Page 21 of Christmas at the Ranch
I realized he wasn’t just talking about Mistletoe; he was also talking about his mom’s death. I stepped closer to him, wrapped my arms around him. “Just because one bad thing happened, doesn’t mean more will,” I said.
“You make it sound so simple, City Girl,” he murmured, but he was smiling again, faintly, but there.
I looked up into his eyes and still saw sadness. “You miss her so much, don’t you?” He leaned into me, put his face on my shoulder. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I never talk about it.”
“You can talk to me.”
A long pause. “I know. That’s one of the things I like so much about you.” I held him closer, rubbed his back gently. “I miss having my mom around. This time of year especially.”
“I bet she was wonderful,” I said.
“She really was.” His voice was so soft now, I could barely hear him, almost a whisper when he said, “I wish you could have met her.”
“I wish I could have, too,” I said, holding him tighter.
Then he pulled away. His eyes were shining. “So, hey,are you too tired from your ride with your mom, or do you want to come out on the trail with me and help hang up the rest of the lanterns for the Starlight Ride? We can double on Walt.”
I told him of course I wasn’t too tired. We got Walt ready and then headed out. I sat behind Tate, my head leaning against his back, my cheek against the soft flannel of his jacket. Our breathing began to match in pace as our bodies adjusted to Walt’s gait as one. We forgot about any sadness we had been feeling earlier, any insecurity about what was going to happen with us after the holidays. About our families—about there being any such thing in the world as heartache.
I could feel his mood lift even more as we headed deeper into the woods. Mine did, too. How could anything go wrong in a place like this? How could it not be true that we were being bound together by magic, by alchemy? I listened to the beat of his heart, slow and steady. It felt like mine began to beat in rhythm with his. Like our hearts were connected, somehow. It made me think that no matter what happens after I leave, I’ll still feel this way and so will he. That we’re going to be together, no matter what. For always.
Nine
I t’s barely dawn but I know I can’t stay at Wilder Ranch a moment longer. Last night is coming back to me.
Tate returning unexpectedly. Me, half naked in his kitchen. The spilled water, the broken glass. His voice in the darkness, saying good night. I stayed up late texting with Lani, telling her everything that happened, step by step, play by play.
So, he’s out there on his couch and you’re in his bed?she wrote.The guy you’ve thought of and dreamed about for over a decade?? And you’re not out there talking things through with him because…?
I told her Tate and I had already talked, and it had been stilted and strange. That there was no way I was going out into his living room to try to speak with him again.There’s nothing left to say, and that’s final. You need to get to sleep. I’m sorry I kept you up so long.
Are you kidding?? I’m leaving my phone beside me all night. Text if ANYTHING happens.
But nothing happened except that I tossed and turned until close to dawn, and the sleep I did get was fitful.
I make his bed carefully, so it will look like I was never here. I wish there was a way to erase all traces of last night from his memory, too, but I’m not a magician. I take a last look out his window, at the forest of hardwoods, the snowy dawn. It’s beautiful here, just as I remember it. But if I stay, I’ll get lost in the past. I need to go.
I push open the bedroom door and listen. Silence. When I walk out into the living room, the couch is empty, the pillows stacked neatly, the blankets folded—as if Tate, too, has tried to erase all traces of the night before.
I assume he’s already down at the stables doing morning chores with Charlie. At this, I feel a pang. I think of father and son working in tandem. I remember the peace of that—how good it felt to join in. I also think of Star, in her stall or maybe out in the paddock by now. How happy I had felt to see her, how nice it would be to say farewell. But I can’t go down there. I have to get out of here. It’s well past time I did.
On my phone, I search for a taxi service in the vicinity, and am grateful to find Evergreen Enterprise Taxi & Food Delivery Service. I call the number; a man answers who sounds like I’ve woken him, but he still groggily agrees to come pick me up and take me to town.
I dress and pack up all my stuff. I walk quickly through Tate’s home, determined not to leave any more traces, close the front door, and breathe in thecold, crisp morning air. I pause on his front steps and look into the distance, at the ranch. I know I’ll never forget the red-painted stables, the Christmas lights on them still glowing in the dark of the winter morning, because I never have.
I hear voices in the distant stables, low rumbles I know are Tate and Charlie. A horse’s whinny, then Kevin’s indignanthee-hawin response. It makes me smile—and all at once, the words “you are home” arrive in my mind unbidden. But no. This is not home. Evergreen is an easy place to turn rose-colored, and so is Wilder Ranch. It exists in a perfect winter wonderland, with twinkling lights on stable eaves, horses in snowy fields wearing red-and-green-checked blankets, a father and son amicably doing morning chores together in a red-painted barn, a horse named Star who had a mother named Mistletoe.
But things change. This place is not as frozen in time as it seems. Tate and I aren’t teenagers anymore, and we don’t mean anything to each other.
I see the taxi bumping up the driveway, a battered, forest-green SUV. I’m sneaking out of here like a criminal, which is going to guarantee I can never come back. Criminal behavior must run in the family, I think grimly as I run across the snow toward the car. I wave him down so he doesn’t go all the way to the stables, hoping Tate and Charlie won’t spot us.
“Never had a call out to Wilder’s before,” the driver says. He’s a middle-aged man with a long, gray ponytail. “I’m Frank.”
His gaze is curious, and I’m sure the Evergreengrapevine will soon be filled with gossipy chatter about a woman taking a taxi from Wilder Ranch, from Tate’s cabin, so early in the morning. But by the time the news is out, I’ll be long gone.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi pulls up in front of the mechanic’s. I pay Frank with the last twenty in my wallet. When I approach the garage, I see aclosedsign on the door—but then, almost miraculously, a hand appears and spins the sign toopen.Things are starting to go my way, finally.
“All ready for you,” Meredith says when I walk in, handing me my keys and an invoice. Yesterday’s disapproval seems to be forgotten. I pay with my credit card, which thankfully isn’t declined. All these things, I tell myself, are positive signs that I’m heading in the right direction. Away from here.
