Page 28 of Christmas at the Ranch

Twenty

With me on Star, and Tate walking along beside us, there will be no more moments when our gazes meet—and this is a good thing.

Because it’s important for me to keep my heart rate steady so Star can do the same for herself.

Now I can only see the top of Tate’s head, covered in his Stetson, the sun-bleached ends of his always-in-need-of-a-cut hair peeking out from beneath it.

The air is cold and crisp; all I can smell is the almost minty tang of snow—and then, as we reach the forest trail, cedar, pine, some distant woodsmoke. It’s Tate, but not Tate. It doesn’t have the same effect. So far, so good.

“So,” Tate says as we walk, “how’ve you been all these years?” Then he laughs at himself, and I find myself laughing, too. “Big question, I guess. But seriously—you went to journalism school, the way you wanted?”

“I did,” I say. “And I worked at The Globe and Mail, in the newsroom, for five years.”

“Your dream,” he says, and I feel surprise at this—the way he still remembers my dreams. But then, I still remember his. “And you’re not there now?”

“Layoffs,” I say. Star butts her head softly against Tate’s shoulder as we walk. With him close, she has been completely calm since he led her from the arena. He murmurs softly to her. So gently, his voice full of care.

“That’s a bummer.”

“It was. But I’ve been freelancing since last year. That’s going pretty well. Or, at least, it was.”

“Oh, really? Who do you write for?”

I name some of the publications, and he lets out a low whistle. “Impressive. I’ll have to look up some of your work.”

I find myself blushing, thinking of him reading my articles online—but then feel a little disappointed at the idea that he’s never once googled me.

“Why do you say your freelancing was going well?” he asks me. “Past tense?”

I sigh. “With what’s happened with my dad, I’m just not sure about approaching editors. Some of them might want me to give them the inside scoop. Others just might not be interested in my work, given my family name.”

“Do you really think that? That people will judge you by what your dad did?”

With no reins to hold on to, I’ve settled my hands on the saddle pommel, and now I twist them together.

“I do think that,” I find myself saying. “I feel really…well, to be honest, I feel ashamed. Like I should have done something. My dad wanted me to work with him, and I didn’t. Maybe if I had, things would have been different.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Tate says. “I met your dad. He didn’t exactly seem like a guy who was…” He pauses, thinks. “Open to suggestions that weren’t his.”

Despite the fact that this topic makes me feel morose, I find myself laughing quietly. “You nailed it,” I say.

“So, then, why blame yourself when you know you never would have been able to stop him? And, even if you could have, it was his company. His responsibility to do right.”

“You have a point,” I say, and it surprises me how much better this conversation with Tate is making me feel.

As if I’m talking to someone who understands me, and my life, deeply.

The sun filters through the snow-covered tree branches.

There’s the distant call of a crow, the crunch of Star’s hooves and Tate’s feet on the path, the sound of my breathing, and Star’s gentle snorts.

“Thank you,” I finally say. “That really helps.”

“I hope you know I’ll—” Tate clears his throat. “I’ll always be happy to help you, Emory,” he says quietly. “I can imagine this situation is a lot to carry.”

A lump rises to my throat. I don’t want to cry, not here, not now, so I ask him a question instead. “Tell me what you’ve been up to all this time,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Big question, but we have time, right?”

“You’re looking at it,” he says. “I’ve been here, mostly. I did go to the University of Guelph, for stable management. Two years. Charlie insisted, said it would be good for me to get away, but mostly I just missed it here, and learned stuff I already knew.”

I laugh. “Ever occur to you that you’re just a know-it-all?”

He laughs back. “Well, I come by it honestly, I guess. Pretty sure Charlie knows all there is to know about most things.”

“He’s taught you well.”

Just then, up ahead, a pile of snow falls from a branch. Star freezes, snorts nervously, begins to back away.

“It’s okay, girl,” I say, my fingers tight on the pommel now as I work hard to stay calm, to trust both myself and this horse—and Tate, who is leading us, and promised it would all be okay.

He’s got his hand firmly on the lead rope, holds it under Star, speaks soothing words.

She balks twice, and I’m afraid she might rear.

But he’s got her, I can tell. I can feel the calm flow through both of us.

