Page 75 of We Redeemed the Rain

That letter changed the temperature of our relationship. From there on out, our communication became more and more vulnerable. More honest and heartfelt. More knowing and known. Maybe that was the biggest change of all. We stopped talking like we were trying to get to know each other.

Because we already did.

As Tag drove the truck toward the barn, I flattened my palm against my stomach, trying to quell the tripping sensation.

After he told me her name was Sprinkles, he had run his hand through his hair and gripped it, allowing his forearm to linger in front of his face. Like he wanted to hide his expression behind it. In fact, I’d seen him do the hair-swipe-arm-linger thing multiple times. Always when he seemed uncomfortable. Why would he be uncomfortable?

My heart came up with crazy ideas it couldn’t afford to entertain. If I got even a whiff of confirmation that he had cared about me likethat, my heart was in serious trouble. The mere idea wrecked myinsides. My stomach flipped like it was dropped from a great height into a bottomless pit. I took a steadying breath and glanced over at Tag with new eyes.

What if?

No.

I couldn’t go there.

Sprinkles was sprinkled, and that was that.

He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel as the truck bounced and crunched up the gravel drive. Stress tore me up from the inside, so I grabbed my grapes and ate the rest, desperate for something to distract myself. Tag sipped his now-cold tea, which had sloshed a little onto the console.

The light outside the windows had grown to a warm orange, darkness nowhere to be found. I allowed myself to study him for the remainder of our two minute drive. His hat was wedged into the dashboard, I think the rim hitting the headrest bothered him, because he never wore it while he drove. His curls were smashed against his head. They appeared the softest in the morning, untouched by the heat and sun and dust of the day. Today, his t-shirt was plain gray, the tiniest bit too snug. Like he’d bought it years ago and filled out or maybe it was left in the dryer too long.

I snapped my attention out the windshield as I realized I was ogling him. Yes, I wasn’t blind. I’d noticed how cute he was when we met. But now, for some reason, my heart raced as I took in his details. I felt like a flustered teen all over again, not sure what to do or say. Thewhat ifscollided with my thoughts of him, and the blend was torturous but delightful, throwing my entire balance off-kilter.

My heart didn’t know what to do with the sudden change. Was I excited? Scared? Both?

Yes.Both.

We got out of the truck and went into the barn, where he threw feed into ten stalls. Belatedly, I realized I’d followed him from stall to stall without uttering a word, my hand resting over mywildlytrashing heart. I was so deep in thought, I bumped into his shoulder when he stopped at the last stall door.

“Oh, sorry.” I shook off my stupor, forcing myself to pay attention and stop letting my imagination run amuck.

“Bea, I wanna introduce you to someone.” He opened the half-door, flipped a lightswitch, stepped inside, and murmured, “mornin’ big girl,” to a horse who gave a soft nicker of excitement. He held the door open for me. “Come in. Just watch your step. I gotta muck these once I turn ‘em out.”

I stepped in. The stall was huge, much bigger than the others. A ginormous head pushed up to mine, eager to socialize with the new girl. Instinctively, I pulled back. I wasn’t afraid, but it was hard not to react when every horse was so dang big. And this horse was not only tall, she waswide.

Tag flattened his palms against her shoulder and pushed her backwards. “Back up and let her meet you proper.” She responded by huffing a breath and turning a small circle, stopping on the opposite side of the stall. “She doesn’t like bein’ bossed.”

She was dark brown, like chocolate. Her mane and tail almost looked black. I was thankful for the overhead light that allowed me to see…tiny scars covering her flanks? Little flaws in her coat were slightly discolored and some patches of hair were missing altogether, the tough skin beneath visible from a distance.

Recognition clapped against my brain, knocking the breath out of me. “Tag?”

He watched me as he ran his fingers through her mane.

“Is this Tillie?”

He nodded, holding a smile back. Tag stood tall with his head up, obviously very proud to show her off.

“Tag.” I breathed in disbelief. “She is beautiful.”

“She is.”

“How old is she? I don’t know why, but I’m shocked you still have her.”

“She’s nineteen now.”

“Wow. I didn’t realize horses lived that long.”

“They can live thirty years.”

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