Page 17 of Christmas at the Ranch

Within moments, Charlie is back with his horse.

There’s a garage-style door at one end of the arena, and Charlie opens it, then gets on Hank easily, no need for a mounting block.

I follow them out into the sunny morning, into a scene as picture-perfect as any holiday card I’ve ever seen: the stables, the paddocks, the horses, the rolling hills in the distance and the Haliburton Forest beyond, all of the scenery covered with the purest white snow.

It’s nothing like the snow in the city, which looks beautiful during the first few hours but soon becomes gray with exhaust fumes.

I breathe deep; the air is so much cleaner and clearer here, too.

Star and I walk slowly along the lane, Hank and Charlie just behind us, past the north barn, then the south, toward the woods.

My eyes hungrily take in the scenery. The way the snow has settled on the branches of the evergreens, how the sun makes the top coat of the snow glitter like stardust. I see movement in the trees, and realize it’s two riders, walking their horses along the forest trail and out into the open.

I recognize the Stetson, the red-and-white-checked plaid of Tate’s jacket.

His head is tilted toward his companion. He’s laughing—and so is she.

She.

The woman has a long blond braid snaking out from beneath her riding helmet, flipped over one shoulder.

Her jacket is emerald green, the perfect contrast to Tate’s red plaid.

She’s laughing, too. Even from a distance, I can see how happy she is.

And I can feel it, too. Because I know exactly what it’s like to feel that joyful on horseback beside Tate, walking along a snowy trail. There’s nothing like it.

In my distraction, I realize I’ve stopped paying attention to Star.

She’s prancing sideways, and my reins are too loose to stop her.

I pull at the leather straps, nudge my legs against her sides to try to get her to move forward again, but I’ve lost her.

And the yanking of the reins is just upsetting her.

Her ears are flat against her head—a sign that she’s distressed. She jolts forward.

I hear Charlie behind me saying, “Whoa there, hey there. Come on, Star.”

I try to tell her to whoa, too, but I know my voice sounds scared and shaky.

Not good. Horses are sensitive to fear. And now everything I thought I remembered about riding is gone.

I’m nothing but frightened as Star kicks her legs out behind her in a buck, then takes off at a gallop.

All I can do is hold on for dear life until, seconds later, I’m flying through the air.

I land with a soft thump in a snowbank and lie there for a moment, staring up at the blue sky, gasping for air because the wind has been knocked out of me.

When I can breathe again, I lean up, relieved that nothing feels broken, just bruised. I need to catch Star before she runs off.

Only, someone else has already caught her. It’s Tate, a thunderous expression on his face as he hands her off to Charlie, who has hopped off Hank. I notice the woman Tate had been out on the trail with standing behind him, holding their two horses by the reins.

As Tate approaches me, his expression softens into one of concern. He kneels down in the snow beside me.

“Are you okay? You shouldn’t be standing up yet,” he says as I try to scramble to my feet.

“Really, I’m fine.”

“We don’t know that yet. Just wait to get up. Please. Are you feeling pain? Tell me where.”

I’m embarrassed for a number of reasons, but the main one is that the only place that hurts is my backside. And I’m not about to say that.

“I’m okay, ” I say again. “Nothing hurts, except my pride.”

“Can I see your helmet?” I take it off and he checks it over for any cracks or damage.

Satisfied there is none, he reaches for me—and it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me again.

His fingers move gently along the base of my neck.

I try to ignore the way my heart gets away from me when he does this, racing so suddenly and so fast it reminds me of how it felt when Star took off from beneath me.

I realize I’ve let out a little gasp. Tate looks alarmed.

“Does that hurt?”

“No. Truly, Tate. I’m fine. The snow broke my fall. I’m just sorry it happened. Is Star okay?”

“She’s perfectly all right.” This is Charlie, approaching with Star’s reins in one hand, Hank’s in the other. “But I owe you an apology. Both of you.”

I stand, and this time, Tate doesn’t stop me. When Star gets close enough, she butts her head against me, as if she wants to apologize.

“It’s okay, girl,” I say, rubbing her nose.

“But it’s not,” Tate says, sounding agonized. More like the teenager I remember than the man he’s become. “Dad, did you even tell her?”

“Tell me what?”

Charlie clears his throat. “Star got hurt this summer,” he says.

“Spooked by a coyote during a trail ride, stumbled and cut her leg. Even though it didn’t take much time to rehab the injury, it affected her.

Sometimes horses who are born prematurely carry it with them—an inability to let things go, I guess you could say.

A problem with processing. She hadn’t been taking well to being ridden, especially outdoors—and I wondered if you might be the solution.

I didn’t want to tell you about the issues she’d been having because it would have just added to your nerves.

Which wouldn’t have been good for either of you. ”

“And you think Emory getting tossed into a snowbank was good for anyone? You’re a great horse trainer, Dad, but I just don’t think this was the right call.”

Charlie sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry, son. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but it wasn’t. Not at all.”

There’s something in the air all around us that feels charged, fraught. I’ve never seen Tate and Charlie at odds, and I hate that I’m the reason.

“I wasn’t paying attention the way I should have been,” I say. “I got distracted. I let her down. It was me.”

But Tate shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have been riding her in the first place.”

Charlie turns to his son. “Mariella is waiting for you. You should get back to her.”

Mariella. It’s a pretty name that matches her perfectly. Tate looks at her, all flustered, showing me that Mariella and I being here at the same time is not what he wants at all.

“It’s fine,” Charlie says. “Emory and I will go into the arena and she’ll get back on Star for a few minutes. Right, Emory?”

The idea makes me nervous, but I know he’s right to ask it of me.

The saying is true: You really do need to get back on the horse—both for your own confidence and for the horse’s training.

Because a horse who is untacked and put back in her paddock or stall to eat, play, or rest after a rider has been thrown off will do so again to get out of working.

Soon, the horse won’t be rideable at all.

“Of course,” I say. “Anything for Star.”

For a moment, I actually think Tate might argue with Charlie, with me, about my getting back on Star—but he doesn’t.

He just says to Charlie, under his breath, “Make sure she’s really okay, please. That they both are.”

Then he walks away, toward the beautiful woman waiting for him.

Mariella, with her blond braid shining in the sunlight, her blue eyes bright with an anticipation I know all too well.