Page 53 of A Cowboy Holiday

I checked my cell, but there were no texts from Tanner.

Armed with coffee, I returned to the living room and urged Phoebe to dive into her presents. The ballerina doll she’d asked Santa for, a few books, a paint set, and a brand-new bicycle with training wheels that I’d used an entire roll of wrapping paper to cover. Her excitement reached maximum peak levels with every rip and tear. She wanted to play with the doll, read her books, paint a picture, learn how to ride a bike…everything all at once.

Chuckling, I scooped her in my arms and tickled her. “Merry Christmas, sweet girl. How about if we get dressed and go see Hazel and her calf?”

“You have to open my present first. I wish Mr. Tanner was here too.”

Me too. “We’ll find him.”

“Okay. This is for you.”

The small tissue-wrapped gift fit in the palm of my hand. I praised her wrapping skills, wondered aloud what it could possibly be, and grinning at her attempts to help move the process along.

“No, no. I’m opening this one all by myself,” I chided. “Maybe it’s a new hat, a bowling ball, a?—”

“It’s a orbanent. For the tree,” Phee announced.

“I love it! It’s—” I paused, unable to speak around the grapefruit lodged in my throat.

“Me and you…and that’s Mr. Tanner.”

Indeed.

She’d painted two men wearing cowboy hats and herself in the middle, holding their hands. The drawing was something more than stick figures, yet not quite a Rembrandt. It was a treasure. Another memory.

“I love it,” I choked out.

Phoebe gave me a bear hug and twenty kisses, then hopped to the tree to wade through the mess of discarded paper. “I made one for Mr. Tanner. We have to find him and—oh, look! This is for you. It has your name on it. Open it, Daddy.”

My pulse ratcheted into hyperdrive. I knew the handwriting on the tag affixed to the little square box.

Tanner.

Why would he leave a gift? Why wouldn’t he give it to me personally? Why wasn’t he here?

“I should wait to?—”

“Open it! He wants you to open it,” she cheered enthusiastically.

I caved, untied the ribbon, peeled off the snowflake-embossed paper, and lifted the lid of the black box. Inside were two pairs of socks–one with cowboy boots and the other with cows—and a small envelope. I pulled out a piece of paper…and a key.

“The key to Oak Ridge. Keep it with you wherever you go, and know you’ll always have a home here. Love, Tanner.”

The grapefruit was a damn cantaloupe now. I stuck the key into my pocket and did my best to act normal for my curious kid.

I wanted nothing more than to call him or better yet, run to his house and ask what this meant, but I was a dad with Christmas-morning responsibilities. I fed Phoebe, reminded her that we had plans to see Hazel, then messaged Josh to meet me at the barn with his kids.

Forty-five minutes later, we oohed and ahhhed over the adorable calf and his beautiful mama. The kids were in awe, instantly in love with the calf. They wanted to name him and had dozens of interesting ideas. Barney, Billy, Chip, no…Chocolate Chip.

I smiled along, feeling more and more agitated with every passing second.

Merry Christmas. Are you around?

We’re at the barn. Meet us here?

Are you with your family? Call me.

Silence.