Page 25 of His Eighth Ride

“You betcha,” she said. “And we didn’t even have to bring West.”

A couple of hours later, Tag pulled up to the farmhouse again. “I can smell the cinnamon out here,” he said, grinning.

“Christmas party planning time,” Opal announced as she got out of the truck. She led the way inside, and Tag brought up the rear with Boots in his crate.

“He’s okay,” Tag called as he entered the farmhouse. “No infection, but we got an antibiotic in case one flares up. New painkillers, which he has to be on for fourteen days, and he has to be on cage rest that long too.”

“I killed it with the stitches,” Opal said, grinning at Tag. He bent to set down the crate in the living room, and she faced Gerty and Carrie in the kitchen. Mike’s truck wasn’t here, so he’d gone to work in the city. West wasn’t anywhere to be found, so Opal assumed he was down the hall in his crib, taking his morning nap.

She wished someone would put her to bed and tell her not to get up until she was good and ready, but sleep would have to wait, because the sight of Carrie’s cream-cheese frosted cinnamon rolls had Opal’s mouth watering.

The older woman smiled with such love, and Opal thought of her mother. She wasn’t quite as old as Gerty’s grandmother, but she had the capacity to open her heart to anyone and draw them right in. For some strange reason, Opal’s eyes filled with tears.

“The vet replaced Opal’s stitches with canine-strength thread, but that’s all,” Tag said. “He said it was well-cleaned and tended to. And he should heal up just fine. We’ve got an appointment in ten days to go in and have the stitches removed.” He sighed as he pulled out a barstool and sank onto it. “Carrie, you’re sent straight from heaven.”

She laughed and swatted at his hand as he reached for one of the sausage links. He managed to take it, and Opal took the moment to blink her tears back where they belonged. She felt outside herself, perhaps from her restless night of sleep despite the strength and security of Tag’s arms around her. Maybe from the constant thoughts of finding somewhere to live, or of when she could get dressed up and go out with Tag again, or when she should tell her parents of her plans.

Time to tell them, she thought, and she completely missed the first cinnamon roll being served to Tag. He’d chosen the one right in the middle of the three-by-three grid, of course, and it was ooey and gooey and exactly what she knew him to love.

“All right,” she said as she turned toward the bookcase in the kitchen. “I have sketched out a few ideas for the menu for our Christmas party.” She sat down at the counter too and flipped open the binder. Carrie put a plate with a cinnamon roll on it in front of her, and Gerty poured steaming milk into mugs.

Everything about this country farmhouse spoke to Opal’s soul, and she once again fought her emotions. Only by focusing on the words she’d typed up and printed could Opal get her tears to stay dormant. Thankfully, Gerty had more questions for Tag about Boots, and instead of starting the party planning for the Christmas shindig happening here in only three weeks, they chit-chatted about their plans to go to Coral Canyon next week.

“You can watch the dogs and West, right?” Gerty asked.

“Yes,” Opal said, looking up from her binder.

“Steele is coming for an interview on Thursday.” Gerty wore a brief look of worry. “I’m hoping to get him here by the weekend, and then we can take him through our minimal chores, and he can tend to the farm while we’re gone.” She sighed and picked up a knife to cut into her cinnamon roll. “If he can’t, I’ll ask my daddy to come, and Mike can do a little bit too.”

“I can feed horses and cats and the chickens,” Opal said.

“No, you can’t,” Tag said, shooting her a look. “You shouldn’t even be here alone with West.”

Opal blinked at him, half-irritated that he’d reminded her of her weakness and half-overjoyed that he was watching out for her. “It’s not until next week. I’m feeling better and better by the minute.”

“Grandpa can help too,” Carrie said.

“We’ll only be gone two days,” Gerty said, watching Opal with an edge in her eyes too. “As long as everyone gets fed and watered, we’ll be fine.” She cut a bite of cinnamon roll and put it in her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Opal didn’t want to talk about much of anything anymore, and she closed her binder and pulled her cinnamon roll and mug of warm milk closer. She stirred in two heaping spoonfuls of hot chocolate powder, and she let her spoon swirl around and around almost mindlessly.

“You’re not going to start the meeting?” Tag asked playfully.

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. “No, I think I just want to enjoy this amazing food and then go take a nap.”

“You never answered my text from earlier,” Tag said just before he took a large bite of his sugary treat.

Opal glanced over to him, her mind suddenly blank. “What text?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Opal caught Gerty and her grandmother exchanging a glance, but she simply didn’t have the energy to call them on it. Her and Tag’s relationship wasn’t a secret, and Opal’s memory fired at her. He’d wanted another date with her, and she hadn’t answered.

Yes, they could talk about that later, when there weren’t any other eyes or ears around.

Later that day, after Tag and Gerty had gone back out to the farm, and after Carrie had cleaned up her delicious brunch and gone back to the generational cabin, Opal lay on the couch in the farmhouse. She’d just gotten West down for his afternoon nap, and he lay on the floor only a few feet from her, Max curled up next to him on the dog bed.

Boots had likewise squished his eyes shut, and Opal was the only one still awake. “Time to send some texts.”

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