Page 176 of We Redeemed the Rain

I didn’t want to call out of the blue, but not knowing if Bea was alright was ripping my insides to pieces. My anxiety convinced my brain something terrible had happened. I just needed to know if she was safe.

Despite the rise of fear in my chest, I tapped his number into my phone. My thumb hesitated over the green button. If Bea was emotional about the way we parted, Peter might hate my guts. And he’d have every reason to.

But the need to reassure myself made me tap anyway.

If he hated me, he hated me. I loved Bea, and she was the bigger concern here.

My heart thumped, loud and quick. I swallowed, waiting.

Right when I thought it was going to voicemail, a man’s voice answered—much deeper in tone than mine. “Hello, this is Peter Thompson.”

“Uh, yeah, hi. This is goin’ to seem pretty random. My name’s Samuel Taggart. I, uh, run a ranch?—”

He cut me off. “Tag.”

“I guess you’ve heard of me.”

“I certainly have.”

“Bea told me lots about you, too.”

He didn’t comment on that. He took a sharp breath, his voice curt and formal. I’d have to be deaf to miss the fact that he was peeved. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I wanted to check on Bea. I’ve called her over the past coupledays, and when I didn’t hear anything, it…it worried me. Just wanted to make sure she was safe.”

“It’s nice of you to finally check in. I’m glad to report she’s safe.” He let the sentence hang, offering no explanation whatsoever.

“Oh, gotcha. Thank you. That—that makes me feel better.”

“Happy to help.”

“Is—her phone workin’?”

“Working just fine last I checked.”

“Can you tell her I called?”

He paused. “Sure.”

When we disconnected, my stomach hit my boots.

Dammit.

I never should’ve sent that thing. I never should’ve believed that anyone could read it and still…want me. The rejection felt like a hot iron pressed into my stomach and nausea traveled up my esophagus. Her cold shoulder was a wild card—absolutely unexpected and completely changed the landscape.

I’d seen Miss Simone two more times since that first visit. She graciously worked me in after her typical hours to get me quick help. After the first two visits, we met virtually. Seeing her was a step in the right direction. Miss Simone was so kind and spoke words a heart could cling to.

We hadn’t dug up all the painful things yet. Eventually we would. For now, she spoon fed me truth and I talked about the things I felt emotionally prepared to tackle.

Last time we talked, she’d said,“The evil in the heart of man is what is broken and wrong with this world. When your mind and body shut down, they are doing exactly what they were wired to do to protect you. You might feel like there’s something wrong, but I can assure you, from years of experience, this is a normal human response to trauma. You are not broken, Tag.”

I clung to her words like a life preserver.

I am not broken. I am not broken. I am not broken.

Maybe saying it enough times would make it true.

Red-eyed and dragging, I pulled Paprika back to her pasture and turned her loose after the riding schedule. Nausea pressed into my throat—my heart sick with grief. Dreams tormented me all night, and my eyes burned with exhaustion.

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