Page 14 of Christmas at the Ranch

Nine

I t’s barely dawn but I know I can’t stay at Wilder Ranch a moment longer. Last night is coming back to me.

Tate returning unexpectedly. Me, half naked in his kitchen. The spilled water, the broken glass. His voice in the darkness, saying good night. I stayed up late texting with Lani, telling her everything that happened, step by step, play by play.

So, he’s out there on his couch and you’re in his bed? she wrote. The guy you’ve thought of and dreamed about for over a decade?? And you’re not out there talking things through with him because…?

I told her Tate and I had already talked, and it had been stilted and strange. That there was no way I was going out into his living room to try to speak with him again. There’s nothing left to say, and that’s final. You need to get to sleep. I’m sorry I kept you up so long.

Are you kidding?? I’m leaving my phone beside me all night. Text if ANYTHING happens.

But nothing happened except that I tossed and turned until close to dawn, and the sleep I did get was fitful.

I make his bed carefully, so it will look like I was never here.

I wish there was a way to erase all traces of last night from his memory, too, but I’m not a magician.

I take a last look out his window, at the forest of hardwoods, the snowy dawn.

It’s beautiful here, just as I remember it.

But if I stay, I’ll get lost in the past. I need to go.

I push open the bedroom door and listen. Silence. When I walk out into the living room, the couch is empty, the pillows stacked neatly, the blankets folded—as if Tate, too, has tried to erase all traces of the night before.

I assume he’s already down at the stables doing morning chores with Charlie.

At this, I feel a pang. I think of father and son working in tandem.

I remember the peace of that—how good it felt to join in.

I also think of Star, in her stall or maybe out in the paddock by now.

How happy I had felt to see her, how nice it would be to say farewell.

But I can’t go down there. I have to get out of here. It’s well past time I did.

On my phone, I search for a taxi service in the vicinity, and am grateful to find Evergreen Enterprise Taxi a man answers who sounds like I’ve woken him, but he still groggily agrees to come pick me up and take me to town.

I dress and pack up all my stuff. I walk quickly through Tate’s home, determined not to leave any more traces, close the front door, and breathe in the cold, crisp morning air.

I pause on his front steps and look into the distance, at the ranch.

I know I’ll never forget the red-painted stables, the Christmas lights on them still glowing in the dark of the winter morning, because I never have.

I hear voices in the distant stables, low rumbles I know are Tate and Charlie.

A horse’s whinny, then Kevin’s indignant hee-haw in response.

It makes me smile—and all at once, the words “you are home” arrive in my mind unbidden.

But no. This is not home. Evergreen is an easy place to turn rose-colored, and so is Wilder Ranch.

It exists in a perfect winter wonderland, with twinkling lights on stable eaves, horses in snowy fields wearing red-and-green-checked blankets, a father and son amicably doing morning chores together in a red-painted barn, a horse named Star who had a mother named Mistletoe.

But things change. This place is not as frozen in time as it seems. Tate and I aren’t teenagers anymore, and we don’t mean anything to each other.

I see the taxi bumping up the driveway, a battered, forest-green SUV.

I’m sneaking out of here like a criminal, which is going to guarantee I can never come back.

Criminal behavior must run in the family, I think grimly as I run across the snow toward the car.

I wave him down so he doesn’t go all the way to the stables, hoping Tate and Charlie won’t spot us.

“Never had a call out to Wilder’s before,” the driver says. He’s a middle-aged man with a long, gray ponytail. “I’m Frank.”

His gaze is curious, and I’m sure the Evergreen grapevine will soon be filled with gossipy chatter about a woman taking a taxi from Wilder Ranch, from Tate’s cabin, so early in the morning. But by the time the news is out, I’ll be long gone.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi pulls up in front of the mechanic’s. I pay Frank with the last twenty in my wallet. When I approach the garage, I see a closed sign on the door—but then, almost miraculously, a hand appears and spins the sign to open . Things are starting to go my way, finally.

“All ready for you,” Meredith says when I walk in, handing me my keys and an invoice.

Yesterday’s disapproval seems to be forgotten.

I pay with my credit card, which thankfully isn’t declined.

All these things, I tell myself, are positive signs that I’m heading in the right direction. Away from here.

I back my car out of the parking lot and turn right. Out of Evergreen. In the opposite direction of my past.

The snow tires make all the difference. Soon, I’m driving easily along the rural roads that will lead to the highway, past the frozen lakes and rivers whose pristine beauty struck me on my way here.

I force myself to ignore the scenery, just focus on the road, on my journey out.

I know I’m speeding a little, but I don’t slow down.

My need to flee is as strong as the impulse that brought me north to Evergreen in the first place.

I turn on the radio and am rewarded with Kayak FM’s quirky holiday playlist—first “Dominick the Donkey” by Lou Monte, then “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” performed by Destiny’s Child.

I’m belting it out along with Beyoncé when the radio station fizzles. I’ve lost the signal as I approach the border of the Haliburton region. I don’t want silence because then I’ll be alone with my thoughts, so I fiddle with the radio, in search of another festive song.

I’ve only taken my eyes from the road for a second. But when I look back up again, I’m in trouble.

Up ahead: spindly legs, dark fur, massive antlers, unwieldy body.

A moose has leapt in front of my car. It’s the biggest animal I’ve ever seen in my life, larger than any of the horses at Wilder’s.

I swerve, squeezing my eyes shut as my car slides off the road and tumbles down a ditch.

I open my eyes just in time to spin my steering wheel and narrowly avoid a tree.

There’s a cracking sound before my car staggers to a stop.

I gasp as the moose crashes through the trees in front of my windshield, disappearing, unscathed, into the forest. I’m shaking.

I think I’m in shock. I reach for my cell phone to call for help, but there’s no cell signal out here.

So I open my car door and get out, testing my legs, making sure I’m not hurt.

I seem to be fine, except for the shaking, which gets worse when I turn to my car and see the damage.

One wheel is gone, rolled away into the woods, and the vehicle sits at a strange angle against a fallen log. I won’t be driving out of these woods. I’m stuck. I walk up to the road and stand still, my head turned north. Back toward Evergreen.

“I give up!” I shout, my voice a strange comfort in the vast silence, proof that I’m alive, at least, even if I’m alone. “Fine, I’ll stay!”