Chapter 2

Taggart Crow gawked at the woman who'd been starring in his fantasies and daydreams for months now. Fine, he'd had a nightmare or two about Opal Hammond as well. They always included a bucking horse and her passed out on the ground, and Tag blinked to get that scene out of his head.

"Hey," he said, not sure why his words had failed him so spectacularly. He'd been avoiding Opal since he'd asked her out. That had happened on the same day as she'd been kicked in the chest by a horse he'd been working with.

All of that was fine. Rather, it wasn't, but it was what it was. Tag couldn't change the past, and when Opal had chewed him out for "looking sad" around her, he'd defaulted to not being around her.

And he probably did look sad, but it wasn't because she'd been kicked. He didn't blame himself for that.

No, the idiotic thing he'd done that day had been to ask her to dinner.

She'd said yes—but she hadn't remembered the exchange. So, when Tag brought it up later, when he'd tried to schedule the date, Opal had been ultra-confused. Even now, embarrassment squished its way through all of Tag's cells.

"Are you wrapping a birthday present for me?" Opal had come inside and closed the door, but that was all. She stuck close to the door, like he might bend, swoop up the roll of pink wrapping paper, and wield it like a sword.

He couldn't hide the fact that he was, indeed, wrapping up a gift for her. She'd have seen it in a couple of hours anyway. So he said, "Yes."

"It's really big." Her eyes roamed the box behind him, and Tag inched away from it.

"How was your appointment today?" Darkness crossed Opal's already dark and brunette features. "Oh, not great," he said. "Why not? Was it that half-bale of hay you picked up when I told you not to? That I was literally five seconds away from grabbing?" He popped his eyebrows up, clearly challenging her.

Opal was so dang smart, she could use a challenge every now and then. Tag couldn't believe the way he'd just flirted with her, though. They hadn't had any exchanges like this in ages. Too long, in his opinion.

"I'm sure it wasn't that," she said. "But he did tell me I can't lift anything heavier than a loaf of bread."

"So West is out," Tag said. "Heck, you probably won't even be able to lift this gift." He did bend and pick up the fallen wrapping paper then. "You wanna come help me with this?"

"Do I want to help you wrap my own present?" She did approach him, and Tag smiled at her. "Who does that?"

"You're going to do it." He tightened up the paper again and stretched it across the top of the box. "I just need some tape right there." He nodded across to the other side of the box, and that would put Opal all the way in his house.

She picked up the roll of tape and ripped off a piece. She placed it where it went while Tag warred with himself over asking her why she'd come. He said nothing as the furnace pumped heat into the cabin, and he seized onto that. "Cold outside."

Opal looked up at him, her dark eyes blazing with plenty of heat. "Really? You're going to make me wrap my own present and talk to me about the weather?"

"What would you like to talk about then?" he shot back. "You showed up at my house. I was fine before you walked in."

"As compared to now?"

"Well, I can't wrap this in front of you. It would've been embarrassing enough to show up with it all mangled." He grabbed the scissors and cut all the way across the paper. "Tape there, please."

She did what he asked, and he folded in the corner. It didn't cover all of the box, and Tag had no idea how to fix it. Opal relieved him of the roll of paper and the scissors and said, "Let me."

A sigh of relief left his mouth. "I'll turn it when you need me to," he said. "I'm pretty sure it weighs more than a loaf of bread."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nice try." He gave her a smile, glad when the corners of her mouth twitched too. So maybe they could somehow find their way back to being friends again. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee would be great," she said. She worked on covering the present with the neon paper while he measured grounds and set the coffee to brew. "I need help turning."

Tag faced her and walked her way. He could've stayed over on the side of the table he'd stood on earlier, but instead, he crowded in next to her. Opal held her ground, her eyes locked on his and refusing to leave.

He could turn the box without looking at it, but he tore his gaze from hers to roll it onto its other side.

