Thirty-four
THIRTY-FOUR
Bea
T he day flew by in a whirl of excited activity. Tag floated through the feeding routine even though the horses were agitated about being fed three hours later than usual. He beamed ear to ear and was unusually chatty. Adorable, honestly. I ate it up.
The workload at the ranch wasn’t lighter than it had been any other day, but it felt lighter. We had flown through the day’s tasks, giggled and laughed like giddy teenagers, and our conversations had taken a turn for the silly. It was so fun.
I absolutely loved seeing him let loose. It was beautiful.
Driving back in from town, we crept up the gravel road in the Chevy truck, the bed laden with bags of heavy horse feed.
Tag spoke over the noise of crunching gravel. “I want you to name her.”
He was talking about the foal.
“What? No, I couldn’t do that.”
“Sure you could.”
“She’s your horse, Tag. Plus, I doubt I could come up with something before I leave. It will probably take me weeks.” That statement stung my insides a little more than I intended it to .
“Well, if you name her, I’ll have another horse that reminds me of you when you’re gone.”
I glanced at him. He bit his lower lip, suppressing a bigger smile.
“Tag.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
He shrugged and laughed like he had no clue what I was talking about. “Stop what?”
“Being sweet. Don’t be sweet.”
“You’d rather me be an ass?”
I barked a laugh. “No! But…you can’t…talk like you’ll miss me.”
“Why not?”
“Because…I might…” I struggled for words.
He looked at me, his head lulling a little like yes?
“I might…stay forever.”
He gave one loud huff of a laugh then side-eyed me.
“What?”
“I’m trying to imagine you as a cowgirl. If you stayed forever, you’d inevitably turn into one. Probably start spoutin’ country songs, too.”
“I hate country music.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re just not acclimated to country music. Any taste can be acquired.”
I couldn’t help but cackle at that. Then I shifted in my seat to face him, waving a hand down the front of me. “So can you see it? Me as a cowgirl?”
He hummed in thought, squinting.
Suddenly, he pulled his cowboy hat off his head and plopped it on mine. It was a little bit big and slipped down over my forehead. I pushed it up and flashed him a cheesy grin.
His curls beneath were matted and had the classic hat hair. Flat top, indented ring, and flipped-out ends. He nodded, looking back to the driveway. “I could see it. We might need to get you something other than a tennis outfit though.” He glanced down at my white, now stained, skirt.
“No kidding. I did not arrive ready to work on a ranch. Or stay for more than a few days for that matter.”
“So, if you turned cowgirl, what would you miss? About home?”
We talked like it was a joke, but the gravity of the question was real. To me, anyway. Had he been thinking about the day I would leave? I had. And I dreaded it.
“Being near civilization. My family, but that one’s a no brainer. The weather for sure. It’s so hot here. If I stayed, we’d have to build a pool so I could sit out?—”
Tag slammed on the breaks so hard, I almost hit the dashboard.
“What?!” I shrieked.
Tag stared straight out the windshield. “I just remembered something.”
“ What?! ”
I thought it was something bad, but when he turned to me the glimmer in his eyes was undeniable.
Mischief .
He looked like a little boy about to divulge a scandalous plan.
“I made you a promise.”
I made an uhh sound as the truck idled below us.
His resolve strengthened and he sat up straighter, leaning forward with excitement, becoming animated. “I made you a promise years ago. I almost forgot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I said if you ever came back to the ranch, you were swimmin’ with me.”
My heart hit my Converse shoes. “Where?”
He nodded out my window and my gaze followed his lead. Tag had us stopped right in front of the disgusting, stagnant pond you could smell when you walked by. A small boat dock led into the pond. At one point, I’m sure it was pretty, but now underbrush surrounded it. The only way in was the dock.
It wasn’t far from the driveway, a stone’s throw.
If he had any notion that we? —
Tag unclipped his seatbelt.
Panic gripped my throat. “ What are you doing?”
“Swimmin’.”
“Cool. Have fun.”
“Swimmin’ with you . Right here and now.”
“Are you insane? I’m not getting in that pond.”
His eyes brightened with a hint of troublemaker. “We’ll see about that.”
Before I could even react, Tag had thrown open his door, charged around the truck, and jerked open mine.
“Don't you dare!” I screamed.
My hands connected with his firm chest, giving him a useless push. Undeterred, he leaned into the car and clicked my seatbelt. I shrieked a laugh as his hands slipped around me. One behind my back, the other under my thighs.
