Opal Hammond rode in the passenger seat of Gerty’s truck, her sister-in-law silent. That suited Opal just fine, because she didn’t want to talk about how she’d been wrong.
Her ribs had healed up nicely, but she had been overdoing things. The doctor had told her to slow down—again—and if there was anything Opal liked less than disgusting blue cheese dressing, it was being told to slow down.
She’d finished medical school faster than ninety percent of people who went into the profession, simply to prove she could. And she had.
And now you’re burnt out at age twenty-nine, she thought.
“Mike picked up your birthday cake,” Gerty said, glancing over to Opal.
She finally uncinched her arms from around her midsection and released the breath that felt like it had been trapped inside for the past hour. “Thank you,” she said. “For having him do that.” She drew in a new, cleansing breath. “Thank you for driving me.”
“Of course.” Gerty’s hands finally released their chokehold on the steering wheel too. “I know this is really hard for you, Opal. I’m—”
“If you apologize to me, I’m going to go the rest of the day without speaking to you.”
Gerty clamped her lips closed and tightened her grip on the wheel again.
Opal sighed, trying to get her shoulders to go down. She couldn’t believe her life had been impacted so strongly by getting kicked in the ribs. She’d seen patients like this too, but she’d never had to go home with them after they came into the ER. She never saw most of her patients again, and she simply didn’t know the hours, days, weeks, and months that they had to continue to deal with their injuries.
And that was another problem—Opal didn’t feel injured. Until she did, and then she had to sit down, gasping for breath.
“Just because I got hurt on your farm does not make you responsible,” Opal said in a softer, kinder voice.
“I feel bad.”
“I know, but you don’t need to.”
“Tag texts me about you constantly.” Gerty looked over to her again, her face a perfect mask of anxiety. They’d had heated conversations about Taggart Crow too, thank you very much. Opal didn’t shy away from hard things, situations, or conversations, which made her avoidance of one gorgeous, strong, tall, handsome Taggart Crow doubly confusing.
“I am going to talk to him,” Opal said. It wasn’t like she’d given him the silent treatment or anything. They talked all the time, as Tag lived in a cabin on Gerty’s farm, and Opal lived in the farmhouse with her, Mike, and their ten-month-old baby, West.
“You are? What are you going to say?”
Opal had plenty to say, but she simply shook her head and said, “I don’t know. What time is it?” She looked at her phone, though her eyes had caught on the clock on the dashboard too. “I have time for a nap before dinner.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes now too, hoping Gerty would just let Tag drop.
She did, as Opal suspected she would, as Gerty wasn’t the most eloquent woman ever. She said what had to be said, and she took care of business, voiced her opinion on things, and ran her household perfectly. But she wouldn’t hound Opal about her unrequited crush on Tag, nor did she tell Opal much of what the man said to her.
He too had been apologetic to the point of annoyance over the past few months, and he’d been dancing around her with one of two expressions on his face since. He either wore a look of longing that quickly turned to something harder, or he painted guilt over his handsome features. Opal didn’t want either. She wanted to be treated like she was normal, because she was.
People got kicked by horses. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and if she’d stop trying to prove herself useful to someone by helping with feeding the horses or lifting West when someone else could get him, then she wouldn’t be back on “slow down mode.”
Gerty navigated them back to the farm, and Opal slid from the truck as normal. She automatically looked down the lane to the barn. She didn’t see Tag, and she found herself searching the surrounding fields and area for him. They’d just gotten their winter wheat in the ground a couple of weeks ago, and he was probably out babysitting that.
He also did a lot of work with the horses that Gerty found and brought back to the farm. She couldn’t stand the mistreatment of equines, and she spent a lot of time in rescue groups and forums, making sure horses didn’t have to suffer needlessly.
When she brought them back here, she tended to them a lot, but so did Tag. Someone usually had to break the horses again, or at least teach them to be less wary, more forgiving, and how to trust people again.