"Hmm, I didn't hear anything clink or clank," Opal said.

"Why did you come here?" he asked.

She put the roll of pink paper against his chest and edged him back. "I don't know. I…just showed up."

"Sounds mysterious."

"Let me finish the present."

He grinned at her, his heartbeat fluttering up into his throat, tickling it. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Both," Opal said, and Tag finally fell away from her.

He got out the cream and sugar and set them on the counter in his cabin, sudden panic pulling through him at the cleanliness of the place. Oh, and that fact that he'd thought the person knocking on his door would've been none other than Opal's older brother, Mike.

His boss and his best friend.

He swallowed and got down three coffee mugs, because Mike was coming over whether Tag wanted him to or not. Tag would have to go back out and do the evening feeding before the party, but Mike had wanted all of Opal's gifts in the house beforehand. Since he knew how big Opal's gift was, and how many people were coming, they'd devised a plan to have it there first.

"I need another turn," she said, and Tag wondered how long he'd lost himself inside his own mind.

He turned the box one last time for Opal, the house starting to fill with the scent of coffee. He picked up the tape this time and helped her finish the package, and then he took the nearly empty roll and the scissors from her. "Thank you."

He'd just turned around when Opal asked, "Tag, would you maybe want to go to dinner with me?"

Tag's ears had malfunctioned. Just one hundred percent gone into defect mode, rearranging the words she'd said into what he wanted to hear. Because his ears no longer worked, he lost his equilibrium, and he flung out a hand to catch himself against the counter.

Unfortunately, that hand held the scissors, and they went skidding across the surface—right into the jug of cream. He watched in horror as it wobbled, tipped, and fell.

At the same time, his other palm jammed into the counter, smashing the roll of wrapping paper. To top it off, he'd just spun back to Opal when someone knocked on the door.

Mike entered a moment later, calling, "It's just me, Tag."

Tag's pulse pinballed through his body, first shooting to his scalp, and then getting pinged down to his gut, then shooting through all twenty-four of his ribs. He tore his gaze from Opal to focus on her brother, noting that Mike had frozen too.

"Are you trying to get a sneak peek at your birthday present?" Mike strode forward and picked up the enormous pink box that took up almost the whole dining room table. "Opal, it's a surprise." He frowned at his sister, who gave him his attitude right back.

"I wasn't trying to get a sneak peek at anything." She swallowed, the only sign of nerves Tag could see in her, and he had no idea if that belonged to him or to her brother. Or to having both of them in the same space at the same time.

"I made coffee," he said, regaining his composure.

"Great," Mike said. "West has been a beast today."

"Oh, please," Opal said. "That baby is a saint, and Boone was here all day." She rolled her eyes at her brother and pulled out a seat at the table.

"He's slobbering everywhere," Mike said as he moved over to help Tag with the coffee. "And he's fussy. He puts everything in his mouth, and let me tell you, those baby teeth are sharp." He clapped Tag on the back, his eagle eyes missing nothing. "You didn't tell her what was in that box, did you?"

"No, sir," Tag said. He picked up the mugs and Mike grabbed the fallen cream carton and the sugar bowl. Tag took the mugs over to Opal, their eyes catching and holding every step of the way.

"Thank you," she murmured, and Tag's whole being itched. He needed to get a dinner date on the calendar with her sooner rather than later, because last time he'd only asked and didn't set everything up, it had all gone awry.

But with Mike in the house and seemingly going nowhere, Tag stuffed his questions away and returned to the kitchen for the coffee pot. This was going to be an exquisite form of torture.

A few hours later, Tag ducked into the farmhouse where Mike and Gerty lived, the heat welcoming him first. Then, the energy zipping through the place zoomed into his heart, and he had the distinct impression that God had led him home.

What that meant for him, as he worked someone else's farm and not his own, Tag didn't understand. But he was only thirty years old, and he'd given up trying to figure out each step before he took it. God laughed at him when he did that, besides.

