Page 94 of His Eighth Ride

Tuck looked back at his phone. “Ask her to lunch,” he muttered. Like it was so easy. If it was, he’d have done it a week ago. Heck, five months ago, when she’d broken up with her boyfriend.

Bobbie Jo, he started. I have something to tell you, and I’d like to do it in person. Can we go to lunch or dinner someday really soon? Like today, tonight, tomorrow?

Without even reading over it again, he sent the text, then practically threw his phone away from him. “Done.”

“Good job, Tuck.” Tarr set a plate of toast and eggs in front of him. “You’re going to miss me feeding you every morning.”

Tuck looked up at him and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, those protein shakes you leave out on the counter are going to be really hard for me to get out myself.”

Tarr laughed as he sat down kitty-corner to Tuck. “I really will miss you.” He scooped up a bite of eggs. “And I have to get a new cabinmate, which I’m not looking forward to.”

“You’d like it if it was Hattie.” Tuck grinned at him and picked up a piece of toast.

“Yeah, well, me and Hattie….” He trailed off, that contemplative look Tuck had seen several times covering his expression. “We like each other, but the timing feels wrong.”

“She’s way too young for you, besides,” Tuck said.

“Cord and Jane are eleven years apart.”

“Yeah, but Jane wasn’t twenty-two when they started dating.”

“She’s sweet, though.” Tarr grinned, and Tuck simply shook his head. Across from him, near the wall where his phone had slid, his device vibrated against the blonde wood. “That’s her.” Tarr reached for the phone and picked it up. “You want me to read it?”

Tuck nodded and shoved half a slice of bread into his mouth.

“Your message was great,” Tarr said, and his approval meant a lot to Tucker. “She said she’s got a video interview at lunchtime today, but her evening is free tonight.” Tarr didn’t move his head a single centimeter. Only his eyes came to meet Tuck’s.

He nodded, and Tarr returned his gaze to the phone and started typing. Tuck trusted him to say the right things, and when he finished, he set the phone next to Tuck’s plate. “Tonight at six-thirty.” He gave Tuck a kind smile that said so much. “You got your date with her, man.”

“Yeah.” Tuck didn’t feel happy about it though. “Now I just have to figure out what to say that won’t sink me for good.”

Tarr nodded. “Maybe it just hasn’t been the right time for you guys either. Maybe you’ll go to Coral Canyon and find your calling in life, and you’ll be ready to take on someone like Bobbie Jo.”

“Did she say what her interview was for?”

“No,” Tarr said. “So, see? One thing you can talk about tonight that isn’t you leaving town.” He gave Tuck a great big cowboy-won-the-rodeo smile. The one he reserved for pretty women and huge crowds paying his prize money. “It’s going to be fine, Tuck. More than fine. Great. The best conversation you’ve had with Bobbie Jo yet.”

Tuck wasn’t in a place where he could agree, so he just said, “If you say so,” and hoped Tarr’s prediction would make it to God’s ears—and that the Lord would make it come true.

thirty

Bobbie Jo left her bedroom decked out in denim from head to toe. Out in the living room, Hattie sat with Tarr at their tiny kitchen table, their heads bent over something on one of their phones.

“Is this too much?” she asked, drawing both of their gazes.

Hattie got to her feet, her smile already in place, while Tarr just leaned back and looked at her. “Absolutely perfect,” Hattie said. “Are you wearing the red boots with the white stars?”

“Yes,” Bobbie Jo said. “I just—they’re out here in the closet.” She indicated the coat closet behind the couch. “It’s okay? I don’t look like I’m trying too hard?”

“You’re wearing jeans from head to toe,” Hattie said. “It’s fine.”

Bobbie Jo didn’t want to talk about her fears, her humiliation, and her insecurities in front of Tucker’s best friend. She didn’t know what, if anything, Tarr told Tuck. She glanced at him, an idea occurring to her. “He didn’t say what it was about tonight, but he texted to say we’re going to Rockets, and that place is nice.”

“It’s casual-nice,” Tarr said. “You look great, Bobbie Jo. Tuck’ll be thrilled to see you in denim. It’s his favorite fabric.” He got up and picked up the empty plates from the table. “Hattie, let’s give her some privacy.”

Hattie didn’t move from in front of Bobbie Jo. “You’re okay?” She wore worry as easily as she did mascara, and Bobbie Jo loved her for it.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “It’s Tucker, Hattie.” He wasn’t going to hurt her—at least not physically. She had no idea what he had to tell her, but she’d been on and off the farm in the past couple of weeks as she looked for another job.

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