Like a cat being forced into the water, I clawed at anything and everything, hissing and spitting fire. “You’re”—I wheezed, laughing yet pissed off—“a jerk!”
He heaved me up and onto his shoulder like a fireman and his cowboy hat fell off my head and landed on the gravel. “This’ll be good for ya.” His laughter mixed with my own as he marched off the driveway. The seatbelt extended to maximum length, my hands grasping it for dear life.
Tag’s full laugh was hearty, lifting into the evening air. He gave one sharp tug and the seatbelt snapped back into the truck. “Accept it.”
“Samuel Taggart, put me down right now. I will get revenge!”
I beat his back with my fists and wildly kicked my feet. His hands tightened, compensating for my flailing, as he spoke through short bursts of laughter. “I think—I think I’ll take my—chances.”
“It’ll be hell! I swear it!” I punctuated my threat with a sharp punch to the small of his back.
“Ouch! My kidney!”
Tag could barely walk he was laughing so hard. My laugh sounded like an injured moan because his shoulder drove into my gut.
I whimpered. “You know how I feel about murky water! ”
“You love it.”
“I can’t believe you would do this to me.”
“I have to. I’m a man of my word.”
His boots made contact with the rickety dock, and it dodged and lurched beneath us as he walked. I looked down past Tag’s backside and got to see the ancient planks and a few bugs sunbathing on them. I wouldn’t live through this. My heart would stop before it ended.
And gosh, the smell. Oh, the smell. I gagged.
I made one last attempt to escape, and Tag’s strong arms squeezed the back of my thighs and my waist. He stood, stalling at the end of the dock.
Fully expecting the stinky brown water to splash around my body at any second, I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to him for dear life.
But then, he shifted and eased me onto the dock, sliding me down the front of his body with gentle hands. They traveled from the back of my thighs to my waist, never losing contact.
When my feet were firmly planted on the wood below us, Tag kept my body flush with his, but leaned down to look straight into my eyes.
Our breaths were heavy, struggle-laden. His gray eyes danced. I found myself looking at the hazel spot, which appeared unnaturally green, reflecting the vibrant foliage around the pond.
His arms locked around me. Someone looking at us from a distance, would think we were about to kiss.
The realization sent a tremble through my body. I didn’t think he was going to kiss me, but my gracious, I wanted him to. I had to remind myself to gaze in his eyes and not look too hungry.
His voice was a breathy whisper. “Swim with me.”
“Tag—”
“Teach me the color game.”
I laughed at that even as my eyes prickled with heat. I swore the man could remember everything I ever wrote him. I’d told him about all the silly games my family played in our neighborhood pool as kids.
“The color game? Seriously?”
“Come on. Play with me.”
Play .
The word was the kill shot in my determination. Tag didn’t play—not as a kid, not as an adult. But here he was, wild-eyed and ready for an adventure.
Tag’s right hand flexed on my hip then moved, possessively, to the small of my back. His left lifted to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as his gaze roamed my face. Heat stoked low in my belly, a growing inferno.
“Let’s make good memories, Bea.” His voice was a gentle whisper. “Memories together.”
My heart slowly rolled through my ribcage.
Well, put like that…
He let go of me so suddenly, my footing faltered. He fisted the hem of his shirt and jerked it over his head. It landed on the dock in a heap.
My eyes widened and he noticed. A grin lifted his cheeks.
Mischief .
My heart beat wildly as I tried to figure out what to do. What was I even wearing?
I looked down. The white skirt, a tank top. And underneath? Blank, functional, matching bra and panties—thank goodness. I watched as he unzipped his jeans and kicked them off, the hem of one pant leg skimming the top of the water before landing in the clothes pile.
Ignoring the reasons I shouldn’t, I added my tank top.
“You ready?” He asked.
“Not yet.” Pretending like nerves weren't wracking through my body, I shimmied out of the tennis skirt and added it to the pile, too. Just like a bikini. I wore those all the time. No big deal, right? I glanced at Tag, wondering what he was thinking of my gutsy swim attire.
His eyes raked down my body, stirring need in me. He didn't even try to pretend like he wasn't looking. A heavy swallow pulled at his throat. I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted to not swim in the pond.
My mouth dried as Tag stepped close again. He raised my chin to look into his eyes. His whisper was breathy, husky, and warm against my face. “This, Bea Thompson…is for the molasses.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but a scream came out instead .
