Page 38 of Christmas at the Ranch
“What is it, Tate?” I say.
“If you’re going to be staying in town, even just for another week, I don’t want it to be weird every time we see each other. Because”—he gestures around him—“in Evergreen, you can’t throw a stone without hitting someone you don’t want to see.”
Someone you don’t want to see. I look away from him and shovel a bite of duck into my mouth in an attempt to eat my stung feelings—but it doesn’t help.
“So, you don’t want to see me,” I say. “And you keep running into me. I’m sorry. I wish I weren’t here just as much as you wish I weren’t here, okay?”
Now he looks surprised. “That’s not what I—”
“Oh, I get what you mean.”
“Emory.” His voice is low, his eyes suddenly fierce. “Please. It’s not that I don’t want you here. That’s not it at all. And it’s no coincidence that I came in here. I was out looking for you. I’d been to every place in town.”
I stop chewing. I don’t know how I manage to get the last bite down, because my mouth has gone completely dry.
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Because we need to talk. I can see why you’re upset with me.” He rubs his beard-fuzzed chin with his hand. “The last time we saw each other, I wasn’t very nice. Maybe that’s an understatement. And when you fell off Star, I…” He clears his throat. “I was worried about you. Really worried.” There’s pain in his eyes. “And when I asked you to sign the waiver, I know it came off as me being a dick, thinking you might sue—but things have been really hard at the ranch. And I didn’t know…” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but it has been ten years. I couldn’t let my feelings get in the way of doing what was right for the ranch.” He looks up at me again. “Except it’s you,” he says. “I know you would never sue. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt, finally. I’m sorry about that.”
I’m not sure what to do with everything he has just said to me. The fact that he was looking for me. The way he just saidExcept it’s you. But I can’t let my heart get away from me. He’s stumbling over his words, probably doesn’t even really know what he’s saying. I focus on the words that felt the most ominous. “What do you mean, ‘things have been really hard at the ranch’?”
He sighs. “It’s never been easy. You know that. But for a few years recently, things got especially challenging. I tried to start up a training and show facility, and it just increased our overhead way too much. We ended up in a lot of debt we’re still digging out of.” He looks into his glass, takes a sip, puts it down. I know, perhaps better than anyone, that this is hard for him to tell me. “The town rallied together to keep us from going under.There was a big holiday fundraiser last year. It was difficult, to take money from people. Charlie fought so hard against it—and I wanted to fight, too. You know about my pride, maybe better than anyone.” I can’t help but nod. “But I knew we had no other choice. Either we took the help, or we were going to have to start selling horses.”
He looks at me now and his words hang between us. I know there isn’t a single horse in the Wilder Ranch herd that Tate and Charlie would be able to let go of without regret.
“Did things get better?”
He shakes his head. “It’s what happened with Star. When she got hurt, this past summer—it wasn’t just her who was hurt. A group booked a trail ride. None of them had ever been near a horse before, even though they said they had experience. That’s when Star got spooked by the coyote. Unfortunately, the guy fell off and broke his leg.”
Tate takes a sip of his drink, grimaces, swallows hard, and puts it down. “We got him to the hospital as fast as we could, and it wasn’t a complicated break; they set it easily. But turns out he was a lawyer.”
I feel stricken. But then something clicks. It still hurts that earlier today he made it seem like he couldn’t trust me. But I can see how all this might be a little raw. “No waiver?”
“There was one, but it was just something I’d found on the internet and printed off. It didn’t cover all the bases, it turns out. And the guy, he really scared us with all his legalese and threats. I started to thinkmaybe we’d lose everything if we went to trial. So, we settled out of court—but it was a lot of money. We’re slowly regrouping, but it feels sometimes like it’s day by day at the ranch. It’s been stressful. But things are getting better.”
Mya is at the table again, beginning to clear our plates. Her father, behind her, drops off a platter of lo mai chi, little cakes that resemble mochi, and a pot of tea. I reach for a cake and stare down at its pale pink, sugar-dusted surface. It makes sense that Tate would be so nervous about my fall, about all riders signing waivers—even someone he knows.
“I wish I could help,” I find myself saying. “With Wilder’s. Your situation.” I realize too late that this isn’t the right thing to say—it’s what broke us apart in the first place.
Tate looks away. “That’s not why I told you,” he says, and his tone has cooled a few degrees. “I just wanted you to understand why I reacted that way to your fall, why I asked you to sign a waiver. I didn’t want you to think I was still like I was back then, always assuming the worst of you.”
“It was a long time ago,” I say. My tone makes it sound like I haven’t agonized over it, not just for the past four days, but for all the years before. Like seeing him again hasn’t brought it all back—like being at the ranch hasn’t made the old wound sting. I didn’t realize I was such a good actress.
I stare across the table at him, feeling our past hanging all around us like a ghost.
Maybe it’s a ghost I can’t ignore anymore.
The control I’ve had over my emotions melts away like snow in sunshine. “Hey,” I say. “Don’t treat me like it’sback then. It’s not, and we both know it. Of course I don’t want to swoop in and try to save the day with my family’s money. I know that’s not what you would want, and as you probably know, my family doesn’t have any money anymore. I said I want to help you because IloveWilder’s. I love Star. I was there when she was born, and I’ll never forget that. It’s a place that means something to me, too.”
His hand is on his chin again, rubbing across his jaw in agitation. “Okay,” he says. “You’re right. We have a lot of”—he waves his hand around in the air—“baggage, I guess you could say. Maybe because we were teenagers when we knew each other.”
“Just kids,” I agree. “And now we’re adults. We need to figure out a way to put whatever judgments we made about each other behind us. We hurt each other—but it was a long time ago. Can we agree on a statute of limitations?”
I should be used to it by now, the way being caught in the snare of Tate’s intense gaze can suddenly make me feel like I’m falling, but it still knocks me sideways. I practically have to cling to my chair.
“That’s what you want?” he says in a low voice. “To forget?”
“I don’t think I said ‘forget’…” I begin, but I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
