Page 103 of Wylder Ranch
“Everyone ready?” Miles shouts,again,only to receive a grumble of yesses. “Great, then let’s fucking go.”
Behind me I hear a loud judgmental tut Iknowcame from Max.
There are four quad bikes lined up for us outside the front door. Clemmie and Miles take their own, Max goes with Hendricks, and Haven comes with me.
As per instructions, we start at the stables, where all the horses are fed—making sure each one gets an extra helping of Christmas carrots—then mucked out, and turned into the fields for the day. Max does an excellent job of taking the wheelbarrow from stall to stall until it’s loaded up, and Hendricks helps him dump it on the growing manure pile.
Then it’s off to the main farmyard.
It’s much the same, except bigger, and the cows are grass-fed, so extra bales are left in the fields, and the only animals that need feeding are the donkeys, chickens, and the goats. But Hendricks uses it as an opportunity to check on the pregnant cows who’ll give birth in the spring.
This time, Max fills buckets of water, which Miles and Haven help him carry to all the stalls, before he drags her off to introduce her to the pygmy goats, which arrived last week. They’re so tiny that Max can carry both in his arms while he waits for everyone else to finish the rest of the morning’s work.
It’s only when we’re about to leave that we realize Max has the goats stashed in his jacket, and a meltdown ensues while we try to explain why they can’t come for Christmas lunch.
“Someone’s had too much sugar already,” mutters Miles.
But aside from the almost uninvited guests, it’s asuccessful morning, and we arrive back at Burlington approximately three hours after we left.
Except when we dismount, Haven wobbles enough that I need to catch her before she falls.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Haven nods, though I’m not convinced. She looks a little gray. “Yeah, I felt a bit queasy. Must be the bikes. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
Her eyes roll. I know she thinks I’m worrying, but I’m not. It’s more that she needs to get used to someone being concerned about her welfare. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Okay.” I pull her into me. “Then I believe according to Miles’s agenda, we have a late breakfast to attend.”
“Awesome, I’m starving.”
We all make our way into the kitchen, where my mother’s already warming croissants, scrambling eggs, and frying up bacon for Miles. She’s doing it all one-handed because she’s holding Everly.
“Happy Christmas, Mum,” I say, holding my arms out to take my daughter. “Something smells good.”
“How was feeding time?”
“Fun.” I laugh, leaning in as she attempts to kiss my cheek. She doesn’t say anything at all, but I can see how much it means to her that I’m here, and I have a sudden urge to do it all again next year.
Especially when I glance over to find Clemmie and Haven perched on stools in the corner, deep in conversation, heads together and giggling. She has fit into this family as seamlessly as Holiday did. She’s even wearing the Christmas jumper Clemmie brought over for her yesterday, and looking around, there’s an array ofthem this year. Even I have one—it’s red with Rudolph knitted on the front and matches Everly’s.
I spin around at the pop of champagne in time to see Hendricks holding out a glass to take the overspill, and before they’ve all been handed around, Miles lifts his high.
“I’m toasting Al, because it’s about time you made an appearance here at Christmas. Plus Lando, because even though I was in charge this morning, I missed him.”
I roll my eyes because, in typical baby brother mode, he will never stop taking the piss. “Thanks, Milo. Love you too.”
“When are you going back to Aspen?”
“We’re leaving on the thirtieth. We’ve got to pack up a little,” I reply, and as I do, I realize Haven and I haven’t made any plans about how long we’re going to stay there, or when we’re coming back,orwhen I’m moving. The week’s gone by in a blur.
“When are you back?”
I turn to Haven for the answer, but based on her expression, it doesn’t look like she has it either. So I go with, “We’re not sure yet.”
“But you’re flying out before the thirty-first? You’ll be in Aspen for New Year’s?”
