Tag’s mother, Anne, poured three glasses of white wine and handed one to Nikki. “Glad to have you with us this evening. You’ve surely been through a lot the past couple of days. I understand that Billy Tom is back in the Swisher County jail now, thanks to you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s been bad news his whole life.”
Anne stood a full head taller than Nikki and had flaming red hair that she wore in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. That she was Emily’s mother wasn’t a surprise, but Anne was slim built and Emily was a curvy woman.
“I can believe that,” Nikki said.
Tag’s grandmother Opal, a gray-haired lady not nearly as tall as Anne, touched her wineglass to Nikki’s and smiled. “Would you like a sawed-off shotgun, just in case that sorry sucker shows up in your neck of the woods again? I’ve got a couple of extras.”
“Thank you, but I have a gun.”
“Pistol?” Opal asked.
“Yes, ma’am. And I practice often,” Nikki answered.
“They’re fine, but up close, nothing brings about fear like the sound of racking a shell in a sawed off,” Opal said.
“A little red dot does pretty good.” Nikki smiled and then took a sip of the wine. “Especially if you move it slowly from their heart to the zipper in their jeans.”
“Girl after my own heart,” Opal chuckled.
Why in the name of all that was good and right in the world couldn’t God have given her to Anne instead of Wilma Grady so that Opal could be her grandmother?
Because that would make you Tag’s sister, a pesky voice in the back of her head said loudly.
She glanced across the room to find Tag staring right at her. She held up her glass, and he gave her a long, slow wink as he raised his beer bottle.
Supper was served family style—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the trimmings. Proper manners, according to Wilma, said a lady ate like a bird when in polite company. Nikki figured she was adhering to her upbringing when she had a second helping just like Opal and Anne did. Wilma hadn’t said a sparrow. She’d said a bird and ostriches were classified as birds.
“I like a woman who enjoys good food,” Tag whispered.
“I don’t get a supper like this very often,” she said.
“I hear there’s a ranch rodeo this weekend over in your neck of the woods,” Matthew said. “And you’re not going to believe this, but there’s a bull named Fumanchu they say is meaner than Devil Dog.”
Tag’s eyes glittered. “Oh, yeah, when exactly?”
“Friday night. I heard that no one will sign up to ride him. After that song you play all the time, I figured you’d want to give it a try,” Matthew said.
“Dammit!” Opal hit the table hard enough to rattle the dishes. “Why’d you have to tell him that?”
“There’s a few things he’s got to get out of his system.” Matthew grinned. “But now that he’s had two run-ins with Billy Tom, maybe he’s given up on that song.”
“Not hardly,” Tag said. “I been waitin’ more than ten years for this. I’ll check into it soon as supper is over.”
Nikki’s breath caught in her chest. That pink line of scar under the scruff on his face would be nothing compared to what it would look like if a mean bull trampled him. Maybe all this with Billy Tom had only slowed him down, not ended his rebel days. But then would she care as much for him if he didn’t have just a little bit of wild in him?
That’s a question that needs an answer. This time it was Emily’s voice in her head.
A visual of Tag being carried into the emergency room on a stretcher with a broken leg—or worse, with a broken neck—flashed into her mind. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let even one fall down her cheek. Could she ever commit one hundred percent to a man who was constantly living on the edge?
Opal nudged her with an elbow. “You ever listen to Miranda Lambert?”
Nikki nodded.
“I like her stuff and the Pistol Annies too. Ever heard her do ‘Storms Never Last’?”
Another nod.
“Don’t give up on him, Nikki. Storms don’t last forever. He’s fightin’ his way out of a web of guilt, and we see a lot of progress,” Opal whispered.
Tag was so excited about the bull that he called the ranch rodeo number on the website as soon as supper was over. With adrenaline climbing almost as high as it had the day before when he faced off with Billy Tom, he gave the lady his information and told her he’d bring the entry fee with him on Friday.
“Want to enter in the bronc as well?” she asked. “We’re having it before the bull ride, and we’re saving Fumanchu for the last ride of the night, because he’s one mean son of a gun.”
“Can I bring my own saddle?” he asked. “I’m kind of partial to it.”
“We encourage that,” she answered.
“Then yes, ma’am. I’ll come prepared to ride a bronc and the bull,” he told her.
“You should be here by seven thirty, then,” she said.
“You can count on it.” He ended the call, picked up Nikki, and swung her around until they were both dizzy.
