Page 37 of His Eighth Ride

With that, he left the horses to their afternoon. Gerty wasn’t expecting him or Steele to do anything else for the day, except a quick evening feed. Steele had already gone back to the Harris Farm for the holidays, in fact, so Tag would do the evening feeding alone that night before he went home to his solitary cabin.

He’d helped Opal decorate the farmhouse with not just one Christmas tree, but two. He’d put one up in his cabin too, with a bit of her help, and he had a single stocking hanging from the bar of his island, because he didn’t own a fireplace.

The dinners at the farmhouse had been festive for the past week or so, with garland, window clings of snowmen and cartoon Christmas trees and the Hammond stockings hung from the mantel. Gerty had gotten stockings for all the horses too, but she didn’t want to put them up too early lest the equines got used to having treats hanging in giant socks on a daily basis.

Tag chuckled every time he thought about it.

Instead of going back to the cabin, he entered the farmhouse to the warmth of a good furnace and the scent of brown sugar and raising yeasty dough. Carrie didn’t stand in the kitchen, where he’d found her so often in the past, but Opal came bustling down the hall, fixing the bright red belt encircling her waist.

She wasn’t looking up, and Tag whistled as he took in the green-and-white plaid dress. It had bubbly sleeves along her shoulders that only went down a couple of inches from there. She’d cinched that festive belt around her waist to add some red, and the skirt then flared and fell to her knees.

“Wow, wow-ow-wee,” he said, sauntering a little closer to her.

Opal smiled at him. “Oh, Tag, you’re here.”

“Yes, I am.” He ran his hand along that belt and touched his lips to hers. “You’re nervous.”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Why? Your parents have been here for a bit. It’s literally just Easton and Allison.”

“I know,” she said, and then she blew out her breath. “I don’t know why this gets me keyed up.”

Tag knew why, and it had a lot to do with the binder she’d been using to plan this evening for her family. “Okay, well, do you have two minutes?”

“For what?” Opal eyed him suspiciously. “They’re going to be here any minute, and I’ll not have them walk in while we’re kissing.”

Tag chuckled and shook his head. “Come stand right here.” He moved to her side and kept her facing the way she’d been walking already. “Look around this house and tell me what you see. What you feel.”

“Tag.”

“Two minutes,” he said. “Just look around. See, feel, smell.” He leaned closer, taking a deep breath of the scent of her hair, her skin, her dress. “Close your eyes now. Deep breath, and tell me what you see, feel, and smell.”

Opal took that breath, everything slowing down in the room. “It smells like candied meat.”

“That’ll be the ham and the pulled pork,” he murmured.

“And bread,” she added. “I love the scent of a yeast dough before it bakes.”

“Me too.”

“I think there’s still some lingering chocolate in the air from my morning baking,” she said.

“Brown sugar,” he said. “That’s what I smelled when I came inside.”

Opal took another deep breath. “I see the stockings, and West’s toys, and that pretty Christmas tree with all the horse ornaments.”

“And the horseshoes,” he reminded her. “They glint in those pretty white lights.”

“I see a wreath on the door, and West’s fun clings, and the table all set for dinner.” She turned into his chest. “My brother is going to drop his bags all over the place,” Opal added. “He’ll probably put his backpack on my pretty hollied plates.”

“I’ll guard the table,” Tag told her. “You’ve only done two of the things.”

Opal drew a breath and then exhaled it out like he was nothing but trouble. He smiled, because he liked her fire, her spunk, her stubbornness. “I feel….”

“Like you’ve been working hard for this night, and it’s going to be perfect, no matter what?” Tag supplied. “Even if Easton puts his backpack on your holly berry plates, or West cries when he doesn’t get exactly what he wants when he wants it, or if the bread gets a little too brown.”

“Oh, please,” Opal said as she wrapped her arms around him. “West never cries.”

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