Page 25 of Christmas at the Ranch
“Then…” He leans over me to pop open the passenger door, and I know it’s just Tate being Tate, that Charlie raised him to be mannerly. He would lean over and open the door for anyone. And yet, having him so close, even just for a few seconds, fills me with more of that confused longing. “Take care of yourself,” he says. I nod, hop down, land gently in the snow. For some reason, I salute as I stand there, and he smiles as if he’s not surprised at my awkward behavior, because he still knows me. I find myself smiling back.
But when I turn toward his front door and the sound of his truck fades down the lane, a wave of loneliness threatens to destabilize me again. Thisisa bigdeal. I’m at Tate Wilder’s cabin, alone, yet again. I pause and look up to the sky. Like last night, there are just snow clouds. No stars to wish on. Nothing for me to do but let myself inside and try to get some rest.
The next morning, I call Lani. She is, as I predicted, horrified about the moose and my near-death experience, and I have to spend several minutes reassuring her I really am unhurt. But she seems almost delighted that I’m back in Tate’s cabin. “I knew this wasn’t over,” she says, her voice taking on the same dreamy quality it gets when she’s discussing the happy ending of one of her favorite movies. Which are, by the way,Notting HillandSleepless in Seattle. Lani is a romantic at heart, but it’s never quite rubbed off on me.
“Oh, trust me,” I say, turning on the coffee maker. “It’s over. He’s just being polite. There’s nothing left between us.” A knock at the front door punctuates this sentence.
“Is thathim?” Lani whispers.
“I’ll call you back,” I promise, for just a moment feeling like Anna inNotting Hillas I fix my hair self-consciously in a mirror before rushing to answer the door. But it’s not Tate.
“She’s alive,” Charlie says, his tone wry but his eyes dancing as he leans against the doorframe. I blink against the sunlight. The snow has finally stopped.
“I’m so sorry I left yesterday without saying goodbye,” I begin.
“No apology needed,” he says. “You didn’t expect to have Tate come crashing in, in the middle of the night.”
“I think I’m the one who did the crashing,” I say ruefully, but he just shakes his head and smiles while I wonder exactly what Tate told him.
“I put a call in to the mechanic, just to make sure they didn’t plan to mess you around again. They need a bit of time to figure out what it’ll take.” I can only nod as he lifts his Stetson from his head, mashes it in his hand as he regards me thoughtfully. “And you’ll stay here,” he concludes, his voice now firm. “Until it’s fixed.”
“That’s kind of you. And Tate,” I manage. “Hopefully, it won’t be long.”
Charlie nods, then puts his hat back on. “Do you think you might do me a favor?” he asks.
“Of course. Anything, Charlie.”
“Star seemed so happy to see you yesterday, and she really took to you being close to her. And remember what I said about how you never forget how to ride a horse?” I nod. “Would you be interested in riding her?”
I remember how it felt as I groomed her. Like we belonged together. The truth is, I’d like nothing more than to try riding Star—and so I tell Charlie that.
He grins. “Meet me at the north barn, where her stall is, once you’ve had some breakfast.”
He tips his hat and turns to leave while I stand at Tate’s door watching him walk away down the path toward the stables, a sense of joyful anticipationbubbling up in my chest like fizzy liquid in a holiday party punch bowl.
When I’m ready, I head outside and walk down the snowy path, through the snow-clad trees, toward the ranch. Inside the north barn, Charlie already has Star in crossties, and I start grooming her. As I do, I can’t help but glance around, looking for Tate. Charlie has tracked my gaze and lifts an eyebrow.
“He’s out for a trail ride with a friend.”
“Who is?” I say, shrugging my shoulders, turning away. I pick up a currycomb from Star’s grooming kit, rub it against her coat in gentle circles, loosening the dirt. Once I finish that, I reach for the hoof pick.
“I can do that if you want,” Charlie says. “Her hooves are pretty muddy.”
“I want to see if I can still manage it,” I say, determined.
Star resists me at first, but I lean my weight against her, nudge her shoulder with mine. Finally, she lifts her front foot for me. Charlie is right: The insides of her hooves are packed tight with mud, but I work at it and succeed. Soon, all four of her hooves are done and I’m in possession of a deep sense of satisfaction. It’s so easy to be happy around here, I find myself thinking. That confused sense of longing returns.
Charlie has gone off to find me a helmet and a pair of riding boots, and once I have those on, we make short work of tacking her up together. I place her ebonyleather saddle gently atop a white fluffy saddle pad on her back, slide her bit between her teeth, and the straps of her bridle over her ears.
“You ready?” Charlie asks me. I secure my helmet, and even though my heart has started knocking against my chest like it wants to be let in from the cold, I nod and say yes, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
Just like riding a horse,I say softly to myself as we walk toward the arena.
I step up onto the mounting block, holding Star’s reins in one hand and the saddle pommel in the other, then lift my left foot into the stirrup so I can swing myself up into the seat.
“What’d I tell ya, kid?” Charlie calls out. “You never forget!”
I laugh. “I’m just sitting in the saddle! We haven’t gone anywhere yet!”
