Page 6 of Long Time Coming

Baylor hasn’t shared photos in a long time. Who shows off photos of their sister anyway? But I could have used a warning. Instead, I was stuck there with a growing . . . I clear my throat, though I’m not sure what suddenly clogged it.

Nothing like having your kid wreck your game, as if I still have any. I laugh again as I approach the tack shed. I’m not looking to give my dad a heart attack, so as I come around the corner, I call out, “Hey, Dad?”

Busted.He’s not fishing.

Asleep in a hammock under the trees, he’s snoring loudly. I consider waking him but decide to give him a few more minutes to rest, figuring fishing was his cover so he could sneak in a nap before returning to his duties.

I always thought it would be hard to forget this place. Although it’s embedded in my being, this river runs through my veins, and the air is the oxygen that I need to breathe. Nothing beats being here in person again.

I sit in the lawn chair at the river’s edge, my shoulders easing and my body slumping into the worn fabric. This is the life.

“Catch anything?”

Whipping my gaze over my shoulder, I see my dad grumbling as he slips out of the hammock. “I thought I’d leave it to the professionals.”

He grins as his eyes travel over the rocky bank and meet mine. “What brings you home, son?”

“A long flight and then just over an hour’s drive.” I stand and meet him halfway.

Turning a handshake into a hug, Dad pats me on the back. “Glad you made the trek. It’s been too long.”

“It has. Felt like a good time to make my way back.”

We step apart, and both cross our arms over our chests as if we’re a mirror with a time difference between his age and mine. “Where’s my little man Beckett?” He’s been trying to get my son here for years.

We only made the trip to Texas once when our son was barely one. Anna hated it here. She claimed it was too dusty, too in the middle of nowhere, too deserted, and the worst for her, was that not one shop served her overly complicated coffee drink. No barista ever got it right anyway, even in the city. We had one night in The Pass before she demanded we leave the next day.

“Beck is up at the house with Mom. I’m sure she’s feeding him cobbler and smothering him in love.”

“How it should be.” He walks toward the river and picks up a rock, then taps it to his forehead. Then he skips it across the surface like magic. I always thought it was magic when I was young before he taught me his secrets. Angles and shapes of rocks matter, how fast the water flows, and a gentle tap to the forehead for luck. “Running from trouble or just need some fresh air in your lungs?”

My dad was never a man who talked to hear his own voice. He’s more of a get to the heart of the matter kind of guy. It’s a quality I’ve come to respect more as I’ve gotten older and dealt with assholes with their doublespeak to fuck everyone else at work for every lead, promotion, or opportunity presented.

Keeping my eyes forward, I reply, “A little of both.”

He steps closer and squeezes my shoulder before turning to walk away. “You always have a place to come home, Tagger.” He waves over his shoulder. “Come on. I want to see my grandson and get some cobbler before it’s gone.”

I pick up a rock and tap it on my forehead. I’m not sure if I have the same skills I once had, but I toss it anyway and hope for the best. I get two skips before it sinks. I’ll take the win. I turn to catch up to him. “Coming.”

“And you need to change clothes. I thought you were a tax collector when I saw you.”

Chuckling, I run to join his side. “It’s good to be home, Dad.”

CHAPTER 3

Christine

There’snothing like falling into a bed clean after a long day of being covered in dirt.

I don’t bother drying my hair, figuring I’ll deal with the nest of tangles in the morning instead. Until I remember morning comes early on the ranch.

With a groan, I flip the covers off and push out of bed. The moonlight flooding my bedroom floor lights the way to my dresser. I’m not drying my hair, but I can at least brush it. I start at the ends, wanting to rush the process, but I know patience is a virtue, so I slow down. And just like every other time I stop rushing around and my mind has a moment to wander, Tagger invades my thoughts. Sort of like he did my whole life. The feelings of an innocent crush at eight differ from those I felt for him when I was sixteen.

I may have been invisible to him, but he made every fiber of my being tighten when he was around. I couldn’t think straight, struggled to complete sentences without giggling, and, worst of all, I made a fool of myself, thinking he might be interested.

Why in hell would a twenty-year-old, who had every girl falling at his feet, find me something special?

My chest flames in embarrassment, remembering how I made a fool of myself trying to flirt with him. I didn’t even know how to flirt back then. Asking him to help me onto my horse was ridiculous. He knew I could get on without help, but he still obliged. It was probably best he and Baylor returned to campus early that year. Otherwise, I might have done something else stupid to get his attention.

---