2. Tag

2

TAG

T ag Lawrence tromped through what snow was left from the big snowfall on Thanksgiving morning, his eyes skimming the fence line as he made his way across the field toward the farmhouse.

Of course the kids had been thrilled to see the big flakes covering the green hillside. They had a great time bundling up for the trek across the snowy meadow to his parents’ place for the Thanksgiving feast.

But a week later, with plenty of snow still on the ground, Tag knew that the dairy farm’s already slim margins were about to get even slimmer.

He could hear the cows lowing happily in the barn behind him as they munched on the hay his brothers had forked into their feeders—quality hay that cost a pretty penny, but was necessary to keep them producing. Normally, they wouldn’t be feeding the cows hay like this in early December.

Happy cows mean sweeter cream , Tag’s father was fond of saying. The family had been repeating that motto since the days when Stone Lawrence helped to found the town generations ago and settled his own family here by the creek that still bore his name.

And the saying was still true. But in this day and age, it was harder and harder to make a living with a small herd and the kind of practices that allowed the cows to be content.

It was also hard to justify hanging onto extras, like the little ice cream shop in town that had started as a pet project of his grandmother’s and never really grew into anything more. They’d had a good offer on the building from one of the flatlanders who was new to town, but once again, the family turned it down. When the elderly lady who had been running the cash register finally retired, he’d thought they would sell at last. But then Allie’s old college roommate had agreed to come and work there and live in the shop above—though how Allie expected a college dropout to bring the place up to speed Tag would never understand.

He shook his head and drank in a deep breath of cold, sweet air before heading to the old farmhouse where everyone planned to gather for supper.

Tag and his wife, Iris, had taken over the big Victorian across the meadow when Olivia was born. His parents had downsized from it into this original stone farmhouse. The first thing they did after moving in was to take out a wall and create the massive open kitchen and family space that everyone loved for gatherings.

And now that Iris had passed away, Tag figured Chase and Olivia liked it better at Grandma’s house than at home either way. They spent plenty of time helping her with injured animals, or following Grandpa around the farm to check on the grass and the herd.

Tag jogged up the back steps of the farmhouse and let himself in. A blast of warm air greeted him, courtesy of the wood burning stove. And whatever was for dinner smelled amazing. For a moment, he was a young boy again, exploding through the back door, ravenous after spending hours exploring the woods or the creek.

“There he is,” Allie yelled out in an exasperated way as he pulled off his coat, ending his trip down memory lane.

“Hey,” he said, heading to the powder room in the hallway to wash his hands before supper.

By the time he got back to the table, everyone except for Mom was already seated and passing around steaming bowls of vegetables.

His kids, Chance and Olivia, were there of course, along with his brothers Zane and Tripp, and his baby sister Allie.

An unfamiliar couple in high-end ski clothing sat at the end of the table, looking a little stiff and out of place. Dad, ever delighted for a fresh audience, sat beside them. He was just getting into the funniest part of the story of how Great-grandpa Lawrence freed a panicked cow who had gotten herself stuck between two small trees. As usual, Dad’s hands danced in the air as he spoke.

It only took Tag a second to spot Mom, sitting on the kitchen floor and using a bottle to nurse a calf wrapped in an old duvet.

“Hello, love,” she said fondly, nodding in lieu of a wave since her hands were full.

Maggie Lawrence was a born nurturer, and her house was always home to strays—both human and animal. Her warm smiles felt like hugs, and Tag adored her for it. So did everyone else who met her. At times, it was hard to be her son, knowing that the whole town probably couldn’t understand how sweet Maggie Lawrence’s oldest boy could be such a grump. But he had his reasons, and he didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Hey, Ma,” he said. “Can I fix you a plate?”

“You’d have to feed it to me,” she said, laughing.

“You’re feeding her,” he said, shrugging. “Why not?”

“Go be with your kids,” she said, turning her attention back to the calf. “We’re okay here. Right, Clover?”

But the calf just suckled away, its long eyelashes fluttering against the soft, cream-colored fur of its cheeks.

“Dad, Dad,” Chance squeaked, practically hopping up and down in his chair. “We’re making a family tree at school. And Miss Lancaster said we could put pictures on there. Do we have pictures?”

