Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Can I have these, Daddy?”
Daddy? I look down at the boy tugging on Tagger’s hand. His eyes are green like his dad’s, and his smile so sweet as he looks up at Tag like he’s his hero.
Tagger squats down, getting eye level with him, and then eyes the bag of candy. “I think that’s okay. Are you still wanting ice cream?”
But I’m still stuck on the daddy part. Seems Baylor has left a few details out of our conversations over the years. Still in a bit of shock by this news, I watch the interaction, utterly fascinated that Tag’s a dad.
The blond-headed boy nods as his smile spans his face. “Yes, please.”
Looking up at me, Tagger says, “This is my friend Pris—” Shaking his head, he blinks long and hard as if the habit was just too hard to break. “Miss Christine.” He takes hold of his son’s hand as he glances at his son and then at me again when he stands to his full height. “This is my son, Beckett Grange. Beck.”
As if I wasn’t already charmed by the past standing before me, my heart melts for this little cutie at his side. I kneel to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Beck.”
“You too, Miss Christine. How old are you?”
“Oh.” My chin juts back in surprise. I start to laugh at Beck’s bluntness. “I’m twenty-six. How old are you?”
“Six.” His eyes flick up to his dad, and then back to me. “I turn seven soon. Dad said I can ride a horse while I’m here.”
“How fun. I love horses. Have you ridden one before?” I can’t imagine raising a kid without the wide-open spaces I grew up with. The animals, and farm, the striking sunsets, and diving into the river on hot days. It was fun to visit Baylor in New York once, but I was a fish out of water. Austin isn’t too far of a drive from here, but it’s not the same culture shock to my hill country system.
“No. We’re not allowed to go near them at the park.”
“The horse carriages at Central Park,” Tag slips in.
“Ah.” I nod. “Yeah, they’re doing a job. It’s probably best not to disturb them. I have lots of horses if you’d like to come out to our ranch and see them.”
His face clenches in excitement. “Yes, please.”
“Great. We’ll make sure it happens while you’re visiting.”
The squeak of the door swinging open alerts us to Lauralee entering from the back. Stunned, she stops, and the door practically hits her in the face. “Um.” As she wipes her hands down the apron, her eyes volley between the two of us, then dips to Beck. “This is unexpected.”
“Hey there, Lauralee. How are you?” Tagger’s voice is smoother than I remember as if he’s grown into more of himself over the years. He was always confident, but now there’s an ease to his words that makes me think he’s more at peace.
With his eyes set on her, he smiles, causing my sweet friend’s cheeks pink. Girl, I know the feeling firsthand. When she pushes her hair back from her face, flour dusts her dark brown bangs, which she’s been growing out for a year and are too stubborn to stay in the elastic at the back of her head. She moves to the counter, resting her palms on the hard surface. “I’m good, Tag. How are you?”
“Fine and dandy,” he replies, which has my gaze racing to meet Lauralee’s. We silently agree that, yes, he is, indeed, very fine. “Are you running the store these days?”
“Yeah, but my mom still comes in to work a few hours most days. Keeps her and my dad from getting on each other’s nerves since they retired early. Also takes some of the load off my shoulders.”
“Tell Peaches hello from me.”
A tug on my skirt draws my attention down to Beck, who asks, “How do you know my daddy?”
“Oh, um.” Another one of his little blindside questions causes me to laugh. I glance up at Tagger. “I’ve known your daddy all my life. He’s best friends with my brother Baylor.”
Tag’s hand shags through his son’s hair. “You know Baylor, buddy. That’s Miss Christine’s brother.”
“He’s my uncle,” Beck replies proudly.
The sentiment warms my heart for many reasons, but maybe even more that my brother has family in the form of friends since he lives so far from Peachtree Pass, Texas. I stand again. “How’s my brother doing?”
“He’s . . . I don’t think he’ll ever change.”
Smiling like we’re both in on the joke, I reply, “I doubt it. It would take a miracle and the right woman to get that wild card back home.”
He nods, seeming to know exactly what I mean. Baylor was never subtle in his pursuits, whether wrangling the cattle, pursuing his career in New York City, or catching women. They all fell into his golden boy hands without much effort.