Because the jerk pushed me.
Water, thick with only God knows what and uncomfortably warm, enfolded me. A splash sounded in the water as I popped up for air.
Tag let out an excited whoop as his head came up next to mine.
I gagged. “Oh my gosh , it smells even worse down here.” I stretched out my toes to find the bottom and shrieked in terror. My hands flew to Tag’s shoulders, and I attempted to climb him like a tree.
He cackled. “Aw. You don’t like the mud?”
I braced my toes on the back of his calf muscles and held my upper half out of the water via his shoulders. “Are you sure that’s mud? It’s squishy and disgusting.”
“Actually, no. Could be cow shit.”
“ Cow shit?! ”
He leaned back in laughter, and I clung to him even tighter. “I’m messin’ with you. Of course it’s mud. Meadowbrook hasn’t had cows in over a decade.”
“Okay.” I whimpered.
His hands slipped around the back of my knees and pulled, conveniently situating me into a piggyback position. This I could live with. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and put my head against his, relishing in his wet curls against my cheek.
“Cooper and I scooped mud from the bottom of this pond one year and tried to paint the dock with it.”
“Ew.”
“Pretty fun. Alright get off and teach me the color game.”
“You sound five.”
“Pretend I’m five.”
I laughed. “Heck no, we’re playing the advanced version.”
He chuckled and tossed me off his back into the water. Sputtering, I came up and wiped the water out of my face. Dipping one toe into the sediment, I gagged again but found balance half jumping, half treading water. “Okay, to play the color game, you have to hold the other person and pick a color in your head. The other person has to guess it. If they guess wrong, you dunk them into the water. If they guess right, you turn them backwards in a flip.”
His brows furrowed as he tried to picture it.
“Here, I’ll be it first.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him to me. “I have to cradle you.”
“Like a baby?”
“Yes. Get your feet up here.”
He sidled close to me, throwing his arm around my neck and lifting his feet to my arms. “You sure you can hold me?”
“The water makes it easy.” I succumbed to the squishing between my toes in order to keep him steady. I spoke through a grimace. “Okay, I have a color in my head.”
“And I have to guess?”
I nodded. The water darkened his hair and beads stood on his face. The position brought the rest of his body close to the surface of the water. If I looked, he’d see me looking, so I gazed at his eyes, enjoying his relaxed and playful expression.
“Your favorite. Pink.”
“Nope.” Struggling and wheezing for dramatic effect, I tipped him backward until the murky water rushed over his face.
When I pulled him up, he choked a laugh and brushed the water out of his eyes. “I get how this works now.”
“Keep going. You got a lot of colors to guess.”
“Is it just basic colors?”
“This round is.”
“Alright. Green.”
I dunked Tag five times. But when he said white I threw his legs over his head, turning him backward out of my arms. That was my intent anyway. Really it ended up being more a sideways lob.
Then it was my turn. His arms tucking me close felt like home.
A long while later, our laughter had turned downright hysterical. Our rounds of the color game had reached ludicrous levels, with 90s Crayola colors like periwinkle and tickle-me-pink getting the flip. We’d moved to challenges like who could hold their breath the longest then did jumps off the dock. Finally, I glanced upward. The circle of sky above us was lopsided, the light melting into the west. “How long have we been out here?”
Tag tipped his wrist. “An hour.”
“We gotta get back.”
He shrugged.
“You don’t think so?”
He shook his head. “I don’t wanna rush.” His gaze darted past me and he hissed a cuss word. “Don’t move.”
Obediently, I froze, his tone sending fear through my veins.
He lifted a finger to his lips and mouthed snake.
It took everything in me not to scream right then and there. My hands instinctively traveled under the surface of the water, grasping at him. Tag’s hands clasped around mine, pulling me closer, so slowly he hardly even disturbed the surface of the water.
I didn’t turn around. I whispered, my voice nearly drowned by the symphony of crickets, “Is it poisonous?”
He shamelessly pulled me right up to him. His voice was a low hum. “Not venomous but they do bite.”
I nodded.
“Just be still. It’ll go.”
I nodded again.
A silent thirty seconds passed, during which we both closed the distance between each other. At first, I thought it was me just being desperate and clingy. But then I felt him. His hands tugged me closer, and his face dropped to my hair—his cheek against my head.
Then another silent thirty seconds. And maybe another.