“Uh, I think so,” he said, lowering himself into his seat. “Try not to wiggle so much. You’ll knock the chair over.”

Again , he didn’t add.

Olivia was seated on the other side of Chance, quietly pouring milk for her brother and herself and patting his back from time to time, her gentler way to remind him not to wiggle. Tag often worried that Olivia was too mature for thirteen. She had quietly stepped into the role of caregiver for her baby brother when her mother passed, and Tag was never sure if her reserved nature was just who she was, or if she was still struggling under the mountain of grief he felt himself sometimes when he thought of Iris.

She gave him a gentle smile and he reached over and tousled her honey-blonde hair, which made her roll her eyes and look like a normal teenager for a minute.

“These are the Fitzpatricks,” Dad called jovially to him. “Fitzpatricks, this is my son, Tag.”

“Nice to meet you,” the husband of the ski-clothes couple said politely.

Tag nodded to them.

“Our snowmobile broke down,” the wife added with a too-bright smile. “And your father rescued us.”

She looked like she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she was actually better off in the rustic farmhouse with an actual cow a few feet away.

Flatlanders , he thought to himself. Why do they come here if they don’t like things the way they are?

“So, your friend is finally in town,” Tripp said to Allie as he passed a bowl of mashed sweet potatoes.

“She is,” Allie said. “I invited her to eat with us tonight, but she was worn out from her drive.”

“Tomorrow night, maybe,” Mom suggested from the kitchen. “Find out her favorite meal.”

“Mom wants to fuss over her,” Tripp teased.

“Of course I’m going to fuss over her,” Mom put in. “She’s Alice Lee’s best friend.”

Allie predictably wrinkled her nose at the use of her full name. She might have been named after Great-aunt Alice Lee, but she had been Allie from the moment she was old enough to state a preference.

“Speaking of fussing over her,” Allie said, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t want any of you guys sniffing around after Charlotte. She’s been through enough this year.”

“What are you talking about?” Tripp scoffed.

“What has she been through?” Zane asked at the same time, his brother’s boisterous voice nearly drowning out the gentle question.

Tripp and Zane were only a year apart in age, and had always been joined at the hip, in spite of their very different personalities.

“You know she had to drop out one semester before graduation to take care of her dad while he was dying,” Allie said.

Tag actually hadn’t known that. It gave him a pang of real sympathy, and he felt sort of bad about calling her a dropout, even if it had only been in his mind.

“And then her slimeball of a boyfriend dumped her,” Allie went on. “She basically had to leave her job because of it, and she told me that she definitely needs a break from dating, so that’s why I’m saying it again, boys, let her be .”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tripp declared, feigning innocence.

Allie was right to be afraid. If the girl was pretty, Tripp would be flirting with her shamelessly within minutes.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Tripp Lawrence,” Allie scolded him. “Tell them, Tag, no funny business.”

“You heard her,” Tag growled at his brothers, inwardly cringing at having been called out for the job instead of being included in the warning himself.

Sure, he hadn’t dated since losing Iris. But that didn’t mean he was dried out or dead inside. He had definitely noticed that gorgeous girl with the Mustang at the gas station this afternoon.

The image of her flashed through his mind, and for a moment, he was standing in front of her again, taking in her innocent eyes and blushing cheeks as she babbled away at him.

Of course, all the babbling in the world couldn’t have begun to distract him from how pretty she was. And she had great taste in cars, too.

But he hadn’t even asked her name, because Tag always put his family first. And that meant setting thoughts of dating aside until his kids were up and running. After all, he was all they had now.

“ Oh no ,” Chance yelled suddenly.

That was all the warning Tag got before a big bowl of buttered green beans rained down on his lap.

“Oh, buddy,” Tag sighed, crouching to gather the fallen beans and collect them back in the bowl. At least the bowl hadn’t broken. It was one of the nicest ones from his mom’s foray into throwing pottery.

“I’m sorry,” Chance wailed, sounding genuinely ashamed.

“Nice shot, Champ,” Tripp chortled, offering his nephew a high five from across the table. “You nailed him.”

The high five went unanswered as Chance melted into tears.

“You’re okay,” Olivia said quietly to her brother. “Dad knows you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Of course not,” Tag told him, stopping mid cleanup to reassure the boy.

