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)
Three rings and no answer have me doubting myself, but then there’s a click. “Hey there, cowboy.”
The tension in my shoulders subsides simply from hearing her voice over the speakerphone, peace finally finding me after the long day. “Hey there.” I grin and try to wipe it away, failing this time, unlike earlier in the conference room. “Bad time?”
“Perfect timing. I was just wrapping up in the barn. How was your flight? Did you make your meeting?”
“Flight was fine. Meeting was made, but I don’t want to discuss that.”
“What do you want to talk about, Tagger?” I catch the rise in her tone. Worrying her was not my intention.
“I regret leaving you.”
“I do too, but all day, I kept reminding myself that whether it was today or Wednesday, it was inevitable,” she says, which has me picturing her raising her chin. Protecting herself? The thought that she’s protecting herself from heartbreak guts me, though she’s not unwise for doing so. “You’re a busy guy with a whole life up there that I don’t even know anything about.”
Holding the phone on my chest, I lie there. What do I say to that? I’m not sure there’s a follow-up that feels right. “Pris?” I talk anyway, needing to get to what’s wrong.
“Yes?” Her response comes reluctantly and softer in tone.
“I miss the barn,” I confess. “I miss you.”
“Tagger . . .” Her voice stumbles, and then she lowers it. “I’ve been trying to keep busy so as not to think about you being gone, but my mind was always on you and the barn and the truck . . . I miss you, too.”
“I need you to know that just because I’m here doesn’t mean my heart is. I left it in your care.”
CHAPTER 26
Christine
Two weeks later . . .
Standing on the sidewalk in front of Tagger’s building, I lift my sunglasses off so my gaze can follow the building until it disappears into the sky. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in the clouds. I’m about to find out. At least for the weekend.
Two nights to live the high life.
The doorman opens the door for me. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” I reply, feeling fancy. If I said that to the guys on the ranch, I’d be laughed all the way back to New York City. It’s a nice change hearing it while in the city. A little formal for my day-to-day, though.
He scoots around the tall marble counter. “How may I help you?”
“I’m here for Tagger Grange. Christine Greene. He’s expect—”
“Yes, he is, Ms. Greene.” He sets a key on the counter and slides it to me. “Mr. Grange left this for you. He’s running late and sent his apologies.”
“Oh.” I take the key and tuck it into my pocket. “So I just go on up?” And here, I was always under the impression that New Yorkers didn’t trust strangers. Happily proven wrong. Of course, he did know my name, so there is that.
“Yes. Twentieth floor. Apartment A.” He rests back on his heels and adjusts his hat. “The apartment is on the left.”
I glance at the elevators. “Thank you.”
The apartment is easy enough to find, but it feels weird to invade without him being home. It’s like I’m an intruder in his life.
I open the door and am greeted with sunlight flooding the space from across the room. Stepping inside, I pull my suitcase in and walk down the short hallway. The hardwoods add warmth to the space, and the dark counter in the kitchen keeps it more masculine in style. Those windows, though. I leave my suitcase and hurry across the room to look out at the view.
I’m in the heart of the city, but the view over the surrounding buildings reaches all the way to the water in the distance. The blue sky and scattered clouds are so close I can almost touch them up here.
Turning back to the apartment, I find the kitchen is small, but I have a hunch it’s not used much anyway. It’s clean and looks high-end with matching stainless steel appliances and stone backsplash. I touch it just to feel the slick, natural surface.
My dad kept the sunny-colored appliances in our kitchen because they matched the flowers on the curtains, and yellow is my mom’s favorite color. But they’re so dated and starting to rust at the hinges.
I run my hands over the counter on the island, spreading them wide and resting my cheek on the cold surface. I’m no chef, but this nice kitchen would be inspiring. I remove myself from the counter before he catches me acting like a country bumpkin who has never been out of Small Town, Texas.
Two barstools are tucked under the counter overhang, and a wooden dining table for six is set up parallel to a wall of bookcases with few too many books and too much unused space. I walk closer to see a small collection of framed photos. One of Tagger and Beck on a beach with palm trees in the back and ice-blue waters washing over their toes. Another silver frame holds a photo of him back in high school with his parents flanking him. I remember that night. It was college night, and they had just announced he was going to Michigan State along with Baylor, who was next to him with my parents at his sides. It was a big night for Peachtree Pass.