Page 90 of His Eighth Ride

Tag followed Cord into the smaller space, and he took the chair opposite the desk while Cord sank into the one behind it with a sigh. “Been busy lately.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Tag said. “Planting, fertilizing, everyone getting things out from last year.” He opened the bag and pulled out the first sandwich. It was labeled with a four, which was his.

“Mm, yep.” Cord took the second sandwich Tag produced from the bag. “Thanks, Tag.”

He smiled, but it felt so tight across his mouth. He ducked his head more than he needed to in order to focus on unwrapping his turkey, provolone, and avocado sandwich, sure Cord would be able to read him like an open book.

He suddenly felt like he didn’t know Cord at all. He was at least a decade older than Tag, and he never called attention to himself at meals and parties. He spoke and participated, obviously, but he wasn’t the life of the party.

Sometimes, Tag had gotten the feeling Cord would rather be at home than out, but he’d cleaned up and come all the same. Tag could definitely relate to that, and he dared to look up at the man as he lifted his first half-sandwich.

“What’s on your mind?” Cord asked. He’d already bitten into his gravy-laden steak sandwich, and he took another bite while watching Tag.

Thankfully, Tag had already put his sandwich in motion, so he took a bite as he shook his head slightly. Cord picked up a napkin from the thick stack of them in the middle of the table and wiped his face.

They both ate, the silence about to burst Tag at the seams. He finally swallowed all the meat and cheese, and he wished he’d gotten drinks.

“I’ve got Coke and water,” Cord said. “Maybe some ginger ale in there, leftover from when Jane was sick.”

“Coke would be great,” Tag said. He took the can from Cord, who wasn’t going to ask Tag again. He could simply see that in the man’s expression. Still, he popped the top on the Coke and took a fizzy gulp of it.

As he exhaled, he decided he’d come here to have this conversation. It wasn’t going to be the first hard one he’d had, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Especially with the way his date with Opal loomed on the horizon.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “I’m feeling a little…I don’t even know how to say it.”

“Is this a farm thing?” Cord asked. “A life thing? You’re unsettled working for someone else? Want a place of your own?” He ducked his head and lifted his sandwich. “Or an Opal thing?”

“Opal,” scraped out of Tag’s throat. “Or maybe a life thing. Or a farm thing. Maybe it’s all wrapped together.” He sighed and rolled his neck from side to side. “It feels knotted. Complicated.”

Cord had taken another bite of his lunch, and he nodded in an overly enunciated way, obviously his nonverbal way of saying, Go on. Keep talking.

“She’s just so—so perfect,” Tag said like that was a bad thing to be. “She’s smart. She has all this money, and she’s talking of starting a foundation that’ll fund a non-profit clinic. She wants a place of her own, so she buys land from her brother, hires a builder, and bam, the house is well on its way to completion.”

He took a breath, but so many more words had started piling up. They choked him as they stacked down his throat, and Tag’s only option was to keep talking. “And it’s just so easy for her, you know? Nothing is hard for a Hammond. She has so much money, it’s like she doesn’t even understand what other people have to go through.”

Cord said nothing, but he nodded again; took another bite of his sandwich. Tag had only had the one, and he didn’t think he could stuff anything into his mouth until everything he needed to say came out.

“Then, she’s not sure about the foundation or the clinic, and let me tell you, she doesn’t really want those things. I know what she wants, and she does too, but it’s like she’s afraid to admit it.”

As Tag spoke, he realized he was afraid too. So he said, “And I am too, because what if I’m not enough for her? I don’t own any land. Or a farm. Or anything. And we’ll…what? Get married, and I’ll move into her house, on her land, and cater to her?”

He actually didn’t mind all of those things. He’d do them a thousand times over. “I feel like I’m losing myself again,” he said. “Where do I fit? Am I really that important to her? And how long could that possibly last? Until she has the babies she wants?”

He shook his head. “It’s complicated,” he muttered again, and then he stuffed his mouth with more meat and cheese.

Cord slid the end of his messy sandwich into his mouth and picked up another napkin. He cleaned up without saying anything, and Tag just wanted to toss his turkey and avocado at the wall and stalk out. He could obviously never come back here again, and he’d need to somehow make sure that Cord never said anything of this conversation to Jane.

He swallowed and looked at Cord. “I want to matter too. It might be stupid or selfish or whatever, but it’s how I feel.”

“How you feel is valid,” Cord finally said, dropping the napkin into a pile with the others he’d used. “And completely normal for being with someone like Opal.”

“Did you feel like this with Jane?”

“Absolutely,” Cord said. “Every day.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “It wasn’t an easy road for me, bein’ with Jane. Her daddy didn’t like me for her—in fact, he forbade me from dating her when we were younger.” A smile came to his face that Tag did not comprehend.

“But we grew up. We matured, and Jane’s very stubborn. She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to go after it. I think Opal’s a little like that.”

Tag scoffed. “A little, sure. Must be a Hammond trait.”

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