Soon, Star walks forward again, as if nothing happened. Tate looks up at me.

“You’re good?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks to you.”

“Ah, it wasn’t anything I did. It’s all Star. She’s doing great. She handled that so well. That was a good test for her.”

We walk on for a moment in silence, and then he looks up at me again. “And so are you, by the way. You’re doing great. She would have been able to tell if you were scared. You weren’t.”

“I wasn’t,” I agree. And I don’t add, Because you were here with me .

Star is now walking confidently forward again.

We pass the tree that dumped its snow moments before and she hardly reacts, keeps walking ahead as the sunlight starts to fade completely and night begins to approach.

Tate is talking to her again, telling her what a good girl she is, and I’m listening to his voice, a little mesmerized.

Then I realize he’s asked me a question.

“Do you remember our first trail ride out here? You were on Walt.” There’s a smile in his voice.

I can picture that smile in my mind, even though I can’t see his face.

“He was the best. Probably our most reliable trail horse. We’d had him from when I was a really little kid, when my parents first bought this place. ”

I’m grateful that it seems his question about if I remember our trail ride is rhetorical. Because how would I answer it? Of course I remember. I try to forget, but I can’t. I remember every single moment we spent together. I still feel it in my bones.

“Was?” I find myself saying. “He’s gone?”

“Died last year,” Tate says. “He made it to thirty years old, which is pretty amazing. Most of the horses we have are younger now, not quite as settled into themselves the way he was. Definitely not as reliable for the trails. It’s why I’m trying so hard with Star, even if it could be a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake,” I say firmly. “She needs this. She’s so happy out here.”

And it’s true. She’s walking forward with confidence, her head raised, her ears pricked forward. Eager, not nervous. But still, I hear Tate sigh.

“Yeah, but it’s on me, some of what’s happening here at the ranch.

I focused on getting younger horses, Thoroughbreds, because I wanted to try to put together a show team.

Then, we went into debt.” Another sigh. “And lessons slowed down. Now it seems that mostly what people want is just to go on trail rides in the summer. People from out of town. No one who lives nearby can afford to put their kids in shows these days; the fees are just way too expensive. I need to get back to basics, regular lessons, but…” He trails off.

“Sorry. This is not your problem. And we should be focusing on Star.”

“No,” I say. “You can talk to me. I remember your dream of having a show team. I’m sorry that’s been derailed these past few years, but don’t beat yourself up over pursuing your dream, over focusing on show horses rather than trail horses. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It hasn’t exactly been great for business,” he says. “But I’ve got some other ideas.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I’m trying to hire a riding instructor, for a more basic, kid-focused riding school. And I think Charlie and I could do well if we could put a bit more into horse training.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” I find myself exclaiming. “Remember how much you used to love watching Heartland ?”

He laughs softly, surprised. “I think you’re the only person who knows that about me,” he says. “I freaking loved that show.”

“You’re kind of reminding me of Amy right now,” I say. Amy was one of the main characters, a talented and intuitive horse trainer on the popular CBC show. “You’re like a horse whisperer, here with Star.”

He looks up at me again, and I’m grateful the sun is almost set, that I can’t see the exact shade of his eyes, the intensity of them that is sure to derail my central nervous system.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, his voice bashful now.

“You’re the one who is riding her, so give yourself some credit.

But I do hope I can start building up my horse-training skills, and our client list. I was thinking if I could move all the school and boarder horses into the larger south stable, with someone hired to take care of that end of things, and turn the north building into a training, conditioning, and rehabilitation barn, we could be onto something.

I have a few clients lined up already, from some of the trade shows I’ve gone to.

I just need to hire a new riding instructor to help us manage the school, because we need to keep it going.

The hiring has been a bit of a process. But I’m close to finalizing that. ”

A crow swoops down from a tree, and Star is surprised, but she doesn’t spook. Again, Tate praises her, then looks up at me, smiling proudly, as if to say, Look at you two now . I smile, too, and pat her shoulder gently.

“Your plans sound amazing. I’m so impressed,” I say.

“Yes, well, right now they’re just that. Plans. But I feel closer every day to bringing them to fruition.”

“I knew you when all this was just a dream, you running this place. I know it might sound weird of me to say this, but I’m proud of you, Tate.”