Right now, Tag shook hands with Matt Whettstein, then his brother, Boone, who was Gerty's father. They had their teens standing over by the baby, who did have flushed cheeks and plenty of spittle on his face. West also had plenty of girls to take care of him, and Tag smiled at the grouping around him.

He stayed out of the way, because he wasn't family to Opal. He wasn't related to any of her family. The only reason he was here was because he worked for Mike and Gerty. Nothing else, despite the fact that she'd asked him to dinner mere hours ago.

"I wonder what's in that big pink box," Boone mused, and Tag once again kept his mouth shut.

"She's coming," someone yelled, and Tag's anticipation grew. Then Opal came down the hall and into the living room, where plenty of people had crammed themselves. A cheer went up, and everyone started hollering and clapping. Tag put his hands together too, glad he could stare at Opal for as long as he wanted.

He was supposed to look at her, for crying out loud.

And what a sight she was. She wore a long black dress that somehow fit her like a glove and flowed around her in waves at the same time. He would never expect Opal to wear anything bright or flashy, though she had plenty of personality.

Her hair had been braided back, revealing her slender face with those big, beautiful eyes and those extremely kissable lips. In that moment, his hands somehow flapping together in slow motion and Opal smiling at her cousin Jane, Tag wondered how in the world he'd lived here with her for so long without being hers.

You'll fix that, he told himself. Tonight.

He vowed he would not be going to bed tonight without a date with Opal—one they both knew about and both remembered—on the calendar.

"Presents first," Mike yelled, lifting his hands up into the air. "Come on, Opal, you're going to open presents first." He indicated the garish pink box, and Opal's eyes roamed the crowd. Tag hoped and prayed she was looking for him, but he stayed out of the way, over by the side entrance to the house.

She didn't see him before she had to step over to the gift. "Wow," she said in an overly loud voice, plenty of mocking in her tone. "Whoever wrapped this is brilliant."

Tag burst out laughing, and he was the only one. He was aware of every eye in the place zeroing in on him—except maybe baby West's—but he didn't care. Opal saw him then, and her smile shone with a radiance he wanted to bask in every single day of his life.

In that moment, he realized how plain his life had become. How beige. How boring.

And Opal…oh, Opal sure could liven things up.

She ripped off the paper and took the knife Mike gave her so she could undo the seam of tape on the nondescript brown box. She threw Tag another flirty look before she peeled back the flaps and peered inside.

"It's…." She reached inside, but Mike said, "You can't lift that. Kyle?"

"You're going to make an old man lift it for me?" Opal glared at her brother, and Mike turned to the next closest person.

"Keith, help her with that, would you?"

"Sure thing," the other cowboy said, and Keith reached into the box with both hands and pulled out the shrink-wrapped item. It was bright purple, and the neon-ness of it assaulted Tag's eyes from across the room.

Several people said, "Wow," or "What is that?" but Opal plucked out the instruction pamphlet from the box.

"It's a blow-up couch," she said, her gaze once again magnetizing to his.

"I thought you could use it in your bedroom," he said. "You've been complaining that you don't have anywhere to sit."

"And," Mike said. "We thought you could take it outside with you too. It won't be too heavy, and you can plunk it under a tree and…do what you do."

"And what do I do, Michael?" she asked with the bite of acid in her tone.

"Read," he said. "Listen to your podcasts. Text your friends."

Tag liked how much they loved each other, but how they also knew each other well enough to banter back and forth. He wanted to get to know Opal like that, and he hoped he could.

"I'll get this blown up," Keith said. "It'll give us more seating."

"A third reason we wanted it," Mike said, throwing Tag a smile. Tag nodded at him and faded out of the spotlight again. That was just fine with him. He didn't need everyone looking at him, that was for certain.

The party progressed; he sang Happy Birthday to Opal with a goofy grin on his face; he ate dinner with Kyle and Carrie, the three of them sort of minding their own business while Mike and Gerty played host and hostess to everyone who'd come to their home.

