Page 82 of His Eighth Ride

“Mm.” Tag didn’t mention his birthday, though he’d told the twins they could meet Opal. He wasn’t going to change her plans to go see her new nephew. He’d seen her with one of those already, and no man should stand in Opal Hammond’s way when it came to her and babies.

“How was your call with your Daddy?” he asked.

“It was…good.” Opal blew out her breath. “I’m not sure I got the answers I wanted, but I got some answers.”

“That’s good then.”

“Yeah,” she said. She fell silent again, and Tag wasn’t sure if he should press her for more information about the answers she’d gotten or not. She sometimes just told him, talking and talking until she realized she’d started repeating herself.

He didn’t mind that either, because he liked learning what was in her head, what was important to her, what she wanted in her life.

They finished eating, and Tag simply dropped his plate to the grass beside the couch, where Boots happily trotted over and started licking it.

“Come lay with me, honey,” he whispered, and Opal looked away from the nearly dark sky. She shifted, letting the blow-up couch slide her into his side. He lifted his left leg up onto the couch. That allowed him to settle into the very corner of the couch, and Opal laid against his chest while he adjusted the blanket over both of them.

He drew in a deep breath of her appley skin and hair, closed his eyes, and exhaled it all out. The dirtiness of the day, the busyness of planting, the worry about him and Opal. It all just left, leaving him open for something better to come into his mind and heart.

“I’m not sure about the foundation now,” Opal said.

“Oh?”

“It feels like a short-term solution to me wanting to feel important,” she said. “I’m not sure I want to run it long-term.”

“Mm.” Tag didn’t know what to say, and it felt like Opal just needed a sounding board. So he’d let her talk, and he wouldn’t offer advice unless she asked him a question. “You’re important to me,” he murmured.

She snuggled closer. “I know, Taggart.”

“Is it not enough?”

She froze, every muscle tensed against him. “What do you mean?”

“Is being important to me not enough for you?” he asked. “I know you’re used to being the head honcho, the one calling all the shots. You’re used to being important in important ways, to important things.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and Tag wished he’d kept his big mouth shut. “And now I’m here,” she said.

“And you’re important here too,” he said. “To Gerty and Mike. To that cute baby you care for every day. To me.”

She nodded against his chest. “Yes, I know.”

He wanted to ask—so is it not enough? again, but he willed his voice to stay dormant.

“There are other ways to make a difference without starting a foundation and running a free medical clinic.”

“I agree,” he said. “It would be amazing to be sure, but you’re right. There are other ways to make a difference.”

Another bout of silence covered them. Then Opal said, “The stars are out, sweetheart. No more talking,” to which he murmured, “No problem, my honey-love.”

“Ding-dong!” someone yelled, and Tag spun from the kitchen sink where he’d been washing his hands.

Flint and Sawyer practically tripped over one another as they entered his cabin, and all three of them laughed as they congregated at the end of the couch.

“You made it,” Tag said.

“We made it,” Flint agreed. “Barely. Sawyer’s forgotten how to use the GPS.”

“I have not,” Sawyer argued over the top of him. “It was so wonky in that rental.”

“You said you’d text when you landed,” Tag said.

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