Page 70 of Tate
Tate was finishing off his Kung Pao chicken. “Then who attacked us at the Anderson fundraiser?”
“Anyone have a vendetta against Senator Jackson?”
“Probably. She’s a senator after all.”
“Maybe you should start searching a little closer to home. But here’s the good news…if the Bryant League has nothing to do with any of this, then Glo is probably relatively safe. Which means she doesn’t need your protection. You can quit working for the senator and you and Glo can ride away on your shiny white horse.”
She stopped mid-bite. “Oh, sorry. Your shiny black motorcycle.”
“I can ride a horse, RJ.”
She kept her mouth closed, but her eyes laughed.
“I was six.”
“I wish I was old enough to remember. But the stories—oh, Knox and Rube were merciless.”
“I broke my wrist. Of course I cried.”
She looked at him, then something of kindness crested her face. “Just because you aren’t a cowboy doesn’t make you a failure.”
He drew in his breath. “I know.”
“Do you? Because you got it in your mind when you were six that you weren’t cut out for ranching. And you told yourselfthat you had to be awesome at something else. And nearly died proving it.”
“It was war?—”
“Long before the war, Tate. Let’s talk about that motorcycle you fixed up and spent hours driving around the ranch. Your wall of BMX awards.”
“Until I broke my shoulder and Ma forbade me to ride it.”
“That’s my point. Then there was your glory on the football team.”
“Rube played football. He was the captain.”
“He wasn’t a running back. Hello, three state records and two concussions. But do you take advantage of that athletic scholarship and go to Montana State, like Knox? No. You join the military. Become aRanger, for Pete’s sake. Trying to prove something, again.”
He looked away. “I was serving my country. And I was a good Ranger.”
“You were an amazing Ranger. A decorated hero?—”
“I wasn’t a hero.”
“Yeah, actually, you were. Your Bronze Star? Your Purple Heart?”
“All but one of my squad was killed—and I was their team leader. Heroes don’t get people killed.” He didn’t know how the conversation landed here, in his regrets. His wounds. And now he’d lost his appetite. “Are you coming home for Rube’s wedding this weekend?”
She stared at him a long moment. Then she set down her carton, wedged the chopsticks inside. “Okay, Tate. Let’s not talk about your insatiable need to be better than Rube and Knox. Let’s not talk about the fact you’re still six years old inside and angry, hurt, and embarrassed after being bucked off a horse. Let’s talk about superficial things that won’t let you see that you don’t have to do anything to be awesome. Or loved. We’realready crazy about you, just because you’re you. Hardworking, reliable, brave, and heroic. So yeah, I’ll try and make it to the wedding.”
He looked away.
“But we’re still…working. At work. So…I probably have towork.”
He looked back at her. “And I guess we won’t talk about your need to keep up with Ford. To save the world.”
Her eyes flashed. “I am saving the world.”
He didn’t think she was kidding, and a cold hand tightened around his chest. “In Italy or the Czech Republic?”
