Page 45 of Christmas at the Ranch
It’s not possible. “I’m okay,” I manage, but my voiceis hoarse with sudden emotion. “It’s just a really pretty time of day, is all. I’m enjoying the scenery.”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous out here,” he agrees. Then he pulls Star to a gentle stop and looks up at me. “My mom and I used to always go for trail rides at this time of day, in winter. To catch the way the sun looks as it starts to set over the snowy world.” He nods toward the forest and hills spread out before us, the lake in the distance, the shadows falling across it: orange, pink, the softest yellow.
“It’s so perfect,” I breathe, taking it in, any sadness I was feeling lifting as Tate shares this memory of his mother, his connection to this place, with me. I look down at him. “Eleven years without your mom,” I begin. “I’m sure you miss her still.”
He nods. “I do. It’s gotten easier over the years. But I’ve never felt her any less—if that makes sense. If anything, I’ve just learned to live with the loss better.”
It does make sense. It’s not the same, but I feel like I’ve been living with the loss of him, too. I can’t say this, though.
We walk forward again, back toward the ranch. Our silence now feels charged, full of all sorts of things left unsaid—because they have to be, I tell myself. There is no place for me here, not after this week. And there is no place for these feelings.
Almost as if this thought needs emphasizing, I see a car on its way up the driveway. It’s her. Mariella.
She gets out of her car, and I can see the bright shine of her long blond ponytail, even in the falling darkness.
I can sense a change in him, too. “Shoot, I forgot,” he says. “I have another appointment.”Appointment.I feel embarrassed, a bit resentful, too. Like he’s trying to protect my feelings by calling it that.
“You don’t have to say it’s an appointment,” I say, while he looks at me, confused.
When we reach the back door of the closest barn, Tate steps back so I can dismount.
“Are you okay getting her—”
I interrupt him. “Of course I can untack her. Does she need anything else?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got a night hand coming in later, he’ll do all the turnouts.” He looks nervous now, ill at ease. Maybe he doesn’t want his girlfriend to see us together, doesn’t want to have to explain me. I hold my hand out for the lead rope and he hesitates before he hands it to me—but still, he’s got me, on his line like a fish, caught in his gaze yet again.
“Thank you, Emory,” he says, holding me fast with his amber eyes, as much as I want to resist. “I said it before, but I mean it. Star needed this. And I think she needed it to be withyou.”
I look away from him, at Star. I run a hand along her velvety nose, then reach into my pocket and take out a mint, which I hold flat on my palm so she can snap it up.
“You remembered,” he says with a smile.
I remember all of it.
I don’t say this. All I say is, “You really don’t have to thank me. I was happy to do this for her.”
Mariella is approaching, walking up the small hillthat leads from the parking lot, waving at Tate. I don’t want to see them together. I need to get back into the barn and away.
“See you, Tate.”
I turn away, tug gently on Star’s rope. She follows along beside me, as obedient as a puppy, and I tell Star that I love her so much, trying to drown out the sound of Tate greeting Mariella, saying how happy he is to see her, and her replying the same to him.
Twenty-One
The next morning, I awake from a troubled night’s sleep, filled with dreams of trail rides and dark forests. I was riding Walt, and Tate was riding Jax—but then we lost each other in the darkness. I spent what felt like hours searching for him, and when I finally found him, he was looking for me, too. We galloped our horses toward each other, and when we were close, I remember seeing such joy on his face at finding me. I felt it, too, a sense of lightness and happiness so complete that when I woke up and realized it was just a dream, I almost wept.
Now I’ve decided to distract myself, and surprise Bruce, by decorating theEvergreen Enquireroffices for Christmas, something I realize he hasn’t been able to do because of his injury. I go downstairs early and hunt for boxes of decorations, which I find in a closet, on a high shelf. There are wreaths and garlands, plenty of lights, and even a tree, which I set up anddecorate with care. I’m on a stool, putting the star on top, when Bruce arrives.
“Aren’t you a delight!” he cries. “I’d resigned myself to no decorations this year because of my foot, but you’ve given me a wonderful surprise, with just a few days to go until Christmas!” I’m happy he’s so pleased.
“Should I put the outdoor lights on the porch, too?” I ask him.
“If it’s not too much trouble. I know you didn’t sign on for all of this.”
I tell him it’s my pleasure and bring the box of outdoor garlands and lights to the porch. Bruce stands by to make sure I’m safe on the ladder, and soon the Victorian house is looking just as festive as the rest of Evergreen.
Back inside, we make tea and get back to work onTheEvergreen Enquirer’s special holiday restaurant review section. It’s almost noon when Bruce declares us finished.
