Page 66 of His Eighth Ride

“I’m just saying.” He tried to shrug again, but he wasn’t sure it came off right.

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“How long do you need to date someone before you know you want to be with them forever?” he asked.

Opal’s eyebrows went down and now she regarded him like he was a puzzle she needed to solve. “I don’t know. I think that’s different for every person.”

“I’m not asking generally,” he said. “I’m asking you. How long do you need to date me before you know you want to be with me forever?”

Opal looked like he’d picked up her fizzy lemonade and thrown it in her face. Splashed it down that gorgeous dress that had to cost more than he made in a year. “I don’t know, Taggart,” she whispered.

His full name had become a term of endearment when she said it, and Tag loved hearing it in her voice. “Okay,” he said. “But just because I don’t say everything I think doesn’t mean I don’t see you with West. It doesn’t mean I don’t know you want a baby of your own, and maybe you won’t want to be tied to a clinic when you can be home with that baby.”

On a farm with her family literally right next door. She might want to open and operate a non-profit clinic for farmers and ranchers, but Tag also knew Opal wanted to be a mother. Maybe more than anything.

“Maybe,” she finally said.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man with a cool, smooth voice said over the speaker system. “The waterfall garden is now open for dancing.”

Tag looked at Opal and removed the napkin from his lap. “Can I have this dance?”

She smiled at him in a way that made his heart want to march to the top of the highest cliff and then fling itself off. He’d do anything for her, anything to make her laugh and smile, anything to make sure she could have every dream of hers realized.

If that wasn’t love, Tag didn’t know what was. But he’d never been in love before, and he didn’t want to move too fast. Plus, you’re not telling her you love her on Valentine’s Day. Too cliché.

“Yes, please.” Opal put her hand in his and stood, her dress settling in all the right places easily. She grinned at him with those dark red lips he couldn’t wait to kiss later, and they moved into the waterfall garden, where a whole new world opened up before him.

“Oh, there’s an actual waterfall,” he said. “Indoors.” He’d never seen that before, and he couldn’t look away from the three-story tall waterfall, the sound of which created a soothing harmony to accompany the twinkling music being played by a live band in the corner.

Potted plants and trellises with vines dotted the dancefloor and created separate areas inside the large space. Tag wanted to find a dark corner, but Opal pointed to his left and said, “Tag, look at those lilacs.”

“How’d they get this stuff to grow here?” he wondered aloud as he went up a couple of steps and across a bridge—that ran over water from the waterfall—to the part of the room that housed the lilacs Opal liked.

He took her into his arms easily, the scent of lilacs and sugar surrounding him only to get replaced by the soft, sexy quality of Opal’s perfume, her skin, her hair. Tag let his eyes drift closed, and suddenly, the rest of his senses came to high alert.

He felt the shape of Opal in his arms, in his life, in his heart. He hadn’t realized a hole exactly her height, her size, her shape, had existed in his life until he’d met her. He hadn’t realized how incomplete he’d been until tonight, and he wanted to keep her at his side forever.

So he just needed to figure out how to believe he was worthy to be with her. Worthy to be a Hammond. Worthy to be the simple cowboy he was and still be the man at Opal’s side.

And that seemed to need the hand of God, so as Tag swayed back and forth with Opal, gently leading her around the lilac-rimmed patio, he prayed for the divine help he needed to become who she needed him to be.

February melted into March, literally. Around the farm, everything turned to mud and mush, and Tag caught sight of Opal sitting on her bright purple couch outside of the farmhouse some afternoons. The really sunny ones.

She set up a low, waist-high fence and let West run wild while she laid back, her feet on one of the arm rests and her head on the cushions, and read. Whenever the one-year-old would squawk, she’d look over to him, and Tag found them both down on the ground, examining an earthworm once.

He could admit he loved watching her with West. She adored him, obviously, and she took immaculate care of him.

The ground had been broken for her house and the cement foundation poured. It sat curing right now, and as the sunshine continued throughout March, Tag’s workload expanded. He watched the weather religiously, because Mother Nature could surprise them with a late spring snowstorm at any time—and often did. She was fickle and unpredictable in March and April, that was for certain.

One day about mid-March, Tag had finished riding the whole ranch to check the fences. He’d made notes about what needed to be fixed or replaced before planting, which they’d do in another four or six weeks.

He and Steele still worked with the horses every day too, of course. Rooster and the others had settled in just fine. He’d moved the chicken coop back outside, and the barn was almost back to where it would be until winter descended over the land again.

Right now, he grabbed his mail from the farmhouse and joined the dogs outside again. “Got it, guys,” he said. Then he, Boots, and Max made the walk over to his cabin. Inside, Tag sighed, glad to be home after a long day of work.

He didn’t get much mail, because he didn’t pay rent or utilities here. Every now and then, his mom would send something through the postal system, but he usually got coupon books or advertisements.

Today, he had a soft, silky envelope with his name printed on it in fancy cursive. The return address said Lewis at the top, and Tag’s mind misfired. “What’s this?” he asked himself as he flipped over the ivory envelope and ran his thumb under the flap.

---