Page 43 of A Christmas Miracle at the Ranch
Relief and joy hit me all at once, a wave so powerful it stole my breath. It was over. The fighting, the sleepless nights, the worry. It was all gone.
Ella looked at me, stunned. “It’s really ours now.”
I took her hand, the warmth of it grounding me. I squeezed it gently. “Then it’s home.”
She didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to. Her hand in mine said everything. And as snow continued to fall in soft, silent flakes, I realized that this—her, this ranch, this night—was the start of everything I hadn’t dared to hope for.
Chapter 27 - Home for Christmas
Ella
Christmas morning dawned with a blanket of fresh snow over Starcrest Ranch, the kind that sparkled like sugar in the early light. The world outside the kitchen window was a serene, blinding white.
My hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa, its rich, sweet scent a comfort in the quiet. From the driveway, I watched as townsfolk started trickling in—arms full of casseroles, pies, and warm greetings, their voices a cheerful murmur that grew with every new arrival.
It felt less like a party and more like a family reunion, a gathering of people who had fought for this place together.
The barn had been transformed overnight, a testament to the community's tireless work. Tables were set with mismatched holiday tablecloths, candles glowed in mason jars, casting a soft, dancing light, and strands of evergreen garland framed the entryway, their piney scent mingling with the aromas of baked goods and spices.
Children ran laughing between tables, their joy echoing through the rafters. Clint wore a Santa hat, his grumbling an amusing counterpoint to his wide smile, and he didn't take the hat off once.
Ethan tuned his guitar near the fireplace, his easy confidence a familiar presence, nodding politely as someone asked for a photo.
“Morning,” Max said, stepping in behind me. His voice was rough with sleep, but his smile was warm and genuine, erasing the last vestiges of the man who had once carried the world on his shoulders alone. “You okay?”
“Better than okay,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “It’s beautiful.”
He held something small in his hand and shifted, a little shy, the gesture completely disarming. “Got something for you.”
I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on my face. “You already gave me a ranch, remember?”
He laughed, a deep, easy sound that made my own heart feel lighter, and handed over a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.
Inside was a hand-carved wooden ornament shaped like a star, its edges slightly imperfect but its surface smooth.
My breath caught, a wave of emotion washing over me. The wood looked like it came from the old fence posts we’d walked together.
“I made it from one of the old fence posts,” he said, his voice soft. “Thought it was fitting. A star, for Starcrest. And for you.”
I turned it over in my hand. On the back, my initials were carved, along with the year. The wood was smooth and warm, the star a perfect, humble piece of our shared history.
“Max, it’s perfect,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
Before I could say more, Sarah came bustling in with a tray of cinnamon rolls, followed by Jerry carrying two jugs of cider. The ranch had never felt more alive. Laughter echoed through the rafters, and the smell of pine, spices, and fresh bread wrapped around us like a blanket.
Two hours had passed in a blur of hugs, storytelling, and music. At one point, Ethan sang a slow, soulful rendition of “O Holy Night,” and I caught Max watching me instead of the performance.
Our eyes met and held, warm and steady. In that look, I saw a future, a home, a life I had once been too afraid to hope for.
I finally pulled out my phone. I stepped out onto the porch, took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air, and dialed the number I’d been avoiding for days. The call was short, professional, and final.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Ella. I just wanted to let you know… I won’t be taking the job. I’m staying here.” I paused, taking in the sight of the ranch, now humming with light and life. “The ranch is my home now.”
There was a pause, a polite but distant acknowledgment from the other end. I thanked them for everything and ended the call. It felt like closing a chapter of my life I had already outgrown, and opening a new one with a firm, confident hand.
Inside, Max stood by the fire, stoking the logs. The flames danced, casting a warm orange glow across his face. I walked over slowly and stopped beside him, the heat from the fire a welcome warmth on my cheeks.
