Page 40 of Wylder Ranch
It was his favorite time of year.
But try as I might, whenever December rolls around, it brings with it a dark cloud that hovers above me until January. I can already feel it looming, or I could before Haven and Everly turned up.
“What will you do for Christmas?” I ask, attempting to be cheery.
“I’ll be with Saylor’s family.”
I change my mind. Talking about Christmas sucks.
Haven and Everly might have only been here a couple of days, but the reminder they’ll be gone before the worst time of the year shatters the tiny shred of optimism that momentarily appeared. Then she makes it worse.
“It’ll be Everly’s first Christmas.” Haven grins, her eyes sparkling with childlike excitement.
A week ago, I was making my usual plans to get out of here before Christmas so I could let my family enjoy it without ruining their cheer. Now the thought of missing Everly’s first Christmas makes me so fucking depressed I want to cry. Maybe I can go and spend it in Aspen with Saylor’s family too.
Better yet, maybe we can all fuck off to a desert island with wall-to-wall sunshine and not a tree in sight.
“Did I tell you my father’s birthday is September twentieth?” I ask instead.
Haven turns and stares at me. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” My chin jerks toward the churchyard. “Written on his gravestone and everything.”
“Oh Alex. . .” Her eyes brim, and she snatches away a tear as it falls. “Sorry. Hormones,” she adds, with a sniff. “That’s gotta mean something, right?”
“Yes.” Hope brightens my eyes, and all thoughts of Christmas vanish. Finally, someone who understands. “That’s what I said.”
“Well, Everly is very lucky to share a day with a guy who built all this.” She spins until we’re facing Valentine High Street again.
It’s much busier than when we first ventured out. My dad would be so proud to see how popular it is and what a fantastic job Lando’s doing at running the place, even if he’d rather stick pins in his eyes than attend another village meeting.
Then the familiar ball of guilt bounces in my stomach, and my eyes sting because my dad never got to see Valentine Nook in its current glory and splendor.
I shake my head, hoping to somehow restart my brain before I become too morose. It’s one thing to get on my family’s nerves with it, but another to get on Haven’s.
“C’mon, let’s go and see the center of operations. We can introduce Everly to her first cow.”
It doesn’t take long for my enjoyment to return as we make our way along the lane, taking the footpath that cuts into the field, passing by one of the Aberdeen Angus herds, all of whom are nosy enough to come and say hello. Everly’s still asleep so she doesn’t get to experience them all sniffing and snorting loudly, jumping back skittishly like overgrown puppies when I try to scratch their necks.
The best moment of the morning is when one of them pops his head through a gap in the hedgerow andlicks Haven’s hand. She jumps back with a squeal before breaking out into raucous laughter while she tries to wipe the slobber onto her jeans.
I haven’t heard her laugh much since she arrived.
I remember it being particularly lovely—a full, deep, and infectious belly laugh that always set me off laughing too. As we continue down the path, and our laughter fades, I decide that perhaps we both need a good laugh and a touch of happiness.
She’s still grinning widely when we reach the entrance gates to the farmyard.
We arrive late in the morning, when all the daily cleaning takes place after the animals are fed, and it’s busy.
Three stable lads pass by with wheelbarrows full of manure from mucking out the stables, a couple of the grooms stand by the taps filling bucket after bucket with fresh water, passing them over with a slosh to whoever’s waiting. In the corner, one of the estate horses is being shampooed, watched over by the rooster making his rounds.
It’s not as pristine as it usually is, and on top of the daily comings and goings, the hay delivery has just arrived. The air is heavy with dust particles, causing everyone to sneeze.
But nevertheless, I proudly sweep my hand in front of us. “Welcome to Burlington Estates.”
I watch as Haven takes it all in—from the guys hosing down the bales to the ones heaving the thirty-kilo bags of feed over their shoulders on the way down to the cow barn, followed closely by Dolly. And when she turns back to me, her expression is slightly disbelieving.
“This is where you work?”
