Thirty-three
THIRTY-THREE
Bea
A storm pulled me from sleep. Rain beat against my window and thunder occasionally rattled it. Light flashed through the blinds. I stared at the overhead fan, my thoughts whirring like the blades.
Waking or sleeping, my thoughts were of Tag. He was the rhythm in my heart and mind. My feelings were real, strong, and pervasive. Three nights ago, we held each other in the semi then carried on as if nothing had happened.
But, for me, my entire life was changing.
One day, the walls around him would fall—leaving us bare, raw, and unashamed. I yearned for that moment and yearned for him.
Deep in my spirit, I couldn’t help but feel like he was why I was here. Why else would the universe bring me to the barnyard when his boot fell? Or bring me back years later?
I was meant to love him.
And I did. I did so much I could scarcely breathe.
I tossed and turned as the thunder faded into the distance. But I couldn’t go back to sleep. The feelings ravaging my heart brought up emotions I couldn’t express without …
Without music.
For the first time in ages, my fingers itched for Glory.
I imagined my fingers scaling her neck and remembered the hum of vibrations pressing into my chest. The sweet relief my heart knew when it played, unhindered, a new tune. One created on the fly.
My emotions the only director.
My whim the only writer.
I was bursting with a new song. A melody for Tag wreaked havoc in my chest.
I couldn’t draw a breath. The need to play pressed into my rib cage until I was almost gasping for release. Joy and excitement filled me even as the tears dripped from my chin. Before I’d even made a solid plan, my bare feet slipped out of the sheets and onto the cool hardwood floor. My hands relished in the feel of the glossy black case, sliding to the buckles in the darkness. They clicked simultaneously and the lid lifted. The wood and metallic smell filled my senses.
Glory .
A small part of me felt goofy for the giddy excitement running through my veins. It was like seeing an old friend—one you worried you’d never see again.
The strings squeaked as I slipped my fingers around her neck and lifted the other half of my soul out of the velvet. Like someone who’d completely lost their mind, I hugged her. Wrapped my arms around the instrument and sniffled.
Where would I play? I didn’t want to wake Tag.
I thought for a few long moments before deciding to sneak onto the porch. I’d go pickless—just fingers. It wouldn’t be loud.
A few moments later, the humid night curled around me. My silk pajamas caught the damp air and clung to my skin and the seat of my pants soaked in water from the porch swing. But I didn’t care. My heart thumped with wild need.
When I laid Glory across my lap, I took a long, deep, cleansing breath. My hands positioning on and over the strings caused relieved tears to blind my eyes yet again.
This was home.
A c major chord was all it took. All it took for me to relax into the porch swing, the chains popping quietly as my heel moved the bench in a gentle, starting rhythm.
What I played had no name. No real tune. No belonging or meaning to anyone but myself. But it was an echo of my heart. Of the rising and swelling of my soul. Of things I couldn’t verbalize and would never be able to put a sensible name to.
Of Tag.
An echo of the love I had for him.
Each feeling poured onto the strings, dramatic but hopeful.
This is the way I spoke with the world. It always had been.
This was where I could be honest with myself, the place I was the bravest.
If he heard this song, would he know I cared about him? That I always had?
I ached for Tag, and the pain in his life that was hidden from the world. As I played, I processed all the things he wrote and said, all the stories he told me, all the things I didn’t know.
I wondered about the rain. And I wept for the man who didn’t want love.
I was so lost in the music, it took a rolling clap of thunder to jerk me into the present. I startled back to reality, Glory bonking onto the arm rest of the swing.
A loud bang in the barn snapped my attention across the barnyard. I held my breath and listened, my heart rate spiking. What was that?
Bang. Bang.
My fingers dragged across the strings, the gentle squeak lost in the receding thunder. The storm was on its way back.
I waited in silence for a few minutes. Right when I was chiding myself for my fear, another clap of thunder sounded, immediately followed by the banging again and the restless whine of a horse.
Maybe the storm was stressing one of the horses out?
Tillie!
She was pregnant and antsy and had bad history with loud noises. Maybe she was scared.
I slipped on the shoes I typically left by the side door, clutched Glory to my chest, and scampered across the barnyard. Light rain began and the cool drops soaked into my hair and pajama shirt as I ran.
Once in the barn, I proceeded to Tillie’s stall in the dark.
Before I’d even reached her half door, I heard her. Stamping and puffing. Blowing air in agitation. I stopped and whispered her name. “Tillie?”
