Page 50 of We Redeemed the Rain

“So what makes them buck?”

I shrugged. “Trainin’.”

She nodded, allowing my one word answer to be enough. We fell back into uncomfortable silence, polished off our nachos, and headed for the semi.

Walking through the dark parking lot, my skin prickled. Being in close quarters with her in the semi wasn’t my idea of relaxing. Getting comfortable enough to sleep in there with Jesse and Cade three feet away was hard enough—would I sleep at all with Bea so close?

Despite her relaxed demeanor, she put me on edge. In our letters, I shared freely about my fears and insecurities. About my family, about Cooper, my Mom, and Gran. What did she remember? It was easy to keep strangers at a safe distance. I never gave up an inch of ground, never dropped my defenses, and never turned my back on a threat. Playing defense was my preferred way.

But she possessed a map to the gaps in my armor. One that I myself drew up for her, line by line, page by page, year after year.

And it scared the shit out of me.

FIFTEEN

Bea

Istartled from a cozy sleep, groping for my bearings.

Rodeo. Semi. Tag.

It all came rushing back to me. A worn quilt was wrapped around my scorched shoulders, nestling me down into Tag’s bed. His pillows smelled like the t-shirt I borrowed after falling into the mud—fabric softener and a touch of spice.

Last night, we went to the bathhouse, took showers, then quietly walked back to the semi. It was more spacious than it looked from the outside. A full-sized bed sat next to a tiny dresser behind the driver and passenger’s seats, a curtain divider drawn between the cab and the sleeper area. The hum of the air conditioning unit lulled me to sleep in record time.

Tag had slept a few feet away in the reclined passenger’s seat. He said it was comfortable, but based on how much he’d tossed and turned, I had my doubts.

Bits of light streamed around the thick, gray curtain. What time was it?

I tapped my phone. 8:30 a.m.

I rubbed my lips together; they stung. Considering how sunburned I was, it was a miracle I’d slept.

This morning, my feelings stung worse than my skin. The burns served as a reminder that Tag had left meallday. More than anything, I wanted to understand why. As much as I wanted to ask over nachos last night, intuition told medon’t push.So I waited, hoping time would provide answers.

A low creak grabbed my attention. I slowly sat up and the quilt rolled down the front of my body, reminding me that my top half was naked. I’d gingerly discarded my shirt in the middle of the night because the straps were digging into my burn. I grabbed the pillow to use as a shield over my body.

Was Tag still here? I’d assumed, stuck in such a tiny space, I would naturally wake when he did. Reaching toward the curtain, I eeked it open half an inch, stifling a cry of pain—felt like my skin split.

Sunshine streamed into the cab. Tag climbed through the passenger’s door, fully dressed and clutching a yellow Dollar General bag and a McDonald’s bag. His face contorted with a wince as the side-step thudded under his weight. He wore faded khakis and a navy blue t-shirt that made his waist look fantastic. Per the usual, his hat pressed his curls against the back of his neck. He was moving like an iceberg and biting his lower lip, trying to be quiet.

A smile crept onto my face.

He eased down into the passenger’s seat and pulled items out of his bag in slow motion, arranging them on the console.

Sunblock, aloe vera, a couple bottles of water, a Gatorade, and a small bottle of ibuprofen. Then he opened the McDonald’s bag, placing two wrapped breakfast sandwiches in the line-up. Last but not least, a small cup of coffee.

He hadn’t even mentioned my sunburn yesterday. I was surprised he’d noticed it.

He restlessly adjusted the items for a few seconds and finally let them be when all the labels were facing the same direction like they were still on a store shelf. Next he fished out the receipt and a pen. I watched, mesmerized as his left hand awkwardly twitched over the tiny sheet of paper, the edge crunching a little.

Tag’s left elbow was pushed forward, his forearm curled down and around to the paper. He leaned close, like he was having trouble seeing the page. The whole thing looked immensely uncomfortable. Scribbs had complained about his left-handedness many times, usually after he realized he’d left ink streaks across the paper. But his writing was so distinct and varied greatly depending on how tired he was. Used to, anyway.

I couldn’t shake the stupid grin on my face as I watched him. He’d written me pages and pages like that? I’d received the product, but had never witnessed the process. I didn’t think it was possible to find a dominant hand endearing…yet, here I was, unable to tear my eyes away.

He draped the receipt over the items then disappeared, softly clicking the door shut behind him.

I grabbed the quilt and rolled myself like ataquitofrom my breasts down, careful not to let the blanket touch the top or back of my shoulders. Stepping out from behind the curtain, I plucked up the receipt and plopped into the passenger’s seat to read it.

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