Page 104 of We Redeemed the Rain

I quietly cried into my pillow for him.

Why, Tag? Why?

THIRTY-ONE

Tag

Igained forty years overnight.

My body resisted every movement and tears, yes tears, filled my eyes when I forced myself out of bed at five o’clock in the morning. I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever felt so much pain. The lactic acid in my muscles was straight-up having a party and even stretching did nothing.

I didn’t want to limparound in front of Bea, but I had no choice. I hoped she was sleeping in, forgetting all about the morning feed. Knowing her, I doubted it.

When I came down the hall, she was already sipping coffee and my cup of tea was waiting.

She did too much for me. And it seemed like all I’d done since she showed up here was take advantage of her kindness. Why didn’t I get up earlier and have her coffee waiting instead? The better question waswhydid I allow Bea—gentle, soft-skinned Bea—to manually haul five hundred gallons of water yesterday? Shehadto be hurting as bad as I was. Had to be.

I suppressed a growl. The thought of her in pain twisted my insides into a thousand knots.

To make things worse, she had to look so freaking gorgeous every day. If she could be less sexy and mess up her hair or something that would be great. Then maybe I could have a halfway coherent, non-idiotic thought.

This morning, she had her cut-off jeans which were starting to fray around the edges from the daily washing, and the white fitted tank top. And one of my red bandanas tying back a wrapped knot of her hair.

A frown pulled onto my face even as I checked her out from behind.

For the love of everything…

She turned, swiveled more like, and grimaced when she saw me. “Good…morning?”

“Hi.” I mumbled.

“You’re alive?”

“Barely.”

“Can you move?”

“Barely.”

She made a softoohsound. “I’m sorry.”

“I should be alright once I get movin’.”

I would not. My obliques hurt so much I could hardly breathe.

I grabbed my tea off the counter. “Thanks for the tea.”

“It took me a long time to make thatcomplicatedorder.” She smiled at her joke, gathered a pile of apple slices off a cutting board, plopped them in a paper bowl, and handed them to me. Her upper body, neck to waist, moved as a unit.

She palmed her mug of coffee, flinched, then adjusted the hot cup to her fingertips.

She couldn’t twist, couldn’t touch the heat, could hardly turn her head. My poor mood soured.

I asked, but my intuition knew the answer. “How you feelin’? I’m not the only one who worked their butt off yesterday.”

“I’m okay. Could be worse.” She took a stiff sip of her coffee then thunked it down in a hurry, fisting her palms and folding her arms across her midsection.

I held my hand out flat between us. “Lemme see them.”

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