Her exhale was loud and long. Like a sigh of relief.
“You okay, girl?”
She stuck her head over the door, and my free hand found her face. By this point, we were friends. I’d been to her stall almost every day and gave her extra peppermint treats when Tag wasn’t looking. As if she was thinking of treats too, she dropped her muzzle to my waist, sniffing around my pockets. “Sorry, Mama, I don’t have any treats for you right now.”
She huffed.
“Want me to go get some?”
She shifted, her head softly butting against my chest. I had to hold Glory away from my body.
“Okay, hang on.”
I fumbled to the storage closet in the dark and blindly felt around until I located the closet light and flipped it on. I shoved a few treats in my short’s pocket and returned to her stall, leaving the light on.
I went inside her stall and propped Glory against the wall. Laughter bubbled out of me as she nuzzled my pockets again. I offered her the treats and she munched them down. The swish-swish of her happy tail joined in the noise of the crunching and the rain.
“The storm upset you too, huh?”
I waited as if she could answer me.
“It woke me up. Are you thinking about your baby coming?”
She finished the treats, and I swiped my crumby hand down my bare thigh.
A flash of lightning lit the entire barn and Tillie jumped back, turning a frantic circle and tossing her head.
“Hey, hey! It’s okay.”
Thunder, so loud it rattled the walls, clapped over our heads. I had no doubt now the storm was what upset Tillie. She reared back, gave a distressed whinny, and when her feet hit the ground she turned a circle. Full speed, nearly running.
The side of her body smashed into me, throwing me against the wall. A sharp pain flew down the back of my head and neck, and I fell into the wood chips with a cry of pain.
I gripped the back of my head with shaking hands, groping for my bearings as the world spun.
The thunder was unending, a slow diminuendo. I groaned then managed to shush her. “Tillie. Tillie, it’s okay.”
She was going to hurt herself, banging against the stall walls like that. All I could think of was her precious baby. Squeezing my eyes shut, I sat up and scrambled out of her path.
I wasn’t sure why Tag’s words from so many years ago came to mind. When we were in the hayloft, I asked what made him sad. He said, “Rain. Rain makes me sad.”
I reached for my guitar and scooted into the corner, the wood chips clinging to my clothes. Settling against the wall, I swiveled Glory around to my lap and strummed a quiet chord. Then another.
Tillie shuffled a moment then stilled.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. My eyes and face throbbed with radiating pain, but it would go away soon. The most important thing right now was Tillie and her foal.
I told her about Tag, the chords a backdrop to my story. “You know, I met Tag in the hayloft right above your head. He doesn’t like rain either.”
Tillie walked about nervously.
“But he liked the music. And when he was sad, the music made him feel better.”
I ran through a few chords, warming back up.
And I softly sang for Tillie. Yellow. Then American Pie. Then played the classics that calmed the boy in the hayloft.
The storm billowed and raged. Tillie stirred a few times, but she stopped banging herself against the stall, stopped jumping, stopped stamping her feet. She turned some nervous circles, but then settled in. Like she was listening to me .
And I got lost in the songs that brought us together.
They encircled my spirit and fueled the tears on my face. Tillie relaxed. I relaxed. The pain in my head fell to a dull ache. I felt my breathing grow deeper. My fingers slipped off the strings once, then twice.
A while later, the storm faded and so did I.
A voice pulled me from the deep.
A hand, warm and firm, on my knee. “Bea?”
Tag .
All at once awareness rushed in—the shavings irritating my bare legs, the crick in my neck from sleeping against the stall, the headache radiating pain down my back.
I opened my eyes.
Tag squated next to me on the stall floor, his brows furrowed in concern.
I released a breathy, sleepy laugh and croaked, “Good morning.”
My voice was a little raspy and tired from singing—a welcome feeling I’d desperately missed.
He frowned and shook his head. “Why you smilin’ like that? You scared me, Bea.”
“Sorry.” I murmured, still smiling but trying not to. How could I not feel wonderful? The tips of my fretting fingers burned—a tingling reminder that I’d found a missing part of me.
Glory was still smooshed against my chest, and nosy Tillie nudged Tag in the back.
“When you didn’t come to the kitchen this morning…I have been lookin’ for you all over the ranch. I almost called the cops.” He huffed a breath as his fingers tightened protectively around my knee. “What’re you doin’ out here?”
