Page 23 of His Eighth Ride

Boots started to get to his feet, and that drew Tag’s attention away from Gerty and Opal. “Hey, buddy, you hurt yourself, okay? Don’t put any weight on it.”

His little dog didn’t, and Tag wanted to pick him up and carry him everywhere until his leg had healed completely. But just because corgis were small didn’t mean they were light, and Boots weighed thirty pounds. Not a lot for Tag, but he came in an awkward package, and Tag couldn’t carry him all over the farm.

He licked Tag’s face, which made him smile though he didn’t usually let Boots lick him. “His tongue feels dry.”

“Yeah, we should try to get him to eat and drink,” Opal said. “And he obviously should be on cage rest until you get a real doctor to tell you how to manage him.”

“You’re a real doctor, Opal,” Tag said as he stood. He bent and picked up Boots. “I’m gonna take him home and get us breakfast, take a shower, all that.” He nodded to Gerty. “Nothing happened on the blow-up couch, boss, other than I learned that Opal snores.”

“I do not,” Opal said, and Tag laughed at the scandalized look on her face. “That was Max.”

“And that she tried to blame it on me.” Tag nodded to the barn and the couch. “Leave it all, you guys. I’ll come back and clean it up when I feed the horses.”

“My grandmother is already making cinnamon rolls,” Gerty said as he reached the door. “They’ll be ready by the time you and Boots are back from the vet. We want you to come by the house and tell us everything.”

Tag’s heart expanded to make room for these people in his life. They’d taken him in so easily, loved him so readily, made space for him without asking any questions. Mike knew how Tag had bounced from farm to farm, and about the relationship in Green River that had driven him here. He wasn’t sure if Gerty did, and of course, Tag had only told Opal the good things so far. Or skimmed over the painful things, at the very least.

“Will there be hot chocolate?” he asked.

Gerty grinned and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe he’d ask such a thing. “What do you think?”

“I think there better be,” Tag said. “If you want me to give all the details about a vet visit.”

“Tag,” Opal said. “I want to go to the vet with you. What time is it?”

“Nine-ten,” he said, shifting his corgi in his arms. “We have to leave about eight-forty to make that.”

“Eight-forty,” Opal repeated. “Dear Lord, when will I ever get to sleep again?”

Tag laughed as he left the barn, because he knew there’d be hot chocolate at the farmhouse to go with the cinnamon rolls, and if he knew Carrie at all, she’d also have a big pan of maple sausage links browned up and ready to go. Tag loved sausage the most out of all the breakfast meats, and Carrie would want him to have all of his favorites after a night like last night.

Boots just lay in his arms and let him carry him home. Inside the cabin, Tag put him on the couch and said, “Listen, bud, I’m gonna have to get out your crate, okay? You stay right there, and I’ll get breakfast for you. Then you can have another rest while I shower.”

His dog just looked at him, and Tag took that to mean, Okay, thanks, Tag. I know you didn’t mean to leave me outside for so long, and I’ll just wait here for my breakfast.

Tag pressed a fast kiss to Boots’s head and then went into the kitchen. He started to fill a bowl with fresh, cold water from the tap, and he wasn’t surprised to find Boots hobbling toward him before it reached the top.

He didn’t put weight on his front right leg at all, and he hopped around in a pathetic way that tore at Tag’s heart. “Here you go.” He set the water bowl down and watched as Boots lapped at it eagerly.

While he did that, Tag got his food bowl filled and out, and he went into the back spare bedroom to find the dog crate. If he put Boots in it, he wouldn’t be able to trot around the house at all, and that would only help him heal faster.

As he put the crate together, Boots crunched through his food while standing on three legs, and then Tag got him inside and locked the door. “You’ll be okay, my friend. I’ll be back for you in a couple of hours.”

Now, he just had to shower and get as many chores done as he could before he had to leave for the vet. As he scrubbed last night down the drain, Tag leaned his head back and let the hot water run down his face.

Thank you, Jesus, he thought. Thank you for guiding me to my dog. Thank you for Opal Hammond. Thank you for saving Boots.

It sure felt good to be grateful, and after Tag got out of the shower, he took a moment he didn’t have to perch on the edge of his bed and write in his journal the things that stood out the most about the past twelve hours.

“There you go, Mama,” he whispered. Then he got dressed and got on with his day—after all, he had a lot to do today, and none of it was going to magically get done just because he was tired.

As he reached the barn and entered it, he got a text from Opal. Gerty chewed me out for carrying the couch, but it so doesn’t weigh more than a loaf of bread.

Oh, and we need to set up a time for our first Christmas party planning committee meeting. Since Carrie is also on the committee, I was thinking today, while we have a brunch of cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate.

Tag wanted so much more than a party planning committee meeting with Opal. With Boots injured now, he wasn’t sure when he could reasonably leave the farm again, but he still let his thumbs type out the very thing flowing through his heart.

Yeah, okay, he said. And I want another date on the calendar too. Before I leave for Coral Canyon.

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