Both he and Gerty were very good at it, and Opal loved watching both of them work. She didn’t even understand herself, so she couldn’t possibly deal with a horse, but Gerty seemed to speak their language.
Gerty also knew herself completely, and Opal’s mood worsened as she entered the farmhouse ahead of her best friend in the world. She couldn’t think badly of Gerty, and she didn’t. She just wished she had half of the woman’s wisdom.
Funny that Opal had the advanced degree, but Gerty possessed all the wisdom Opal wished she did.
“Are you going to lie down then?” Gerty asked as she shrugged out of her coat. Somewhere in the house, West squealed in delight. Gerty’s daddy had come to watch him that day for Opal’s appointment, and Boone’s laughter filled the house, covering the baby’s voice.
Opal turned back to Gerty, so many pieces inside her cracking. They broke, bent, bubbled up, and tears filled her eyes. She rushed at Gerty and hugged her. “I’m sorry I’m so mean at the appointments.”
“Oh, hush,” Gerty said, gripping her tightly-but-not-too-tightly. “You’re not mean. You just don’t want to be slowed down.”
“I’m tired of being a patient,” Opal admitted. “I’m sorry. Thank you for taking me.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes. Thankfully, not too much water had escaped. “I’m going to go for a walk, I think. Don’t worry, I won’t pick anything up, and I’ll go really slow.”
“Okay,” Gerty said airily. “It’s really windy. Take my scarf if you want.”
Opal nodded, though she hadn’t needed a scarf in ten years, since she’d left the wild winters of Wyoming and gone to California.
She hadn’t shed her coat yet, so she simply had to reach for Gerty’s scarf, and she then held it in her hands like she didn’t know what to do with it. Gerty giggled and took it from her. “You just drape it like this.”
She looped it around Opal’s neck once, then twice, and she tucked the ends into the first drape. “Then you pull it….” She tugged it down, and the scarf snuggled up to Opal’s throat, sure to keep out the pesky wind. “There.”
“Thanks.” Opal smiled at Gerty, hugged her again, and left the farmhouse. She left the baby behind. She left the warmth, the glow of a good family, and the safety of hiding in her bedroom.
She faced the barren world outside, and she marveled at how much Colorado looked like Wyoming in the winter. “Brown and gray,” she said, the words making her lips warm for a moment, and then cold once the heat of her breath had gone.
She felt brown and gray inside too, and she drew in a long breath, held it, and then pushed all the air out of her lungs. She stretched her arms up above her head, pulling to the right easily. But when she moved left, she went slowly. Very slowly, trying to find the spot where it hurt and didn’t just stretch.
It didn’t take long, and she dropped her arms with a burst of air. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath, but her head tingled now, and she took another deep breath. She could walk, and she went down the steps to the lane in front of the house. This road went all the way to the northern fence, and Opal could walk on the pristine, flat, packed-hard dirt for miles if she wanted to.
She didn’t. She just needed to clear her head. She needed to be ready for her birthday party at the farmhouse that night. Gerty’s parents were coming. So were her aunt Gloria and uncle Matt, and their kids. Keith and Britt and their significant others were coming, as Gerty had grown up with them on the family farm several miles north.
On her side of the family, all of Opal’s cousins were coming, including Hunter, Molly, and their kids. Cord and Jane. Deacon, Tucker, and Tarr. Fine, the last man wasn’t a cousin, but Tuck didn’t seem to go anywhere without Tarr.
With Gerty’s grandparents and Tag, almost thirty people would be there.
“Twenty-eight,” Opal said, quickly counting and including herself. “Only one of whom is a baby.”
So she couldn’t talk to Tag tonight. There’d be far too much going on, in far too small of a space. Yes, Mike and Gerty had gutted the farmhouse, pushed out the back wall, and made their home big, bright, and beautiful. They had plenty of space to raise a family, house her grandparents, who lived in a separate cabin, and thrive on this farm for a long time.
But twenty-eight people for a birthday party would tax anyone.
Opal especially.
