Page 25 of Christmas at the Ranch

Tate looks away. “That’s not why I told you,” he says, and his tone has cooled a few degrees. “I just wanted you to understand why I reacted that way to your fall, why I asked you to sign a waiver. I didn’t want you to think I was still like I was back then, always assuming the worst of you.”

“It was a long time ago,” I say. My tone makes it sound like I haven’t agonized over it, not just for the past four days, but for all the years before.

Like seeing him again hasn’t brought it all back—like being at the ranch hasn’t made the old wound sting.

I didn’t realize I was such a good actress.

I stare across the table at him, feeling our past hanging all around us like a ghost.

Maybe it’s a ghost I can’t ignore anymore.

The control I’ve had over my emotions melts away like snow in sunshine.

“Hey,” I say. “Don’t treat me like it’s back then .

It’s not, and we both know it. Of course I don’t want to swoop in and try to save the day with my family’s money.

I know that’s not what you would want, and as you probably know, my family doesn’t have any money anymore.

I said I want to help you because I love Wilder’s.

I love Star. I was there when she was born, and I’ll never forget that.

It’s a place that means something to me, too. ”

His hand is on his chin again, rubbing across his jaw in agitation. “Okay,” he says. “You’re right. We have a lot of”—he waves his hand around in the air—“baggage, I guess you could say. Maybe because we were teenagers when we knew each other.”

“Just kids,” I agree. “And now we’re adults. We need to figure out a way to put whatever judgments we made about each other behind us. We hurt each other—but it was a long time ago. Can we agree on a statute of limitations?”

I should be used to it by now, the way being caught in the snare of Tate’s intense gaze can suddenly make me feel like I’m falling, but it still knocks me sideways. I practically have to cling to my chair.

“That’s what you want?” he says in a low voice. “To forget?”

“I don’t think I said ‘forget’ … ” I begin, but I don’t know how to finish that sentence.

What do I want? I have never understood that when it comes to Tate Wilder.

But now, today, in the present, he has nothing to give me. He has Mariella. He has the ranch, which needs his full attention. What I want, whether I’m fully aware of it or not, doesn’t matter.

He releases me from his gaze and I exhale with relief.

He looks out the window at the darkening street.

I look, too, at the snow caught in the lamplight, and a shop owner across the street hanging Christmas lights on the eaves of his store with great care.

The man climbs down the ladder and stands back to observe his handiwork, nodding with pride before going inside.

“There is a way you can help, okay?” Tate says, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Charlie’s right. You were good on Star.

She took to you. She wasn’t perfect, obviously.

I mean, she threw you in a snowbank.” Now he smiles that crooked smile and it sparks a warmth in my core.

“But she hasn’t been that calm with anyone in ages.

It would be great to get Star back to the way she once was, with your help. ”

“You mean, you actually want me to ride her again?”

“With certain parameters, yes.”

“Such as?”

“Me as your riding coach. Could you handle that?”

“You telling me what to do?” I laugh. “Probably not. But I’d love to help Star.”

I say this sincerely. I feel so relieved to be able to say it at all—and realize the relief is also coming from the knowledge that I get to go back to Wilder Ranch. I want to see Star again. Charlie, too. And Tate. I can’t help it. Even if he’s not mine, and never will be.

“I really would,” I say. “Maybe I could even get her ready enough for the Starlight Ride next week.”

“Now, that would probably take a Christmas miracle,” Tate says, shaking his head. “Christmas Eve is less than a week away. And Star is a unique case. Prematurely born horses may seem perfectly healthy—and she is, don’t get me wrong. But her processing isn’t quite the same as other horses’.”

“Charlie told me,” I murmur.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed this with her before, only it’s never been this bad. But you can at least help get her started on the right track again before you leave town.”

Before you leave town . Those words hurt, for reasons I don’t let myself explore. I try to focus on the positives. I focus on Star.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do than help Star.” I know I mean this, at least.

“Then it’s settled,” Tate says. “You’ll come back to Wilder’s a few times while you’re here. To ride Star.”

“To ride Star,” I repeat.

He glances down at his watch. “Charlie was out picking something up in my truck, but he’s coming through town to get me in a few minutes. I have to go.”

He pulls out his wallet, but Mya calls for him to put his money away before her parents catch him trying to pay for a meal that was supposed to be their holiday treat.