Sooner than others, Tag had had enough. He stood and took his plate, along with Gerty's grandparents' over to the big trash can that had been set up just for this. Opal currently sat on her neon purple couch, laughing with Molly Hammond and Britt Hansen about something.

She was beauty personified, and Tag told himself to get over there and say good-bye. She'd be upset if he didn't, and that alone got his boots moving in the right direction.

Opal looked up as he approached, and her smile slipped slightly. "You're leaving already?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I've got an early start tomorrow." He cut a look over to Molly and Britt. "Up before the sun and all that."

She stood as he spoke, and Tag felt it only natural to lean in and tell her happy birthday, maybe skate his lips across that velvety cheek. He had no idea where to put his hands, as it had been far too long since he'd been out with a woman.

Especially one like Opal.

Somehow, he managed to cup his hand around her elbow as he leaned in. He did not kiss her, his brain misfiring mightily at him. "Happy birthday, honey," he said, really drawing on his Southern roots. He barely touched her, because he didn't trust himself to put his arms around her. "I'll see you later."

With that completely proper good-bye done, he stepped back. He nodded to the others there, turned, and left.

Outside, he let the door fall closed behind him and he paused on the small stoop that led out of the kitchen. He drew in the deepest breath the chilly night air would allow, and then blew it all out.

"You didn't set up a date," he told himself, and now he wanted to go back inside, interrupt the party, and hash it all out regardless of who overheard or who saw.

Instead, he went down the few steps to the dirt, because it was too cold to be standing around outside doing nothing. His cabin was a good ten-minute walk from the farmhouse, and Tag had had a busy day—and he had another one tomorrow.

Text her, he thought, but he didn't pull out his phone to do that until he'd reached the side of the barn. It provided some relief from the wind, and he pressed his back into the wood and started typing.

He read over the message once, then again. For some reason, he couldn't get himself to send it.

"Hey."

Tag looked up from his phone, his flight or fight response kicking in, though a woman had spoken. It took his eyes a moment or two to adjust from looking at his bright screen to the country darkness, and then another moment for his brain to tell him that voice had belonged to Opal.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, finally seeing her as she neared. "Hey."

"You…left too fast," she said.

"I was just texting you."

"Oh?" She wore a huge coat that obviously didn't belong to her, and Tag wondered what she'd said to get away from her own party. "What did you say?" She settled only an arm's length from him, and that was too far away.

"Did you mean that earlier? About us going to dinner?"

"Yes," she murmured.

Tag reached for her and caught hold of one of her sleeves. Her hands were all bundled up inside, but he managed to pull her closer anyway. "I was asking you when we could do that. I'm really interested in that." He looked down at her, standing right there in front of him, the soft light from the moon or the house or maybe heaven itself illuminating her face enough for him to see her.

"Whenever," she said. "I'm not busy at all."

"Mm, yeah." She'd quit her job in California, but she hadn't told anyone in her family yet. She'd told Tag a couple of months ago, before the horse-kicking incident.

"Tag," she whispered, her eyes falling closed in a long blink.

"Yeah?" The whole world had fallen away, and Tag's heart labored to pump out enough blood, enough oxygen, to reach everywhere in his body.

"Thank you for the couch," she said.

"Did you like it?"

"I sure did." She looked up at him again, and Tag didn't know everything about Opal Hammond yet. He couldn't always read her expression and know exactly what she was thinking.

But right now, he somehow knew that what she really wanted for her birthday was…a kiss.

He lowered his head, about to make a complete fool of himself or hit a homerun. He honestly didn't know which. He knew Opal's fingers fisted in his collar. He knew her eyes drifted closed again. He knew she wasn't going to stop him.

So he touched his mouth to hers, expecting fire and getting it instantly. Now, all he could do was hope he didn't go down in flames.