Page 55 of Christmas at the Ranch
“No, it’s okay. Don’t be. It’s actually really nice to see this. To read the things people said about her, what an important part of the community she was. How loved.” He pauses, lost in his thoughts. “And you know what? She really was that amazing. She was the best.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a little shudder that makes me want to reach for him.
“I’m sure she was,” I say. “Of course she was. She made you.” The last words I say are a whisper. I’m not sure he’s heard them as he sinks down into my desk chair, his eyes on the article again.
“Time has…well, not exactly healed it,” he says. “Idon’t think a day goes by that my dad and I don’t miss her, think about her. We still talk about her a lot, which is nice. At first, we didn’t, but then you came along. You helped me, Emory. I knew even after you were gone that if we didn’t talk about her, we might forget all the best things about her. So we did. We do. And somehow, holding on to all those good memories, keeping them alive, has made it easier to live with, I guess.”
He puts the article down on the desk. I forget about waiting for the kettle to boil and come closer to him, as if pulled by a force I can’t control.
It has always been this way with him.
When I’m near enough, he reaches for my hand and looks up at me. My heart fills at his touch. My insides feel like the water in the kettle, bubbling over. We stand that way for a while, not saying anything, just looking into each other’s eyes.
“Emory,” he finally says. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I tell him.
“But I do. I let you walk out of my life. I let your dad offering to buy the ranch come between us because I was ashamed that I wasn’t able to handle it on my own, with my dad. That you even felt the need to help me. But that wasn’t your fault. And I punished you for it. I’ve regretted it every single day.”
“I walked away. I did it to us, too. I left without saying goodbye. But, Tate, we were young. We keep saying this, but I don’t think we really accept it.”
“Why do you think that is?” His voice is low. Hedoesn’t wait for me to answer his question. Instead, he answers it himself. “Because the feelings never went away. At least not for me.”
My full heart leaps at his words. My emotions boil over. “I think it’s pretty obvious they never went away for me, either. I’m here, aren’t I?” I can’t help but laugh softly.
“I thought maybe you just got lost on your way to somewhere else.”
“Maybe, but I got found.”
His gaze is soft and searching. “The first night I saw you, in my kitchen, you said you only stayed at my cabin because you didn’t think I’d be there. It sounded like you wanted to avoid me at all costs.”
“I guess that was true,” I say, thinking about my emotions that night. It feels like so long ago. “But only because I didn’t want you to see the state I was in. I had imagined seeing you again, over the years—but in my fantasy I had always just come from the hair salon, and was wearing the perfect outfit, and I was in a really good place in my life.” I laugh at how ridiculous I sound.
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “I never expected to find you in my kitchen in the middle of the night. Half naked.” He raises an eyebrow, and the look he gives me causes the boiling to turn into a low, sultry simmer. But then he looks thoughtful. “Although, the truth is, it wasn’t a surprise to see you. I talked to Charlie that night, and he said you were there. I think maybe he wanted me to come home and see you? He’s always had a soft spot for you.” This makes me smile. “Assoon as he said Emory Oakes was back in town…well, I think I lost my mind a bit. I had been planning to leave the trade show Wednesday morning, but I just got in my truck and drove home. Ihadto see you. I couldn’t let the chance slip away. But then I set about messing it up at every opportunity.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“It’s partially true.”
“Maybe it’s safe to say we both seemed pretty intent on messing things up between us.”
He nods. “We did, didn’t we? Which is why I want to tell you the truth now. Very clearly. No chance for misunderstanding.”
My heart is pounding. I think I’m starting to get scared. I have wanted this for what feels like always. But Tate Wilder and my feelings for him have only ever brought pain.
He’s watching my face, and he looks concerned.
“Emory, this is real. It’s not going anywhere,” he says, reading my thoughts the way only Tate can. “I care about you. I always have.”
I step back slightly because there’s something I need to know. “If that’s true, why didn’t you ever call me? You had my number when I left.”
There’s pain in his eyes now, and I almost reach out to him, pull him up and into my arms. But I need to hear this, all of it.
“It’s kind of embarrassing,” he says. “Just after you left, I dropped my phone in the arena, and Walt stepped on it. Cracked it into a dozen pieces. Your number, which I hadn’t memorized, was in there.Your address, too. I wasn’t ready to talk to you when that happened anyway, but by the time I was, I didn’t know how to reach you.”
“You could have come to the city.”
He hesitates, bites his lip. “I did. About six months later, I looked up your address in the phone book, and I drove all the way to Toronto. I sat outside your house and felt really weird about that. Like if you saw me, you might think I was a stalker or something.”
My heart feels like it’s swelling in my chest.
