morning and a purpose gnawing at his gut. Something he needed to get done today. He and Liz shared a great morning, exchanging flirty smiles as they both reminisced about their amazing weekend together without saying a word. He loved this new thing between them where a shared look said way more than words.
He dropped Liz at work because he also woke up to a text from Detective Valdez that Clint was out on bail. He’d wanted to keep that piece of news to himself until he dropped her off, so they had a little more time to just be together without the outside world intruding. But of course she read the distress on his face and figured it out.
And Clint ruins the day again.
Tate worked at the ranch all day with a ball of anxiety roiling in his gut. Now that he was about to get this done, he worried even more about how this would go.
He stood at Liz’s parents’ front door and ran his hand over his button-down white shirt and pounding heart. He’d worn black pants and his good boots. He wanted to look like a guy who deserved a woman like Liz.
He took a deep breath and knocked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back before he caught himself and stood still. Footsteps approached the door. His stomach dropped, but he held it together. He knew the Scotts like he knew his own family. He’d been welcomed into their home too many times to count.
Of course, things got a little awkward during the teenage years when Mr. Scott eyed him every time he came over, probably because he thought like a lot of people that something was going on between him and Liz.
Not so then, but man, flip a switch and he couldn’t get enough of her.
Mr. Scott probably didn’t want to know about that.
The door opened and Tate tried to hold it together and smile without his nerves showing. He wanted them to see he came with a purpose and that what he wanted mattered. More than he ever thought possible.
“Tate,” Mrs. Scott said, looking him up and down. “Are you okay?”
Great. She knew him so well, she saw everything with one look. “I’m fine. Thank you for allowing me to come over and speak with you.” He glanced past her to the empty living room. “Is Mr. Scott home?”
“He just arrived. Please, come in.” She waved him forward. “We’re very curious about your call. While Liz has shared some of what’s happening, we know she’s holding back details and keeping up a brave front. How is she? Really?”
“She’s upset, but doing well.” He did everything he could to tip the scales to happy for her every day. He admired her strength and perseverance to push through and not let Clint rule her life.
Tate stood in the living room where he’d played everything from Go Fish to Scrabble with Liz. He’d killed her at War every time. She’d dominated at Battleship. Liz’s parents never minded him or any of Liz’s other friends dropping by for hours. An only child, Liz never lacked for friends her own age, and for a long time they were like brother and sister, though he never thought of her that way. She was Liz. His friend. The one person who was always there for him besides Trinity and his brothers.
He liked her because she was different from them. She said things differently, and whatever it was about, it just made sense to him.
“Tate?”
He gave himself a mental shake and tried to pay attention. “Yeah?”
Mrs. Scott gave him a knowing smile, understanding this was a different kind of visit from the afternoons he spent here after school. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
Mr. Scott walked in, hand held out, a curious look in his eyes, too.
Tate shook his hand and tried not to fidget. “Good to see you again, sir.”
Mr. Scott’s eyebrow went up. “When did Ken turn into sir?”
Tate raked his fingers over his head. “Sorry. It’s been a while.”
“Time doesn’t make us any less friends, I hope.” Ken put his arm around Leslie’s shoulders and hugged her close. Two indulgent parents staring at him with amused smirks.
He had a feeling they knew why he was here. It didn’t make it any easier to do this.
“Let’s sit.” Leslie held her hand out to one of the club chairs facing the sofa across a coffee table.
He pulled the box from his pocket,