Page 89 of We Redeemed the Rain

Windy and Ginseng, pathetically disappointed by the game’s abrupt end, hung their heads over the fence where the bandana lay out of reach.

“I really didn’t.” I took a steadying breath and wiped under my eyes, speaking through my giggles. “I wish—I would’ve thought of it though, because that—was brilliant.”

He deadpanned at me, but his cheek rolled as he worked his jaw against a smile. His eyes narrowed, and the heat in my blood rose a few degrees. His gray gaze was alive—a fiery challenge. “Don’t start stuff with me.”

“Why on earth not?” I lifted my chin in defiance. “That made my entire day.”

He stepped closer and gazed down into my eyes. His voice rumbled. “Because I’ll get you back.”

“I’m sorry—was that athreat?”

“Yes, ma’am, it was a threat.”

Yes ma’am?

A wave of girlish giddiness swept through my torso. Momentarily, I forgot to inhale. “Well, bring it on. You’ll learn just how deep my stubborn runs.”

He cracked, a grin winning out. “Watch your back then.”

The next morning, I mixed potions and pastes for the horses again, dropping the concoctions into the blue bucket. No messes this time.

Waiting for Tag, I hopped up to sit on the work table and stifled a yawn. Where did I leave my coffee cup? It was hours old, but I craved a drop or two more of caffeine.

It was Wednesday already—time was flying. I was falling in love with ranch work, but I had to admit, I was exhausted. More than usual.

I didn’t sleep well last night. Peter’s appointment was at 8:45 a.m. this morning, and I spent a lot of time last night fretting about it. Despite his multiple follow up calls, he hadn’t gotten any results on the MRI. I was worried sick. Worry was pointless, I knew that. But knowledge didn’t always quell fear.

Surely, they learned something at the appointment.

It was ten thirty now, and I hadn’t heard from him.

Tag finished dumping the wheelbarrow and joined me at the table. “Ready?”

My phone rang. I looked up into Tag’s eyes. “It’s Peter.”

Tag froze. He knew I was waiting for this call. Backing toward the corridor, he whispered. “Alright, I’ll be?—”

“Stay.” I patted a spot on the table beside me and swiped up on the call. “Peter, hey!”

“Hey, Beatles.”

“How’d it go?” My heart clenched, almost quivered. Tag quietly, hesitantly, sat next to me.

“Well, we don’t have a ton of answers, but we did get good news.” A smile laced his tone. “The MRI showed there’s no brain tumor anywhere to be found.”

My body slacked forward, the phone falling away from my ear a couple inches. Tears of relief sprang into my eyes and trickled down my cheeks, immediate and hot from the waiting. I placed a hand over my brow and eyes, letting them flow.

Tag’s hand came to the back of my shoulder. His touch waslight, polite, and maybe even a little awkward. But I relished in the soft squeeze of encouragement, the whisper-like patting.

“You there, Bea?”

I huffed a breath, pulling my shoulders up and back. “Sorry—I’m bawling my eyes out. Thank God, Peter, thank God.”

His voice shook, too. “I know. We’re counting our blessings right now. You're the first person I called.”

“Is Sarah okay?”

“She’s wonderful. She’s sitting right next to me.” I heard him peck her with a kiss. “No tumor is the best thing we could’ve heard today. We are about to celebrate and get some brunch.”

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