He wrapped a hand around the tiny upper arm and nuzzled the mop of dark hair that was so much like his own had been at Chance’s age. But the boy was despondent.

Help me, Iris.

But his soft-spoken wife would never help them again. It was up to Tag to lead his family forward from here.

“First of all, Grandma’s bowl is just fine,” he told Chance as cheerfully as he could. “So don’t worry about that.”

“And second of all, you saved me from the green beans,” Tripp added from across the table, his voice a stage whisper, as if he were trying not to let Mom hear him.

“But you like green beans, Uncle Tripp,” Chance said, furrowing his brow.

“Never,” Tripp insisted, shaking his head. “I’ve always hated them— slimy little green things. And you put every single one of them on the floor, right where they belong. Chance, you’re my hero.”

It was an obvious lie, they had all sat at this very table and watched Tripp knock back green beans like he was a bottomless pit for years. But he proclaimed it with such flair and drama, and he fluttered his eyelashes so much when he said you’re my hero, that Chance started giggling through his tears and even Olivia smiled.

“Oh, Tripp,” Mom said fondly as she came out of the kitchen at last with a fresh apron and the broom and dustpan in her hands.

“I’ve got it, Grandma,” Olivia said quietly as she slipped out of her chair. “It’s your turn to eat.”

“Thank you, my love,” Mom said, smiling at Olivia, whose cheeks turned pink before she bent to start sweeping up the mess. “Now then, where did you two say you were from?”

The Fitzpatricks looked startled, as if they had been so lost in the family drama that they had forgotten they might be part of it.

But no one could resist Maggie Lawrence’s friendly conversation. As the visitors shared their story with his mother, Chance took another bite of his dinner, and Tag let himself catalogue the events of the day on the farm, making himself an internal checklist for the next morning.

By the time the meal was over, Chance was back to joyfully bouncing off the walls again, Olivia and her Uncle Zane were washing the dishes, and the Fitzpatricks had warmed up enough that the husband was roaring at another one of Dad’s stories while the wife cautiously reached out to pat the calf that was sleeping on the kitchen floor.

Tag stood by himself at the window, gazing at the gray sky over the mountains in the distance.

“How was your day?” Mom asked softly, coming up to wrap an arm around his waist. She always seemed to know when he was feeling alone.

“Good, mostly,” he told her.

“I’m glad,” she said. “Mine too. Allie will be at work tomorrow, and I’ll be taking care of Miss Clover the calf. I hope you don’t mind that we gave your number to Charlotte.”

He blinked at her for a minute.

“Your sister’s best friend,” Mom said. “She’ll be at the ice cream shop all day, and if she runs into any trouble, we thought it would be good if she had someone to call.”

“She’ll be there alone on her first day?” Tag asked.

“Well, people aren’t exactly knocking the doors down over there,” Mom said with a half-smile. “And your sister is heading over to give her a crash course after dinner.”

“She’s another one of your strays, isn’t she?” Tag asked, realizing that of course they didn’t expect the girl to actually succeed in running the shop.

We’re never going to unload that thing. And with the early snow, it’s going to be even tighter this year.

“Technically, I guess she’s Allie’s stray,” Mom said. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t be a help to our family. Allie said she was a business major. Maybe she can turn the shop around.”

Tag thought about pointing out the fact that the girl had dropped out of business school, but after learning about her father, it seemed a little rude to mention it.

His gaze went naturally to his own dad, who was waving his arms around in the air, pretending to be Mrs. Laberd from down the road on the night she found a fox giving birth to four kits in her hen house. It was one of his best stories, and he was telling the long version tonight. Mr. Fitzpatrick was already laughing so hard that he was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

Tag couldn’t imagine a world without his father in it.

“Charlotte’s had a tough time,” Mom went on gently. “Like your sister said. So if she calls, try to be nice.”

“Fine,” he said, hating how gruff he sounded.

“That’s my boy,” Mom replied with a warm smile, patting his cheek.

“ Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad ,” Chance yelled, barreling past family members and narrowly missing them. “I found this ball. Did it used to be yours? ”

His expression was so full of joyous wonder that Tag’s heart hurt. He bent to look at his son’s newfound treasure, determined to spend the rest of the night focused on the things he was grateful for.