“The storm woke me up.” I blinked, aware of how tense and upset he looked. “I heard her banging around out here and just came to check on her, then I played, and I guess I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”
He swiped a hand over his chin. “You shouldn’t be wanderin’ around in the middle of the night.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’d never forgive myself if something bad…” He cussed, not meeting my gaze. “Next time, if you hear something, come get me. That way, I can make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay.”
He stayed there beside me for a couple moments then asked, “Did she like it?”
“What? My playing?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. She calmed down.” I swallowed, lost in his stormy gray eyes. “I played her all the songs I played for you.”
“What songs?”
“That night.” I lifted my eyes toward the ceiling fan, indicating the loft. “The songs I played you.”
His jaw ticked. “I remember all of them.”
“Me too. I told her they were the songs you liked.”
That made him breathe a soft laugh. “American Pie.”
I frowned. “That’s a really weird song to play on guitar.”
“It’s a weird song in general.”
I blurted the question before I could stop myself. “Did you name your horses after me?”
He tipped his head, the rim of his hat helping him hide his face.
“Tell me.” I bumped him with my knee.
When he looked back, what I saw in his eyes stole the oxygen from my lungs—tenderness, longing, honesty.
“Yes. I did.”
“American Pie?”
He nodded.
The next question caught in my throat. “And—and Sprinkles?”
His hand softened on my knee, his thumb gently swiping the top of it. He whispered, “Especially Sprinkles.”
The emotions his confession drummed up made my voice shake. I whispered too. “That’s so so special. Thank you.”
He only smiled. “How did playin’ feel?”
Excited to tell him all about it, I pushed out of my slouchy position, bracing Glory on my lap. Instinctively, Tag took her from me and propped her against the wall. Only when his eyes traveled down the front of my body did I realize how naked I felt. Yes, I was wearing pajamas, but they were silk and kind of thin, and I wasn’t wearing a bra. I never did at night. I hadn’t planned to be discovered half-naked on a search and rescue.
His gaze snagged for a beat, then another, drinking me in. Then, like it was heavy, he slowly dragged his gaze back to my face—his expression tortured, his jaw clenching.
I opened my mouth and tried to continue. Tried to pretend I hadn’t noticed the way his swallow tugged his adam’s apple. That I hadn’t noticed the way his lips parted before his gaze darted away, and he removed his hand from my leg.
“I played something new last night.”
His brows lifted, relieved for a distraction. “Did you really?”
“Yes.”
“You felt it?” A smile toyed at his lips.
“Yeah, I did. It felt so good.”
“That’s…amazing.” He smiled fully, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew you had it in you. It’ll just get better from here.”
“I hope so.”
We both looked at Tillie as she huffed and turned a circle.
He said, “She doesn’t like storms.”
“I gathered.”
“I’m glad she didn’t accidentally hurt you.”
I shifted, and the ache in my neck reminded me Tillie actually had hurt me. I opened my mouth to tell him so then thought better of it. Telling Tag about a harmless bump against the wall would only give him another burden to carry.
“I think there are wood chips embedded in my skin. Want to help me up?”
“Yeah.”
His hands clasped around mine and he lifted me off the ground. I gave a dramatic moan as my tight muscles loosened. I rolled my shoulders and twisted my right leg around. Tag brushed wood chips off the back of my shirt. I would’ve relished in his fingers running the length of my spine, but a loud pop filled the quiet morning and a gush of water poured to the ground.
Fully dressed now, I pressed myself against the side of Tillie’s stall, clutching my phone and waiting for the action to get started. Tag said after a mare’s water breaks, foals were usually born in about thirty minutes or so. At this point, there was nothing to do or check and there was no way to support Tillie and her baby. Penny had given us instructions not to interfere. So Tag and I hung back and gave her plenty of space to do her thing.
After her water broke, I’d run inside to change and now I’d been tasked with filming. Tag called Penny, but she had yet to arrive.
The gravity of the moment kept my voice low. It was sacred. A birth. A new beginning. It demanded a reverent tone. I whispered, “It must’ve been the storm system that sent her into labor. The change in pressure maybe.”
Poor Tillie was restless. But she’d finally knelt on the ground and laid on her side, readying herself.
Tag paced back toward me and leaned against the wall. He settled flush against me. His shoulder against mine. I leaned my weight against his like I was made for it.
