Page 100 of His Eighth Ride

“A reminder to call the twins,” she said, lightly touching the page. “Thoughts from sermons. Things about the horses, your life, my life.” She turned the page, and Tag wanted to rip the notebook away from her.

“If I write it down, it doesn’t get to fester inside me,” he said quietly. “It’s nothing bad. The thoughts are super raw. I scribble them down, so they don’t infect me for too long.”

Opal said nothing, and Tag knew where she was in the timeline: the part where Tag had started struggling with her building a house, starting a non-profit clinic, and being worthy to be her boyfriend.

“This is agony for me,” he said, his voice dark and dangerous. He didn’t try to sweeten it up, and he had no interest in ordering dessert pizza. So he waved away the waitress while Opal continued to study his innermost demons.

Opal closed the notebook and pushed it away from her. She wore coolness in her eyes that made Tag wonder if his apologies and gifts and declarations of love would ever be enough.

“Did you finish it?” he asked.

“No.” She reached for her glass of soda and took the last, watery sip. “I didn’t need to.”

“Opal—”

“Taggart, I don’t want this to be a thing between us, so I just need to talk for a minute.” She held up one hand, her dark eyes blazing at him. Blazing with life, with compassion, with something else he couldn’t quite name. “Then, I will give you all the time you need to talk to me too. I want to know what you think. I need to know. I can’t make adjustments if you keep everything to yourself, if you spill all your secrets to ink and paper.”

“Sometimes, it helps,” he said. “And then those things don’t need to be said out loud. Sometimes, it’s not you that needs to adjust, but me.”

Opal reached across the table and took both of his hands in hers, and there came that smile that put him more at ease. “Tag, there are a couple of things I can’t change about myself, even if I wanted to. Maybe three. Do you want to know what they are?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One, I love babies, and I want to be a mother more than anything.”

Tag allowed a small smile to come to his face. “That doesn’t need to change, honeybear.”

“Two, I have a lot of money. I’d like to spend it on pumpkin seeds, and inflatable furniture, and horses for you and me, because I’m going to learn to ride one day if it’s the last thing I do.”

Tag dropped his chin and laughed. When he raised his eyes to Opal’s again, he saw the seriousness there. “I know my money bothers you,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to change that, Taggart. I would give up every penny just to be with you.”

No better words had ever been spoken, and Tag squeezed her hands. “I would never ask you to do that.”

“You’re on equal ground with me,” she said, her tone increasing in urgency. “Money is just money. It doesn’t buy me what I want most—love and family. Only you can give me those things, baby, and I only want them with you.”

Tag’s emotions surged, making his nose hot and his eyes burn. “You’re a good woman, Opal.”

“I know you’ll still struggle with it,” she said, and she nodded to the notebook. “You can tell your notebook, but I’m going to ask you to please tell me too. It might not change how things go, but we should be able to face things like this together, not separately. You don’t have to do anything by yourself anymore.”

“Except get up before dawn in the winter and make sure your coffee is nice and hot.”

Opal grinned at him. “Definitely that.”

He leaned across the table, half-standing in the booth, and touched his lips to hers. “I love you, Opal.”

“Mm, I love you too, Tag.”

He settled back in his seat, feeling warm and full and calm. “What’s the third thing?” he asked.

“I just said it.” Opal picked up the last piece of Alfredo Hawaiian pizza, her favorite. “I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how to stop doing that.”

“I don’t want you to stop doing that.”

“Then you have to talk to me,” she said. “About everything.” She looked at him with a measure of challenge in her expression, and Tag wanted to wipe it away completely.

“Okay,” he said. “But you might regret requesting that.”

“I doubt it.” She took a bite of the pizza, a moan coming from her mouth. “Now, eating this last piece of pizza; I’ll probably regret that.”

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