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)
I move closer to see a photo of Tagger solo in hiking gear standing on what looks to be the top of the world. I know he and Baylor traveled quite a bit after college, but I can’t place where this might have been. I was in college by then, caught up in my own life, so not surprised. A kiss of a sunburn across his cheeks makes his smile blinding white, but the happiness can’t be contained. I can even see it in his eyes. I’m not sure I’ve seen it at that level since we reconnected. I take a breath. He looks so handsome that it hurts to think some of the joy has been sucked away from his life.
Another photo of that cutie patootie Beckett makes me smile. When does he not? Never. His personality is so vivacious, and he’s handsome like his dad. Dressed in a school uniform, he looks nice, but I think I prefer him playing at the farm to every hair being in place. He’s a kid, not a little adult.
Shifting to the last frame on the shelf, I pick it up. Tagger and Baylor. It’s how Tagger looks now, grown into his looks, harder jaw, those creases at the corners of his eyes I love to look at. Even his hair is similar.
Both are dressed in tuxedos in a crowded room with paintings on the wall and gilding everywhere. Best of friends since they were crawling on the floor. I’m glad they’ve always had each other. I have that with Lauralee.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen my brother, even in photos. I’m not as familiar with this Baylor—the smile is the same, but he’s all grown up with broader shoulders and his hair more styled than he used to wear it, and like Tagger, little lines are forming on the outside of his eyes.
There’s no judgment, just noticing my brother grew up without me being aware. I’m sure it would surprise him to see how much I have changed as well.
I set the frame back in place and walk to the living room. Dragging my finger along the back of the structured leather couch, I notice the touches of hominess he’s added—a fuzzy blanket draped over a chair and a few throw pillows that look expensive, judging by the design and size. The TV is big, but that doesn’t surprise me. He and Baylor are huge sports fanatics.
It’s then that I see the hallway leading to more. Do I snoop? Do I sit here patiently and wait for him to come home? Should I shower and freshen up after the day of travel?
I’m not sure, so I check my phone to see if he’s sent a messages, but I don’t have any. I set it down on the counter next to where I left the key and decide to snoop because that’s what you do when someone leaves you unsupervised in their fancy apartment.
The first room on the left is unmistakably Beck’s. Blue walls with Yankee pennants and a game ball that looks to be signed on display next to books on a shelf. It’s a cute baseball-themed room. I close the door and walk to the next room on the right. The modern designed bathroom has a walk-in shower and a counter that matches the one in the kitchen. It’s moodier in design when in a smaller space but still inviting.
Having a feeling Tag’s room is the one on the right with a great view, I peek into the last room on the left first. It’s not particularly exciting as an office setup with a treadmill. Looks like some junk lines the walls. Thank God. I was starting to think he wasn’t human.
It’s the last room I’m most anticipating. Where does Tagger Grange lay his head?
The door is cracked open, so I peek in before pushing it the rest of the way. I home in on the dress lying on the bed with a shopping bag next to it. It’s out of place, and a knot of discomfort tightens in my stomach.
The room is brighter than the rest of the house, with lighter beiges and open curtains, a chair in the corner, and a king-sized bed as the showpiece. A darker rug anchors the bed over the hardwoods and leads to nightstands on either side of the mattress, which is covered in a down comforter and four pillows to rest your head. Who needs more than one?
I suppose someone who lives like a prince in a high-rise apartment or someone who is into foursomes. I’m not sure how I feel about either, so I go to personally inspect the dress situation to see what that’s about instead.
Pris.
This is my kind of welcome.
I take the note and flip it open. There’s an address and a time. Signed, Your Cowboy.