Page 39 of Wylder Ranch
“My whole life. My family has been here since the sixteenth century. My ancestors built the village, and it’s grown over the years. My father worked hard to modernize it, but the bones of the place are still exactly the same as they were when it was first constructed.”
Haven gasps. “That’s five hundred years.”
I nod.
“That’sso cool, and so cool to have something like that pass down from generation to generation. I understand what it’s like to want to keep things in the family.”
“You’re talking about Wylder Ranch?”
“Yes,” she replies. “I finally paid off the debt, so I’m not going to have any money for a while, but I can’t sell it. It’sEverly’s future.”
“Our daughter has built quite the property portfolio already.”
Haven peers at Everly, still sleeping soundly, and smiles. I’ve learned already that this particular smile is reserved only for her daughter. I only see it when she looks at her, and I know because my eyes are usually on Haven.
“Will you open your shop again?”
She nods. “I hope so, at some point. When I get back to Colorado, I need to figure it out so I can run it around Everly’s schedule.”
I think back to what Hendricks did for Max, and the help he got because he was still qualifying as a vet at the time and working all hours. I know Haven doesn’t have the same resources, but it gets my brain ticking all the same. Living on two different continents is not going to be easy, and it will likely be the hardest thing to work around.
But I also know that before we discuss anything, I need a plan in place.
“What are those guys doing?” Haven asks, pointing at the old stone arch, which marks the beginning of Valentine High Street.
After an hour of walking, we’ve finally reached it.
Two members of the Burlington Estates team—recognizable by their navy-blue jackets with a pale blue logo—are up a ladder, while another two stand underneath the arch, holding tape measures.
“They’re getting ready for Christmas. The arch is decorated, and a wreath is hung in the center. The Valentine Nook tree is put on the green beside the church,” I reply, pointing at the neat stretch of grass across the road, and ignore the way my stomach flip-flops.
“I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas again,” she mutters. They’re the exact words I was thinking.
Another year without my dad.
But adding to that is: how can an entire year have passed since we met? How can so much have changed?
“What’s Christmas like here?” She quickly follows up with, “I’m so sorry, we can talk about something else. I remember it’s difficult for you.”
I shake my head, both surprised and touched that she remembered my struggle with this time of year. I told her about my father the day we parted. Perhaps it’s that reason I’m not trying to change the subject as quickly as I usually would because I rarely talk about my loathing for Christmas.
It leads to too many unwanted questions, and I prefer to brood in peace.
But I can admit that Valentine Nook is the place to come and enjoy Christmas because just like every other season, the village goes all out with decorations.
“That’s okay. It’s pretty, actually. December first is the day all the lights are switched on, and Mr. Giles starts selling his trees. On Christmas Eve, everyone sings carols in front of the village tree, and there’s always a midnight service in the church.”
Haven’s eyes light up. “Tree selling?”
“Don’t worry, it’s no competition for your store.” I laugh. “It’s not a store at all, just a large pen filled with trees.”
“I’m not judging.” She holds her hands up, turning to face the church as the bells strike the quarter hour. “Do you take part in the carols?”
“No.” I shakemy head.
Both of us stand there quietly staring at the churchyard.
I don’t want to ask what she’s thinking because it’s probably along the lines of what everyone else thinks—that I need to let go of the guilt and allow myself to enjoy Christmas. I remember how much Haven loves Christmas because her parents loved it, just like my dad.
