Page 11 of Christmas at the Ranch

Seven

Charlie and I let ourselves into the paddock to fetch Star. We lead her into the stable, where we attach her to crossties, which clip to each side of her halter, in the aisle. Charlie turns up the radiant heaters above our heads, and soon it’s warm and cozy.

“Hey, girl,” I say, stroking my fingers across her soft nose, then up over her shiny-coated neck. She snorts and nods.

One of the barn hands comes to ask Charlie a question, and Star and I are alone.

I loosen the bits of mud stuck to her coat with a currycomb, moving it in wide circles she seems to enjoy.

As I work, I talk to her, asking her what she did to get herself so dirty.

After the mud is gone, I pick up the dandy brush, and this gets rid of the dust and dander left in her coat.

Soon, it’s shining and Star seems completely relaxed, nickering gently every time I leave to get another brush in the tack room, greeting me with soft, contented noises when I return.

I’m stroking her face with the softest brush I can find when Charlie returns. “She’s a sweet girl,” he says. “And she’s clearly happy to see you.”

“Do you use her for the trails or the riding school?” I ask him, and something passes across his face, but then it’s gone and I wonder if maybe I imagined it.

Either way, whatever it is, it’s interrupted by a vibrating noise from his jacket pocket. He looks confused by the sound, then mutters under his breath, “This damn contraption Tate makes me carry, probably that silly group chat again.”

He pulls a battered cell phone from the pocket of his oilskin coat. His hello is followed by a series of mmmhmm s and a you sure about that .

“Tomorrow morning, first thing, though?” he says.

I really hope he’s not talking about my car.

“Thank you, Meredith. Bye, now.”

Damn it.

He hangs up and looks at me. “She says they’ve had a power outage at the shop because the snow knocked a tree branch onto the power line closest to their garage.

Haven’t been able to get your tires on yet.

They’re going to have to call it a night.

Hydro is insisting they’ll be back in business first thing, if not sooner—and Meredith is insisting it’s not personal this time.

It really was a tree branch. I believe her. ”

I try to swallow my dismay.

“Any hotels nearby other than the Evergreen Inn? Because I’m pretty sure I’m banned there,” I say.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Charlie says. “You’ll stay here. Like I said, Tate’s out of town. His cabin is just sitting there empty.”

“ No. I couldn’t.” And I really believe this.

“We had a flood up in the main house and I’m afraid it’s a mess of construction right now,” Charlie says. “Tate won’t mind if you stay at his place, I promise you.”

How do you know that? I want to ask. Does Tate know he broke my heart worse than anyone ever has?

Except I can’t say any of that. Charlie is being so kind to me. And where else am I supposed to go? A stall? A snowbank?

“I appreciate it,” I manage.

“Christmas is the time of year for making room for weary travelers, don’t you think?” he says gruffly. “Although I’d never turn you away. Hope you know that.”

“Can I at least earn my keep?” I ask. “I’m sure there are evening chores you need to do, right?”

He nods. “Barn hand’s headed home because of the storm.”

“And with Tate out of town, you’ll need help.”

“Not going to say no to that,” he says, his eyes now cleared of whatever was bothering him. “Thank you, Emory.”

Charlie and I pass a few pleasant hours bringing horses in from their various paddocks, feeding them, cleaning stalls. It’s straightforward, satisfying work, and I forget my worries in the steady process of measuring grain, pitchforking sweet hay into feed bins, sweeping aisles.

When we’re done, Charlie tells me he’s microwaved us some potpies for dinner, and we can eat them in the office.

“That sounds perfect,” I tell him—and I mean it. I haven’t eaten since dinner last night and I’m starving.

In the small, dim bathroom I wash the barn from my hands with the herbaceous soap that causes my heart to thump with painful nostalgia as its spicy scent hits my nostrils.

Tate. I wrote a magazine article on scent and memory, so I know exactly what’s happening to my brain right now, which centers are being lit up by the smell of this soap.

But just because there’s a scientific explanation for the way I’m feeling doesn’t make the ache any less intense.

I stand still for a moment and let it wash over me, hoping the feelings might run their course.

It won’t be long now, I tell myself. One more night and I’ll be gone again.

I look away from my pale, tired reflection in the mirror and head down a narrow hallway back to the ranch’s office. Charlie passes me a paper plate, then a mug filled with steaming-hot tea.

As we eat and chat about the stables, the horses, life on the ranch, I am careful not to ask directly about Tate.

I’m not sure my ravaged heart can take it, as calming as I found the barn work.

But still, my eyes drift around the room.

Eventually, they land on a photograph tacked to a bulletin board behind the desk.

It’s of Tate standing with a teenage boy and a horse.

The horse’s bridle is bedecked with blue ribbons.

The boy is smiling proudly, and so is Tate.

“That’s Tate and his star pupil at the riding school,” Charlie says. Then he puts down his fork. “It was going real well. But there have been some challenges.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. I want to ask what the challenges are, but Charlie hasn’t offered any more information, and I’m hesitant to pry.

Charlie sighs, but then shrugs. “That’s life when you’re running a business. Now, you must be exhausted. I’ll walk you out to the cabin.”

My last bite of dinner sticks in my throat. I’m not ready, I want to say. I need more time . Everything around here already reminds me of him. How am I going to feel actually stepping into his place?

I can’t voice any of these thoughts or feelings. Instead, I swallow hard, then throw away my paper plate and follow Charlie.

By the time we’ve passed all the stables and followed the path through the trees to Tate’s cabin, my apprehension has made my chest feel so tight it’s hard to breathe.

When Charlie unlocks the cabin door, opens it, steps aside, and invites me in, my voice is a sudden yelp. “I just need a minute!” I move away, farther into the night instead of the warmth of the cabin. I can’t go in there. I can’t even look.

Charlie backtracks, peers out at me in surprise before stepping back onto the porch.

“I’d like to…look at the stars,” I say. “Get some fresh air. Then I’ll go in.” There’s a Muskoka chair on the deck beside the door. I brush it off and sit, then look levelly at Charlie. “I’ll be a few minutes, you go on home.”

“Still snowing,” Charlie remarks, putting his hands in his pockets and looking up at the sky. “Aren’t really any stars out tonight. Sure you want to be staying outside?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “I don’t get a lot of fresh air, living in the city and all.”

He raises an eyebrow but lets me be. “All right. Just as long as you promise me you will go inside eventually, not sit out here all night and freeze.”

“Promise.”

“I’ll let you be with your thoughts, then.”

He nods, then disappears into the night. When he’s gone, I lean back in the chair and stare upward.

Charlie’s right: There are no stars, just a blanket of clouds, heavy with snow.

The flakes swirl down, reminding me of ash from a bonfire.

They hit my face, melt on my skin. I sigh.

It’s still hard to admit, even to myself, how many times I’ve fantasized about seeing Tate again.

And now he’s not here and I’m about to sleep in his cabin.

Alone. Frankly, I’d rather do anything else.

I have a sinking feeling this is not going to give me closure. Instead, it’s going to open wounds.

But what choice do I have? I stand, take a deep, agonized breath, turn toward the door, and stare it down like we’re in a ring and it’s my opponent.

All at once, words are flowing into my mind—ones I wrote, a decade ago.

I kept a moment-by-moment account of our time together in my diary, then threw the entire notebook in the trash at the rental cabin before leaving Evergreen for what I thought was going to be forever.

And yet, I can still remember every sentence, every memory that flowed from my pen.

Which is how I know that this place is exactly how he said it would be.