Time started blurring, warping, as I stood close enough to feel his chest rising and falling against my own. The mud, the warmth, the snake—it all faded. Tears stung my eyes as his hands dropped to my waist. It felt so good to be close to him.
Unable to stop my needy arms, I slid them around his torso and settled my head on his shoulder. Was it possible to pass this off as needing protection from the snake?
I doubted it, but I didn’t care.
My voice scraped against the emotions in my throat. “Is it gone?”
He nodded. “It’s gone. ”
Ten more seconds passed before Tag’s arms loosened and he said, “You’re right. We should probably get movin’.”
The water filling the widening space between us felt like a gulf, vast and endless.
We heaved ourselves out via the creaking deck, our dripping bodies leaving huge dark spots on the sun-bleached wood. Tag gathered up our clothes and handed me my shirt and skirt as he pulled his jeans over his wet boxers. I thought I’d let myself air dry a little before putting my shirt on. I waited as Tag struggled into his pants with a clumsy laugh.
When Tag said we’d make memories, he wasn’t kidding. I would never in a thousand years forget this. Tears pricked my eyes yet again as I thought about the timeline looming before me. Jesse and Cade were due back tomorrow morning, and I’d be heading back to Colorado soon.
I didn't want to think about it. The idea made my stomach hurt.
Scribbs was the boy of my childhood, and Tag was the man I wanted for my future. Leaving him would be so painful. I had to soak up every moment with him. Drink every minute like it was the last drop of water on earth.
After he buckled his pants, I grabbed his arm, pulling him toward me. Words hurt my chest. “Wait.”
His gray eyes searched mine, his expression sobering.
I directed him to stand in front of me. Brushing a trickle of water off his pec, I whispered. “This memory…” The words faded, feeling grossly inadequate.
“Worth it?” A gentle smile touched his cheeks as he swiped a strand of hair on my forehead.
I nodded then looked up into those beautiful, complicated irises. I wanted to know him, understand him, see the things he’d seen, and think his thoughts. I moved my index finger over his stubbled jaw. Then the tips of my fingers followed the line of his brow down to his cheek bones. I slipped my other hand around the side of his jaw and held him there, letting my thumbs be rebellious and gingerly trace the slope of his bottom lip.
His breath came out in a rush, and he pressed his forehead against mine, catching my hands and holding them still. “What’re you doin’, Bea?”
“Memorizing you.”
“Why?”
“You said we’d make memories.” I wriggled my hands free and skimmed his neck, letting my fingers sink into his hair. “And of all the things I want to remember in this moment, it’s you.”
He swallowed, his eyes flicking to my lips. His hands settled on my hips, fingers grazing my bare skin and bringing every nerve ending to life. I sucked in a frantic lungful of air as his left thumb followed the curve of my waist.
When I found my voice, I whispered, breathless. “Maybe when I’m old and gray, I won’t remember the squishy mud or any of the other things in this disgusting pond”—his chest heaved as I continued—“but I’m going to remember you, Samuel Taggart. And the way you made me feel in this moment. The way you’ve always made me feel.”
Tag gazed at my mouth now, his lips slightly parted. “And how—do I make you feel?”
I hung my weight on his neck, pulling him down to whisper over his lips, “Like I’m one second away from losing my heart forever.”
“Bea.”
My name in his mouth, spoken so gently, so tenderly was my undoing. He held me with need. He wanted me, too.
But he reared back, snapping to attention. I stumbled forward and he steadied me by the elbows with a murmured sorry . Stuck in a fog, in a funk, it took me a moment to register what was happening.
A truck pulled up the gravel drive.
We were so engrossed in the moment, we didn’t notice the truck until it was slowing down to park behind the Chevrolet.
“Oh no . ” Tag ran a frustrated hand through his dripping hair. “Put them on.”
“What? What on?”
“Your clothes. ”
The edge of urgency in his voice had me scrambling to open my tank top, momentarily confusing the arm and head holes. I felt a little dizzy and disoriented, too, oddly fumbling with the fabric a few beats longer than I should have. It was probably just intense excitement doing a number on my nervous system. Or maybe it was just the stupid headache that started back up.
“Put them on. Hurry up.”
I obeyed, my pulse jumping speeds for new reasons. Tag intentionally stepped between me and the opening truck door, blocking my vision. What was happening? Why did he suddenly seem jumpy?
“Who—who is that?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “It’s Cooper.”