“You’re crazy.” She wobbled when he finally set her firmly on the floor.
“I might be. I wish you could be there to see me,” he said.
“She’ll be waiting at the hospital to fix you up afterwards,” Matthew teased.
“I’ll make sure there’s a cubicle ready. He’s in luck. Dr. Richards is on duty again, and he’s the best at stitchin’ and mendin’ broken bones,” Nikki said.
“Y’all goin’ to come watch me?” Tag asked.
Opal shook her head. “I’m not drivin’ five hours to watch an eight-second ride.”
“Eight seconds?” Nikki chuckled. “The song says that he just has to stay on the bull for two point seven seconds, don’t it? And then he has to go skydiving to finish up the list, right?”
“I thought there was something about fishin’ in there,” Anne said.
“He’s done that.” Nikki nodded. “I’ll sign the affidavit for that part.”
“And on that note, I think Nikki and I’d better be going. I’ve got a couple of places I want to show her before the sun goes completely down. Mama, Hud sent a hug from him, so you better hug me twice,” Tag said.
“Long as you promise you won’t swing me around like you did Nikki, I’ll take both those hugs.” Anne walked into his open arms. “You take one back to Hud and the other boys for me. I bet Maverick and Paxton are missing their folks.”
“Truth is, we’ve been so busy tryin’ to get fences up that we drag in at dark, ready for sleep,” he answered. “We’re hopin’ to get things in shape before winter sets in. They tell me there’s not as much snow out in that part of Texas, but it can still get bitter cold and there’s the occasional ice storm.”
Matthew clamped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “After this little vacation, you should really work by the light of the moon until about midnight to make up for your lost time.”
“Coming from the Baker boy who stays in an office ninety percent of the time?” Tag teased.
“Hey, now, I’ve offered to show you the ropes when it comes to the paper end of a ranch. Which brings me to the question—who’s doin’ that at your place? Have you roped Nikki into it? Which also reminds me.” Matthew dug into his pocket and brought out a set of keys. “Nikki’s car’s been delivered to the motel. I told the guys to leave it in the parking lot. I’ll send one of the hired hands to get my truck tomorrow. Just give the keys to Clarissa at the front desk.”
Nikki shook her head. “Thank you, Matthew. You can’t begin to know how much I appreciate this. And about the book work at the ranch, Tag has not talked me into doing it. I can get around my tablet at work, but all that ranchin’ lingo isn’t up my alley. I barely know a cow from a goat. I’m a nurse, not a ranchin’ woman.”
Frank Baker had been quiet most of the evening, but his eyes, so much like Tag’s, held a double dose of humor. “What this boy of mine needs worse than someone who can pull a calf or put a roof on a barn is a nurse to take care of all his injuries.”
“I’ll do my best,” Nikki said as serious as she could. “But I don’t do miracles.”
By the time they said their goodbyes and left the Rocking B Ranch that evening, the sun was just a sliver out on the far horizon, past miles and miles of flat land. “One Wing in the Fire” by Trent Tomlinson was playing on the radio when Tag parked the truck in front of the motel door.
“I’m not sure I want my kids to ever think that I had one wing in the fire,” he said seriously. “I want to be there to fix their cars and their hearts like the song says, but I want my kids to think that I have a halo like I thought my grandpa had.”
“You think that about your dad too?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” he said.
“Must be nice. My dad probably had one wing in the fire and no halo at all,” she said.
“But he could have turned into a preacher in a little church over around Dallas,” Tag suggested. “Don’t judge until you know.”
Her temper flared for a split second until she realized that he was right. The letters, the cards, the money, they all said that he hadn’t stopped caring for her. And before Quint died, they’d gone to church every Sunday. Now, wouldn’t it be a twist if she was dating a rebel and her father was a preacher?
“I thought we were going to see some stuff in town before the sun went down,” she said as she reached for the door handle. “Look, there’s my car. I’m going to go drive it up close to the motel door.”
“You want to go sightseeing or grab a shower and throw back on the bed and watch reruns of whatever’s on television? I made up that story because I hate goodbyes, and I wanted to get away from the ranch rather than put it off,” he said.
“I’ve really seen enough for one day. I don’t even want to talk to Emily tonight. I can call her on the way home tomorrow.” She yawned.
“I’m sure she’ll be tied up with Mama and Granny all evening anyway. They were probably lightin’ up the cell phone towers between here and there before we even got into the truck. I’ll open the door while you get your car. You aren’t goin’ to take off and leave me stranded, are you?” he asked.
