Page 4 of Long Time Coming

“Peaches. She knows everything, and she’s on the Peach Festival committee with his mother. She gets all the gossip at meetings.”

My mom used to be on that committee before she passed. Hearing about it so suddenly has my chest tightening, though I know Lauralee would never mention something to hurt me. But not all wounds heal. “Then how did we not know he had a son?”

“We did know. I told you back when you—” She looks down and then says, “It was around the time of your return. A lot was going on back then.”

More doesn’t have to be shared, and I’d prefer if we didn’t. Hoping to move past this, I reply, “Yeah.” Refocusing on the man who was just at hand, I feel a little lighter again—mind and soul. “That still doesn’t mean he’s single, my friend.” I start backing toward the door until my back rests against the handlebar. “So third, I’m sure he has a stable of women waiting for him back in New York City. La de dah and fancy pants. I’m just a small-town girl with dirt under my nails. I think I’m safe from falling under his spell.”

“Again.”

“You don’t let anything slide, do you?”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“So are enemies.” I laugh as the bell chimes when I exit. “You also owe me a biscuit.”

“Next Friday,” she calls out before the door closes.

I head to the truck, still laughing, until I notice my nails while reaching for the door. Shaking my head, I try not to feel embarrassed. It’s not a competition for Tagger Grange’s attention. I have too much on my plate to worry about being perfect for a man who’s basically passing through town.

It still might be time to have a girls’ night again to get my nails done and a haircut. I might be a whiz at cutting split ends, but my nails need outside help.

I start the truck and back out, creating a plume of dust behind me. Needing to get back to the ranch, I shift into drive and leave my encounter with Tagger right where it should be—in the rearview mirror.

But why am I still thinking about him when I cross onto Rollingwood Ranch property fifteen minutes later? I know. I just hate to admit it.

It sure was good to see him again . . .

CHAPTER 2

Tagger

“You see that, Beckett?”While slowing down, I drive steady and point across the interior of the rental car to direct his attention in the back seat to out the window. “When I was your age, only rows of crops were there.”

“What happened to them?”

“It was a lot for Grammy and Pops to take care of, so they sold some land and now farm for their own food and sell the rest at a farmstand on the weekends.”

“What does farming mean?”

The curiosity in his tone nearly undoes me. This was my whole world for eighteen years, yet six years into his life, my son only knows pavement and skyscrapers. It’s tempting to bang my head against the steering wheel. Instead, I take in a deep breath and remind myself why we’re back in Texas.

This is for him. And me. I need this trip more than I’ve let on to friends and family.

“You know Old MacDonald?” I ask as thoughts of Beck playing in the dirt roll through my mind.

“Had a farm! E-I-E-I-O,” he sings excitedly. Poking the window, he’s still singing but more to himself, but then stops and looks at me with his mouth twisted to the left side of his face. Our eyes connect in the mirror. I know that look; I’m about to be hit with a barrage of questions. He asks, “Do you farm?”

“I did. I used to while growing up here.”

“Did you like it?”

I nod without needing time to think. I grin, the memories probably better than the hard work it took to keep things running back then. “I liked it a lot.”

“Then why do you live in New York City?”

I stop the car just after entering the property past the rusted metal gate. Looking back at him, I reply, “Because you’re there.”

A smile grows just like my mom’s prized cabbage always grew—big and showy, and worth every ribbon she ever won. Beck’s smile has often been compared to mine. I’m always happy to take the compliment. “You ready to see Grammy and Pops?”

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