Page 74 of Wylder Ranch
When he starts the engine again, his shoulders aren’t so tight, and the color’s returned to his knuckles.
The wreaths on the gate should have prepared me for what was in store. So should the workmen carrying ladders into the house, and after parking and taking Everly out of her car seat, we follow one in.
At my first whiff of pine needles my excitement builds. It’s a direct correlation to Alex’s trepidation, and I try my hardest to keep it buttoned down, but then we walk through the front doors to find a hive of activity.
My parents’ ranch—myranch—Wylder Ranchsupplies the trees for the cabins and hotels in the Aspen area. And they like them big, because Aspen is big. It’s flashy as shit, and the tourists who come for the holidays live by the ethos that bigger is better. I’ve seen plenty of tall trees decorated for the holidays.
But I’ve never seen a tree like the one I’m staring at. It’s got to be thirty foot, easy. Fifteen feet round at the base.
Now I understand why all the furniture was being moved out.
Placed directly in the middle of the hall, it’s so big that there are ladders positioned on either side. Two men, standing on scaffolding level with the top, are securing it with ropes that hook them into the wooden beams running across the roof. Based on the two pairs of boots sticking out from under the boughs, another two guys are securing the base.
A housekeeper is vacuuming the needles that havedropped on the move, and another directs a couple of younger boys, both carrying heavy-looking boxes. A third is laying out rows and rows of twinkling lights.
This isn’t just tree decorating. It’s an event run with military precision. It’s going to take us all day, my fists ball at the prospect. I want to jump in the air and pump them, but I don’t.
No wonder Alex is freaked out.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, turning to Alex and Everly, and spot a pair of Nutcrackers standing in the corner that I’d recognize anywhere. “Hey, those are from my store. You bought them last year.”
He spins around. “Yes, Hendricks brought them back for Max.”
“Where are th—” I begin before the sound of a fire truck blares from the hallway to the left, and Max zips in, closely missing one of the younger boys bringing in more boxes.
Hendricks, close behind, apologizes to the box carrier and shouts, “Max, watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry,” Max yells in reply, screeching to a halt in front of us. “Is that my cousin?”
Alex nods. “It is.”
“Is she decorating the tree too?”
“We all are.”
I’m smiling at Max, but Hendricks is looking at Alex. He’s wearing an expression akin to pride, and when he pulls Alex into a hug, his eyes turn watery. It’s similar to the reaction Miles has, followed by Clemmie.
It’s clear that Alex being here to decorate the tree isn’t just a big deal for Alex, but it’s a big deal for everyone else.
A flurry of activity precedes the arrival of their mom,the vacuuming stops, the workers disappear, and a fire is lit in the enormous stone fireplace.
“Granny,” Max yells, announcing her entrance, and holding his hand out for her to take, drags her over to the long tables by the window.
After he’s shown her whatever he wanted to show her, he drags her back over to where we’re all standing. Her eyes immediately fall onto Everly.
“Hello, darling,” she coos, holding her hands out to take her. “May I?”
I’m still unsure what to make of Alex’s mom. We’ve met half a dozen times, and aside from the day of the paternity test, she’s always been perfectly lovely. But it’s clear she’s a lady of stature, and aforceto be reckoned with. You only have to look at the five children she raised after her husband died to see that.
And as much as I hate to admit it, she’s intimidating.
But when I see her with Max and Everly, all I see is someone who dearly loves being a grandma.
In the time we’ve been talking and Everly’s fussed over, and the drinks have been brought out along with snacks which everyone’s eaten, the twinkle lights have been threaded through the tree, and all the decorations have been laid neatly on six long tables.
There are three tables of filler baubles in red, gold, silver, and white. The next table has dozens and dozens of gold stars, while the final two are laid with the real heart of the tree.
The family baubles, the personal ones, the ones that were made in art class, or passed down through the years. There’s one of a fingerprint with Clementine’s name scrawled on the back.
