Page 29 of Christmas at the Ranch

He looks up at me, thoughtful—and then suddenly, as if he can’t resist it, he grins.

“Thanks, Emory,” he says. “I really mean that. Your opinion means a lot to me.”

We walk on in silence for a little while. Then, he says, “Okay, I think this is enough for today. I don’t want to push her, or you, too far. But I’m glad we did this.”

He leans his head down and speaks softly to Star. “You did so well, girl. You have to keep it up, keep trying,” he says, as if she’s human and can understand. And from the way she nickers at him, I really think she can.

I’m touched by his words—not him thanking me, or not just that, but the way he’s speaking to Star. His love of her is almost palpable, like something I could reach out and hold, soft against my chest. He doesn’t fully understand her, because she can’t talk back to him. But, oh, how hard he tries.

“You’re going to be such a great horse trainer,” I say.

“You might be giving me too much credit today. You’re the one who was riding her.”

“More like, I was along for the ride.”

“No,” he says firmly. “That’s not all this is and you know it.

Not just anyone could be riding her right now.

You were there when she was born. You helped.

You care about her, and I’m sure she can feel that.

You’ve stayed calm with her, even though she threw you off two days ago.

Even after you knew there was a risk to this, that there still is, you still wanted to come out here. ”

For a second, it feels like he’s talking about something else—about us.

I think of my old bell hooks book, and the words about the risk of love.

The risk of pain. And I know exactly what he means.

I realize that my reaction to his gaze, to the sound of his voice, to my memories of us, spook me the way Star gets spooked. I’m terrified of getting hurt again.

And I should be.

Because Mariella exists. For the past few hours, it’s been as if she doesn’t. But she does. He has someone. Tate does not belong to me. After this week, I’ll probably never see him again. I’ll never ride Star again. I’ll never be back on this trail.

I grip the saddle pommel and look straight ahead at the forest path in front of us: the trees and the sunset’s orange glow through their branches. The snow and the beauty of it all. I try to lose myself and my emotions in that.

“Emory?” Tate’s voice breaks through the noise in my head. “You okay?”

Can he sense it, I wonder, can he feel my heart the way a horse can? Does he know what I’m feeling, still?

It’s not possible. “I’m okay,” I manage, but my voice is hoarse with sudden emotion. “It’s just a really pretty time of day, is all. I’m enjoying the scenery.”

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous out here,” he agrees.

Then he pulls Star to a gentle stop and looks up at me.

“My mom and I used to always go for trail rides at this time of day, in winter. To catch the way the sun looks as it starts to set over the snowy world.” He nods toward the forest and hills spread out before us, the lake in the distance, the shadows falling across it: orange, pink, the softest yellow.

“It’s so perfect,” I breathe, taking it in, any sadness I was feeling lifting as Tate shares this memory of his mother, his connection to this place, with me. I look down at him. “Eleven years without your mom,” I begin. “I’m sure you miss her still.”

He nods. “I do. It’s gotten easier over the years. But I’ve never felt her any less—if that makes sense. If anything, I’ve just learned to live with the loss better.”

It does make sense. It’s not the same, but I feel like I’ve been living with the loss of him, too. I can’t say this, though.

We walk forward again, back toward the ranch. Our silence now feels charged, full of all sorts of things left unsaid—because they have to be, I tell myself. There is no place for me here, not after this week. And there is no place for these feelings.

Almost as if this thought needs emphasizing, I see a car on its way up the driveway. It’s her. Mariella.

She gets out of her car, and I can see the bright shine of her long blond ponytail, even in the falling darkness.

I can sense a change in him, too. “Shoot, I forgot,” he says. “I have another appointment.” Appointment. I feel embarrassed, a bit resentful, too. Like he’s trying to protect my feelings by calling it that.

“You don’t have to say it’s an appointment,” I say, while he looks at me, confused.

When we reach the back door of the closest barn, Tate steps back so I can dismount.

“Are you okay getting her—”

I interrupt him. “Of course I can untack her. Does she need anything else?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a night hand coming in later, he’ll do all the turnouts.

” He looks nervous now, ill at ease. Maybe he doesn’t want his girlfriend to see us together, doesn’t want to have to explain me.

I hold my hand out for the lead rope and he hesitates before he hands it to me—but still, he’s got me, on his line like a fish, caught in his gaze yet again.

“Thank you, Emory,” he says, holding me fast with his amber eyes, as much as I want to resist. “I said it before, but I mean it. Star needed this. And I think she needed it to be with you .”

I look away from him, at Star. I run a hand along her velvety nose, then reach into my pocket and take out a mint, which I hold flat on my palm so she can snap it up.

“You remembered,” he says with a smile.

I remember all of it .

I don’t say this. All I say is, “You really don’t have to thank me. I was happy to do this for her.”

Mariella is approaching, walking up the small hill that leads from the parking lot, waving at Tate. I don’t want to see them together. I need to get back into the barn and away.

“See you, Tate.”

I turn away, tug gently on Star’s rope. She follows along beside me, as obedient as a puppy, and I tell Star that I love her so much, trying to drown out the sound of Tate greeting Mariella, saying how happy he is to see her, and her replying the same to him.