“Does tomorrow afternoon work? Three-ish?”

“I’ll be there,” I tell him.

He stands and crosses the room, trying once more to pay as Mya laughs and waves him off. “Stop being such a gentleman all the time, Tate Wilder!”

He laughs and leaves the restaurant. A part of me thinks he’ll look back at me through the window. But he doesn’t.

Dear Diary,

Tate.

TATE.

TATE!!!

I’m…I don’t know if I can say this, let alone write it.

But I will anyway, because it’s you: I think I’m in love with him.

So many times, I’ve come close to saying it.

Can you imagine? We’ve only known each other a week, but it feels like a lifetime.

And what a lifetime it has been. Especially with Star being born, having that incredible experience together, I just feel so close to him…

I’m scared, of course. What do I know about love?

I’ve tried to learn about it by reading books.

My favorite is All About Love by bell hooks.

I have it with me here, but I opened it to a passage that scared me even more, one about how the practice of love offers no place of safety.

It means opening oneself up to the possibility of loss, hurt, pain.

But he does make me feel safe. He makes me feel special, he makes me feel seen.

He makes me feel like I’m exactly where I belong now.

When he looks at me, the world stops spinning, I swear.

When we touch, I feel like I’m…an actual firework or something.

I can’t imagine not feeling this way about him.

It feels like a part of who I am, who I’ll always be.

And if it causes pain, so be it. I can take it, to be with him.

But of course, I still have reality to contend with, even if I feel like I’m living in a dream.

For example, yesterday, my dad and Cousin Reuben went into town and came back talking about some business venture they’re planning.

They had been out at some restaurant called Gill’s, they said.

A fish place. And the owner had given them some boxes of free fish-and-chips to take home for the group.

They dumped the boxes on the counter and said the housekeeper would come in and throw them away later before the chef started to cook us some “real food.” Which I just thought was such a rotten thing to say.

It smelled SO good. Plus, I for one am tired of what my parents call “real food.” It’s either too rich or as insubstantial as a puff of air.

So, I packed up some of the boxes of fish-and-chips and took them with me over to Wilder’s, where Tate was waiting for me.

And he was thrilled . He said Gill’s was his favorite, and that I was going to love it, too.

But first, we went to visit Mistletoe and Star, who are both doing well.

Mistletoe is a wonderful mother, and I will never get enough of watching them snuggled up together, sleeping in their stall.

And Star is so cute. You’d never know she was a preemie.

She’s always up and about, eating well, and has the softest little nose.

After we visited the horses, we took our food up to the hayloft and had a little picnic, sitting on a cozy plaid horse blanket on top of a bunch of hay bales, which was almost a bed.

(More on that later, but I’m already blushing.) The food was so good, even cold, so I can see why Tate loves it so much.

I sucked on a lemon after, because I said I wanted to kiss him but didn’t want to taste like tartar sauce—and he said he didn’t care, that I was perfect always, no matter what.

It went beyond kissing. Before I knew it, we were both half naked on top of the blanket and I didn’t want to stop.

Do you get what I mean? I didn’t want to stop.

It probably goes without saying that I’ve never done it before.

I assume he has. J.T. said something about a previous girlfriend the afternoon we all hung out.

It was just a passing mention, not designed to make me uncomfortable, but Tate just seems so assured about everything.

I’m sure he has experience. Still, I was afraid to ask.

And eventually, he was the one who said to slow down.

I honestly don’t think I would have. But then again, we were in a hayloft and maybe that’s not the right spot.

Except…where? I’m serious. Because I think I want to.

Actually, I know I want to. Because I feel sure that no matter where it is, or when it is, it’s going to be perfect.

What isn’t perfect is when I got back, my mom and Aunt Bitsy didn’t hear me come in. They were in the kitchen talking about me. And about Tate.

“I wouldn’t worry, Cass,” Bitsy was saying. “She’s just having a little bit of holiday fun with a local. She won’t look back once she’s in the city again.” My mom said something about how I’m not the type to have fun, which almost made me laugh—except it’s true, I’m not.

I snuck up the back steps, feeling determined to prove them wrong.

I am not going to leave Tate behind. And I will never care that my snobbish family thinks he isn’t good enough.

I feel more comfortable with Tate, at Wilder’s, than I ever have anywhere in my life.

I already know that feeling is not something I’m just going to be able to walk away from.