“They’re coming for you,” she told herself as she walked past Carrie and Kyle’s house. The porch stretched along both sides of the front door, and Opal coveted a quaint, country cottage like what they had.
She hardly recognized her thoughts as she glanced further onto the farm, where Tag’s cabin stood among a trio of them. He was the only employee on the farm, besides Gerty, so he lived among the cabins alone. Opal wondered if he ever got lonely, or if he craved the solitude.
She’d been so eager to leave small-town Coral Canyon and find herself in the cities of California. She hadn’t quite done that, though she had built a good career and reputation for herself.
A career and reputation she cared little about these days. She couldn’t believe she’d landed in another small town, this time in a different state. And this farm? It sat miles from any other civilization, in the county jurisdiction, not even any city limits.
And as Opal walked under the winter sky, she realized one profound truth: She loved this farm.
Maybe you’re not as much of a city girl as you thought you were.
The thought rang true, and Opal paused when she came to the first fence. The pastures sat dormant this time of year, as Gerty and Tag had already pulled all the horses back to the stables and barns. Thanksgiving had come and gone, and Opal should be looking forward to Christmas, when her parents would come to town.
Mike had even managed to get Ethan and Allison to commit to coming for Christmas Day dinner, and Opal could admit she was looking forward to having her core family back together again.
She was not looking forward to being the only single one there. Again.
“Lord,” she said. “Thou hast led me here. I listened. I came. I left behind everything in Burbank.” She took a deep breath, because none of it felt like a sacrifice now. Perhaps nine months ago, it had. She’d been surprised to feel the tug of somewhere quieter in her soul. She’d resisted God when He’d first told her to leave her job, leave her friends, leave everyone and everything and come to Ivory Peaks to help Gerty with her baby.
West wasn’t even that much of a baby anymore, and yet, Opal was still here.
“What am I doing here, Lord?” she asked. “I’ve done what Thou has wanted me to do in the past. If You’ll just tell me now, I’ll do it.” Her voice took on an edge of desperation, but she didn’t try to curb it.
The wind whistled past the fence posts, almost forming words, but not quite. Opal hunkered down into her scarf and pushed away from the rungs. She left the road and headed toward the trees, though they’d lost all their autumnal vibrancy and now only waved their bare branches angrily at the sky.
She let her thoughts wander where they may, trying to keep herself quiet should the Lord decide to talk to her. Her feet did the same, and before she knew it, the triangle of cabins loomed in front of her.
The sun went behind a cloud, and Opal paused as she looked up. Her fingers in her pockets fisted, and she looked back to Tag’s house. A thin stream of smoke lifted from his chimney, and Opal could practically feel the warmth of the obvious fire inside chasing away the cold and wind out here.
Without second guessing herself, she continued toward his house and right up his steps. This was not the first time she’d come to his cabin. She’d been here for lunch before; she’d come several times since the accident to bring him food or cookies; she’d come to tell him to stop worrying over her, to stop blaming himself, to stop looking so sad.
Since then, he’d just avoided her, the same way she had him.
“No more,” she murmured as she lifted her fist to knock.
“Come in!” Tag yelled from inside, but Opal hesitated. He had no doorbell cam, so he couldn’t possibly know who stood on his porch. His choices were slim, but Opal was sure that if he knew it was her, he wouldn’t be calling for her to simply walk in.
Still, Opal reached for the doorknob, twisted it, and did just that.
Tag twisted from where he stood at his dining room table, an enormous box in front of him. A large roll of sparkly pink wrapping paper sat atop it as Tag had been pulling it along the top of the box.
He half-yelped and half-choked, and then he spun toward her and pressed his back into the box as if he could hide it that way. He did have deliciously broad shoulders, but they narrowed into a trim waist that didn’t span the width of the box.
Oh, and that roll of bright wrapping paper continued rolling and then dropped to the floor, where the cardboard tube bumped once, thumped hollowly, and slumped into a pile of loose paper, all while they stared at one another in silence.
