that first letter.”
“Tag—”
“I’m not tryin’ to hurt you. But I do have regrets. I was so desperate to connect with someone that I was willin’ to do something inappropriate?—”
“Nothing about our letters was inappropriate.”
“And that’s why I never told you. ‘Cause I knew you’d disagree.”
“They weren’t!”
“Yeah, they were. I was sharin’ things with you I had no business sharin’ with a child .”
I sputtered, “What—that you were abused?” The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. “I knew what abuse and neglect were.”
“But I shouldn’t have been sharin’ all that with you . We were nineteen and fifteen at the end of it all . You don’t see a problem with that?”
“If they were love notes, maybe.”
“Answer this question. Did you ever tell your parents about me?”
I shifted. He had me cornered. “No.”
“Why?”
“They would’ve freaked out.”
“Case and point. It was wrong. From the very first letter, it was wrong.”
“I still don’t fully agree. You were a kid, too. We were friends.”
Even as I said the word, I knew it wasn’t true. I couldn’t speak for Tag, but I knew I fell for my penpal. I’d told myself over and over that I just admired him, but was there ever a day his letters didn’t send butterflies roaring through my belly?
Friends.
The mere idea grew stale.
I chanced a glance at Tag and his gaze on me was hot and convicting. A beat of knowing passed between us.
He asked, his voice a rasp, “Friends?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Admitting to feelings for him then would be as vulnerable as admitting to feelings for him now. And he just said he had no intentions toward me. So why risk my heart? A long silence went by as sticky embarrassment washed over my face. “Of course we were friends .”
“Listen, writin’ that final letter…was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. It’ll always be one of my worst memories. It almost killed me. But I had to do the right thing.”
“Why didn’t you stop when you turned eighteen then? Why wait so long if it was truly about our age gap?”
He studied me for a second then tore his eyes away. He sighed and his gaze roamed into the distance like I’d just opened another big can of worms. “I made excuses, alright? Your letters felt like light and hope. And you already know my entire life has been pretty short in both those areas. Even the stories about your family. Sometimes, I read them and felt like I was at the dinner table with y’all. When in reality, I was sittin’ alone with a frozen meal again. Bea, everything about you is light and hope. Your letters were a door to a different world, and I was desperate for a different world. I guess that desperation made me selfish, ‘cause I thought, if we kept our relationship platonic, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But it was a big deal because”—he paused, looking for words—“our letters changed. And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He growled then gave a frustrated laugh. “You’re gonna make me spell out every damn thing, aren’t you?”
I didn’t respond.
He shifted in agitation. “They just… changed. ”
I gave him a blank look. I was pretty sure I knew what he was getting at, but yes, I was going to make him spell out every damn thing.
“We weren’t gonna be able to keep things platonic. We were already movin’ out of the friend zone. We stopped sharin’ facts about our lives and worlds and started sharin’ our hearts and desires for the future. That’s a far cry from platonic when you’re a full grown man talkin’ to a minor.”
“You were hardly a man.”
He huffed. “Although I happen to agree with you, the law’s opinion is the one that matters.”
I had a very hard time admitting that what we did—those comforting, wonderful pages—were wrong. How could they be? They were so pure and beautiful. I said, “We still never shared any…feelings.”
“But we had them. And that’s enough.”
I drew myself a little higher. “That’s quite the assumption.”
Tag breathed a laugh. “Alright.”
“What?”
“Bea, we both did. Don’t even try to act like you didn’t. Look, I’m standin’ here makin’ a fool of myself. Don’t require my honesty if you can’t even be honest yourself.”
“Fine. I had…a crush on you. ”
“A crush.” He shook his head.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I think we were both beyond crushes.”
“What?” I barked a laugh. “You think we were…falling in love or something?”
Color touched his neck and cheeks, but he powered on. “You tried to get us to talk on the phone. You made me promise to come to Peter’s funeral if he died. We sent gifts. Our spare time belonged to letter writing. We told each other everything.We went straight from friends to a hell of a lot more than friends, Bea.”