Tag whispered near my forehead. “I’m so glad you were here for this.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
I looked up at him, and he beamed down at me. A soft, contented smile lighted every feature of his face. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so peaceful. He wordlessly leaned into me with his shoulder, a bit of his weight countering mine.
This was a huge moment for Tag. One of his greatest friends was having a baby. He had loved her and cared for her, bringing her all the way to this moment. It should be perfect for him.
Gratitude, deep and moving, swelled in me. Somehow I’d been granted the opportunity to be here, too. I was so glad he wasn’t experiencing this magical moment alone, like he had everything else in his life.
Maybe I shouldn't have thought about Tag in terms of what he’d lost. But it was hard not to. Everything he’d suffered—severe and chronic neglect, heart wrenching loneliness, unending situational challenges—made me respect him. Everything he touched seemed magic to me. Because who could go through all that and still find purpose?
He was running a ranch, chasing his dreams, doing everything he could to live happy and whole on his own. I was not strong enough to do that. I would be nothing without the relationships in my life.
I admired him for his resilience in the hayloft all those years ago. That he was able to sit up, swipe the hay out of his hair, and promise he was okay. Whatever courage Tag possessed that enabled him to fight day after day, that enabled him to show up and give his all moment by moment…I wanted it. Tag had no idea how strong he was. Then and now. This ranch, these horses, were the proof.
Tillie puffed a deep breath, a quiet moan.
Tag straightened and his hand slid to the back of my shoulder, pulling me around to face Tillie’s backside.
A hoof. I slapped a hand over my mouth to contain a squeal of excitement. I almost dropped the phone, pulling up the camera app as quickly as I could.
It all happened so fast. The hooves, the head, the body.
We were rapt, silently captivated by Tillie’s calm and the serene, beautiful arrival of Meadowbrook’s newest addition.
Only when the foal lay in a heap on the stall floor did I realize the way I was gripping Tag’s bicep and feel the tears pouring down my cheeks. One dripped off my chin as I looked at Tag, who had tears in his own eyes.
The sweet foal was dark colored, just like her mama. When the foal sat up, its little ears quivered and the placenta rolled away. Mama and baby laid together. After a few short moments, Tillie reached back and greeted her baby for the first time.
Tag couldn’t tear his eyes away from them, the smile on his face wide and wobbling with emotion .
I put both hands on the phone to keep it steady in my shaky hands.
“They’re so beautiful.” I must’ve whispered those words a hundred times.
He looked back at the foal and nodded. Then swiped his shoulder against his cheek.
After a few minutes, Tag slowly approached and knelt beside Tillie, running his hand down her side. “So proud of you, girl. You did real good.” He sniffed. “Your little one looks just like you.”
It only took a little while for Tillie to stand up. She moved about the stall, repeatedly turning to lick and nuzzle her foal. Tag and I stood back against the wall, watching, whispering, and reliving the moment over and over with tears in our eyes.
But then I stopped breathing.
Because he turned toward me, only a few inches away. His knuckles swiped over the back of my hand, like he was toying with the idea of entwining our fingers. He said, voice low and taut, “Bea, I wanted to tell you that—you bein’ here at the ranch has meant everything to me.”
I sucked a breath.
“These have been some of the best weeks of my life.”
Our gazes tangled, his knuckles pressed into mine, and smiles lifted our cheeks. The way he was looking at me told a truth I didn’t know if my heart was big enough to contain.
Hold my hand.
Heat dumped over my body.
His fingers spread to make space for me, and my entire body clenched with thrill in response. Before I could accept his invitation, a truck rumbled up the drive.
Penny.
Tag pulled away.
When Penny came in, Tag recounted the full story, unable to fully tamp down the emotions. His gaze darted my way now and then, his acknowledgment bringing back my smile every time.
I loved this man. Doubts melted away. I believed, with my entire heart, that he loved me, too .
My heart soared.
When the excitement of the foaling settled, I finally got around to looking at my phone as Tag and I drove through the ranch for the morning feeding.
There was an email from Jerry.
Good Morning,
Just wanted you to know we signed on another singer since I haven’t been able to get in touch with you. Best of luck in your endeavours.
Jerry Trace
The relief rolling off my spirit spoke volumes. I had dragged my feet in the decision making, but the truth was I never really wanted the record deal in the first place. After my night with Glory and Tillie, I had no trouble at all turning away from that closed door.
I gladly chucked my phone into the Ranger’s floorboard, and tuned my heart to the thing—the person—it now beat for.