Page 117 of We Redeemed the Rain

I opened my mouth and tried to continue. Tried to pretend I hadn’t noticed the way his swallow tugged his adam’s apple. That I hadn’t noticed the way his lips parted before his gaze darted away, and he removed his hand from my leg.

“I played something new last night.”

His brows lifted, relieved for a distraction. “Did you really?”

“Yes.”

“You felt it?” A smile toyed at his lips.

“Yeah, I did. It felt so good.”

“That’s…amazing.” He smiled fully, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I knew you had it in you. It’ll just get better from here.”

“I hope so.”

We both looked at Tillie as she huffed and turned a circle.

He said, “She doesn’t like storms.”

“I gathered.”

“I’m glad she didn’t accidentally hurt you.”

I shifted, and the ache in my neck reminded me Tillie actually had hurt me. I opened my mouth to tell him so then thought better of it. Telling Tag about a harmless bump against the wall would only give him another burden to carry.

“I think there are wood chips embedded in my skin. Want to help me up?”

“Yeah.”

His hands clasped around mine and he lifted me off the ground. I gave a dramatic moan as my tight muscles loosened. I rolled my shoulders and twisted my right leg around. Tag brushed wood chips off the back of my shirt. I would’ve relished in his fingers runningthe length of my spine, but a loud pop filled the quiet morning and a gush of water poured to the ground.

Fully dressed now, I pressed myself against the side of Tillie’s stall, clutching my phone and waiting for the action to get started. Tag said after a mare’s water breaks, foals were usually born in about thirty minutes or so. At this point, there was nothing to do or check and there was no way to support Tillie and her baby. Penny had given us instructions not to interfere. So Tag and I hung back and gave her plenty of space to do her thing.

After her water broke, I’d run inside to change and now I’d been tasked with filming. Tag called Penny, but she had yet to arrive.

The gravity of the moment kept my voice low. It was sacred. A birth. A new beginning. It demanded a reverent tone. I whispered, “It must’ve been the storm system that sent her into labor. The change in pressure maybe.”

Poor Tillie was restless. But she’d finally knelt on the ground and laid on her side, readying herself.

Tag paced back toward me and leaned against the wall. He settled flush against me. His shoulder against mine. I leaned my weight against his like I was made for it.

Tag whispered near my forehead. “I’m so glad you were here for this.”

I smiled. “Me too.”

I looked up at him, and he beamed down at me. A soft, contented smile lighted every feature of his face. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look so peaceful. He wordlessly leaned into me with his shoulder, a bit of his weight countering mine.

This was a huge moment for Tag. One of his greatest friends was having a baby. He had loved her and cared for her, bringing her all the way to this moment. It should be perfect for him.

Gratitude, deep and moving, swelled in me. Somehow I’d been granted the opportunity to be here, too. I was so glad he wasn’texperiencing this magical moment alone, like he had everything else in his life.

Maybe I shouldn't have thought about Tag in terms of what he’d lost. But it was hard not to. Everything he’d suffered—severe and chronic neglect, heart wrenching loneliness, unending situational challenges—made me respect him. Everything he touched seemed magic to me. Because who could go through all that and still find purpose?

He was running a ranch, chasing his dreams, doing everything he could to live happy and whole on his own. I was not strong enough to do that. I would be nothing without the relationships in my life.

I admired him for his resilience in the hayloft all those years ago. That he was able to sit up, swipe the hay out of his hair, and promise he was okay. Whatever courage Tag possessed that enabled him to fight day after day, that enabled him to show up and give his all moment by moment…I wanted it. Tag had no idea how strong he was. Then and now. This ranch, these horses, were the proof.

Tillie puffed a deep breath, a quiet moan.

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