Page 65 of His Eighth Ride

“Mm, okay,” she said, and she joyfully received his kiss once again. She wanted to believe she’d found her Prince Charming, and for tonight, on this gloriously clear, bright, and perfect Valentine’s Day, she wasn’t going to bring up anything that made Tag’s jaw tighten like it had in the truck earlier.

And she’d figure out what that belonged to when she wasn’t wearing a ninety-thousand dollar dress and when she wasn’t standing outside the nicest, most expensive restaurant in the state of Colorado.

Oh, yes, she would, whether Tag wanted to talk about it or not.

twenty

Tag had never eaten such good food. He’d never seen steak cooked to pure perfection. Opal had been moaning and exclaiming over everything that had been put on the table that night, including the black tuxedo cake sitting between them now.

“Tag,” she said, and he looked up, the last of his cake melting in his mouth. “This has been the perfect day.”

“Has it?”

“I mean, since you picked me up,” she said. “Though I don’t mind tending West.”

He grinned at her. “You love that baby,” he said. “Don’t act like it’s a chore for you to babysit him.”

She grinned back at him. “Fine, I won’t.” She put her elbows on the table. “Tag.”

“Go on, love.”

“It’s honey-love,” she teased, but she sobered quickly. “I don’t want to get a job. I don’t want to guest lecture at a college or university anywhere.”

He knew Opal had been trying to figure out what she wanted her life to be, and he’d been silently at her side, listening to her talk when she felt like talking. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Opal leaned away from the last few bites of cake. Everything about her sparkled, from the diamonds hanging from her ears and glinting from her collarbone. Her sequins had first blinded him at the farmhouse, then the physical diamonds, and then her pure inner radiance.

Tag knew now that he could love this woman, and on some level, he already did. But he honestly had no idea how to be her equal, and he wanted a husband-wife relationship that existed on even ground.

“I know it’s going to be work,” she said. “But hear me out.”

“Have I ever not heard you out?”

She gave him a timid smile and glanced up as the waiter arrived to remove their dessert. “Dancing will be in the waterfall garden in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Tag said.

Opal’s face lit up. “Dancing?”

“In the waterfall garden,” he echoed, half-wishing he and Opal could just escape the press of the public and find somewhere private to be.

“Do you dance?” she asked.

Tag nodded. “I’ve been taking online classes. Well.” He gave his shoulders a little shake. “Sort of. There are these tutorials on YouTube. I’ve been practicing with those.”

Opal reached across the table and took both of his hands in hers. “Taggart, you are the sweetest man alive.”

He glanced around the restaurant, which held table after table of men just like him. “I don’t know about that, Opal.”

“Well, I do.” She squeezed her fingers around his. “I want to start a non-profit health clinic for farmers and ranchers.” Her glow had returned, and Tag had seen this look in her eyes and parading across her face when she’d spoken of things she felt passionately about.

He waited for her to explain more, and when she didn’t, he asked, “And?”

“And that’s as far as I’ve gotten,” she said. “I have a lot of other things going on, but once I’m settled in my own place, I’m going to need something to fill my day.”

“Maybe you’ll be married,” he said. “With babies of your own.”

Her eyebrows rose, and oh, he liked it when she challenged him silently.

---