I nodded. He was right, of course.
“That’s why I stopped.”
I thought I said “okay” but my own voice was lost to me. The racket in my brain drowned it out.
He stepped closer, now within arm’s reach of me. “All these years, I’ve wondered how much I hurt you.”
I looked down, my eyes immediately storming with a fresh round of tears. I had tried as hard as I could to understand. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I told myself we both needed to grow up and move on. But he did hurt me. I missed him more than words could possibly begin to describe. I checked the mail every day for a year. A whole year of waiting.
His hand came to my face and tipped it up. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Bea.”
I nodded, incapable of speech as his thumb brushed over a tear on my cheek. His eyes—did they mist over, or was it just my own tears making me see things?
“I’ve missed you ever since.” His chest heaved with shallow, trembling breaths.
Tag held his left hand flat between us, and I slipped my palm over his. His fingers clasped around mine as his thumb glided over the edge of my fretting calluses. Then he pulled me straight into his chest. His arms roped around my torso, wrapping me in a tight, full-body hug. In order to hug him back, I had no choice but to stretch out against him and loop my arms around his neck.
A thrill ran through me, making my knees feel wobbly .
His cheek pressed against my temple and his open hands pressed into my back. Every sensation blended into delightful torture. The crushing weight of this hug—a decade overdue. The stubble on his face brushing my skin. The confusing feelings storming through my heart. All of it coiled around my lungs until I forgot how to breathe. My breath hit his collarbone in uneven puffs.
His voice took on new resolve as he said again, emphatically. “I’ve missed you, Bea.”
“I’ve missed you too. So much.”
This hug. Oh, this hug. I could wrap myself in it for hours. I squeezed him tighter as a question rolled through my brain. If we were more then , what were we now ?
His voice dropped to a tender whisper over my ear. “I’m sorry for not bein’ honest.”
“I understand why you couldn’t tell me some of that. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
“Then I forgive you.”
He shifted, pulling me closer if it was even possible.
Do friends hug like this?
The way we were pressing into each other was not friendship. I’d never had a friend or seen a friend hug the opposite sex like this. My arms squeezed, and a few fingers found the curls sticking out from the base of his hat. I dragged my fingers over the back of his neck. His sudden exhale on my forehead confirmed he liked the way I was touching him. The response in my body felt like an electric current.
He dipped his head lower. We were almost cheek to cheek, and I couldn’t breathe.
Do friends want to kiss?
Because all I could think about was him turning his head, lips finding mine. What would they feel like? As tender as I’d always envisioned? Would he hold me? Would our first kiss be gentle and sweet or hungry and devouring?
My footing faltered and suddenly Tag was supporting my weight. I pushed off his chest and space materialized between us. “Sorry.” I murmured. I adjusted my shirt in an attempt to look busy and give my eyes something to look at besides Tag. I stole a glance at this face. Then did a double-take.
His eyes were hooded, face flushed. And he was looking at…
My mouth.
The conversation. The hug. The indirect confessions of feelings. I didn’t know what just happened, but not one single second of it felt platonic .
I couldn’t reconcile Tag’s claim with the way he was looking at me.
“I won’t ever be more for anyone.”
How could that even be true? Scribbs had told me repeatedly in our letters that he wanted to have a family like mine someday. Big family, full table. Laughter, game nights, never a dull moment. He even said the mishaps and siblings’ brawls sounded like magic to him.
What changed?
He backed away. “I need to, uh, get back at it. Sawyer’s still clipped in.”
“Okay.” My voice felt distant. The only present reality was my body and the very real way Tag’s had affected it. “I got…stuff to do.”
It took me a full thirty minutes of fluttering from room to room in the big house for me to sheepishly return to his side. We finished out the day in silence.
I turned my feelings inside and out, inspecting them over and over again. Lost in my thoughts, lost in my memories, lost in the palpable tension between us.
He had to be doing the same.