She reached across the console and pinched his cheek. “I wouldn’t leave my knight in shining armor behind. I might need rescuing again.”
He grabbed her hand and brushed sweet kisses across the palm. “I hope not, darlin’.”
Her hand was still tingling when she reached her car, and she fumbled the keys. They landed on the ground by her toes, and when she reached down to get them, a cold chill found its way down her spine. What if Billy Tom had a friend on the outside who’d done something to her car?
She was crawling around on the pavement looking for flashing red lights when she noticed a man’s boots on the other side. Her heart leapt right up into her throat. She plastered herself against the driver’s door and wished that she’d taken Opal up on that sawed-off shotgun. She could hear whoever it was walking around the car and then a hand shot out and touched her shoulder.
“What are you doing? Did your keys scoot under the car?” Tag asked.
“I guess I don’t have balls after all. I’m as paranoid as my mother.” She was honest when she told him about being afraid there was a bomb under her car.
“You never know with Billy Tom.” He extended a hand and pulled her up to a standing position. “Billy Tom isn’t smart enough to make a bomb, and besides, he’s never going to bother you again. He and I had a little visit after I got the duct tape on him. I’ll drive the car up to the motel. Door is open.”
She tossed him the keys and stood perfectly still until her vehicle was parked in front of their room. When she started walking, he met her halfway and they walked to the door together.
“What did you tell him to make you so sure that he’ll never bother me again?” she asked.
“Just that I knew a lot of stuff about him and his past that could get him a long time in the county jail or maybe even some prison time. I did say that if he threatened you again, they wouldn’t find his body.”
“That’s pretty strong,” she said.
“It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.”
“Thank you for being honest with me,” she said. “It means a lot, but I do wish I’d taken your grandmother up on her offer to let me have one of her sawed-off shotguns.”
Tag closed the door behind them and locked it. “I’ve got one at the ranch back home that I’ll let you have if you really want it.” He sat down on the end of the bed and removed his boots, then threw himself backward. “I’d feel better if you’d let me sleep on your sofa, or if you’d stay at the cabin for a while. From now on there’ll be protection at your fingertips, I promise.”
She giggled nervously.
“Why’s that funny?”
“I’m on the pill.” She kicked off her flip-flops and headed to the bathroom. “I don’t need your protection.”
He popped up to a sitting position. “You are a lesson in confusion, woman. One minute you’re thinking bombs and the next condoms.”
“One can blow you to an up-close-and-personal visit with St. Peter. The other can change everything on this earth for the rest of your natural life. And the confusing thing—well, darlin’, that keeps you on your toes.” She shut the bathroom door, but it didn’t keep out his laughter.
She took a short shower and washed her hair and then stepped out and wrapped a towel around her body and one around her hair. After she was dry and dressed she towel dried her hair and thought about what her mother would say if she were to move in with Tag. Wilma Grady might even curl up and die at the very idea of her daughter living in sin.
That brought up a picture of a long black hearse, which looped around and made her think of the black Lincoln she’d seen several times in and around Bowie. Could that be her father? Holy hell! Had he been keeping tabs on her all this time?
She slung open the door and announced, “Tag, I want to find my father. I think maybe he’s been looking for me.” She told him about the black Lincoln and the glimpses of the guy in sunglasses and a cap.
“Only way to find out for sure is to ask him.” Tag unbuttoned his shirt and took it off on his way to the bathroom. “You sure you’re ready for that? Want to let this all settle before you take that on?”
“Nope, I want to know. I’m going to that address on the envelopes and cards this week.” She couldn’t take her eyes off his ripped abdomen or the little patch that was just the right amount of hair on his chest. Her fingers itched to see if it was as soft as it looked, so she sat on the bed and tucked her hands under her thighs. He undid his belt, laid it on the dresser, and emptied his pockets. Thinking about him taking off his jeans put a crimson blush on her cheeks.
He stopped at the bathroom door. “So what evening do you want to do this?”
“Monday I have to talk to Mama or the world will come to an end. Tuesday or Wednesday probably,” she said. “Why?”
“I’ll go with you. Pick you up at seven on Wednesday?”
“You don’t have to do that, Tag.”
In a couple of long strides he crossed the room, bent so their eyes were on the same level, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “I want to go. I can stay in the truck or go up to the door with you. Your choice, but I’ll be there for support.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “And you don’t have to sit in the truck.”