Page 30 of Christmas at the Ranch

Twenty-One

The next morning, I awake from a troubled night’s sleep, filled with dreams of trail rides and dark forests.

I was riding Walt, and Tate was riding Jax—but then we lost each other in the darkness.

I spent what felt like hours searching for him, and when I finally found him, he was looking for me, too.

We galloped our horses toward each other, and when we were close, I remember seeing such joy on his face at finding me.

I felt it, too, a sense of lightness and happiness so complete that when I woke up and realized it was just a dream, I almost wept.

Now I’ve decided to distract myself, and surprise Bruce, by decorating the Evergreen Enquirer offices for Christmas, something I realize he hasn’t been able to do because of his injury.

I go downstairs early and hunt for boxes of decorations, which I find in a closet, on a high shelf.

There are wreaths and garlands, plenty of lights, and even a tree, which I set up and decorate with care.

I’m on a stool, putting the star on top, when Bruce arrives.

“Aren’t you a delight!” he cries. “I’d resigned myself to no decorations this year because of my foot, but you’ve given me a wonderful surprise, with just a few days to go until Christmas!” I’m happy he’s so pleased.

“Should I put the outdoor lights on the porch, too?” I ask him.

“If it’s not too much trouble. I know you didn’t sign on for all of this.”

I tell him it’s my pleasure and bring the box of outdoor garlands and lights to the porch. Bruce stands by to make sure I’m safe on the ladder, and soon the Victorian house is looking just as festive as the rest of Evergreen.

Back inside, we make tea and get back to work on The Evergreen Enquirer ’s special holiday restaurant review section. It’s almost noon when Bruce declares us finished.

“That’s it?” I ask him. “Only four restaurants?”

“Well, it’s not a very big town,” he says with a smile. “We’ll just have to use lots of pictures to fill it out.”

But I have an idea. “What about the Evergreen Inn? It’s not a restaurant, exactly, but they do serve food to their guests. I stayed there on the first night I was here. Reesa’s Saturday Soup was amazing.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Bruce exclaims. “I need to finish my weekly column or I’d join you. Why don’t you borrow my car and head out there? You can drop me at home and pick me up again tomorrow morning.”

After I drop off Bruce, as I drive to Reesa’s, I think about some of the ideas I’d like to suggest to Bruce, to make the Enquirer content more accessible to tourists when they’re in Evergreen in the high season.

A website would be easy enough to help him set up—though I do worry about him maintaining it.

Same goes for an Instagram account. But, I decide as I turn onto the road that leads to the inn, these are all things for us to discuss tomorrow.

First, I have work to do. And hopefully, a fence to mend.

I pull up to the inn, which is as lovely as I remember it, like it’s been conjured straight out of a Trisha Romance painting.

The eaves drip with glittering icicles, more cedar garlands have been added to the front banister, the berries on the front door wreath seem to shine as bright as Christmas lights.

I park Bruce’s car. When I get out, I see movement at the front window of the inn.

Then Sam comes running down the stairs, excited to potentially meet a new guest—but her smile fades when she sees me. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Hi, Sam,” I say. “Is your mom around?”

But Reesa is already standing on the top step. “Hello,” she says hesitantly. “Did you forget something?”

I explain about my new job at the newspaper and tell her about the special restaurant section.

Her expression stays guarded, and I wonder what I’m going to have to do to win her over.

Until she comes down the steps, stands before me, and says, “I owe you an apology. I was not fair to you. Sam needs to hear this, too. I don’t know anything about you personally, except that you were kind to my daughter.

It isn’t fair to judge people on their families.

I think I was just shocked. Gill is such a great guy… ”

“I know,” I say. “It’s okay, really. I understand it must have been a shock—and what happened with Gill is horrible. I wish I could fix it myself.”

“Well, you’re trying,” Reesa says. “I’ve already heard about the holiday section, and who knows, maybe someone who doesn’t already live in this town will pick it up. So, you’re staying in town for a while?”

“Just a few more days,” I say. “Until my car is fixed.”

Sam steps in between us, her expression skeptical. “And you have a job? That doesn’t sound like someone staying just a few days.”

Reesa laughs and tells Sam to mind her own business. “Don’t pry, sweetie,” she murmurs. “Now, come on in. I just finished a pot of soup for lunch and baked a batch of those scones you never got to try.”

Reesa makes tea, and we chat as she sets the table. She tells me all about how the inn fell into disrepair for years after my family rented it.

“There isn’t really a market for luxury rentals out here,” Reesa says. “The investors who owned it defaulted on their mortgage, the bank foreclosed, and it sat abandoned for two years. When my nan died, she left me a bit of money.”

I write it all down, sure this is going to make a good article.

“So, for better or for worse, I sank it all into this place,” Reesa continues.

“We’ve managed to stay afloat, but it hasn’t always been easy.

Summer is better, of course. But I just think it’s so beautiful here in the winter.

I wish we could get more tourists to see that. ”

While the soup warms through, and Sam busily stirs it, Reesa and I sit at the harvest table by the kitchen window.

It looks out over the frozen lake, which is dotted with fishing huts.

I take notes about how Reesa has single-handedly turned the place into something very different than the vast, impersonal mansion I stayed in with my family years ago.

But it’s so quiet, and obvious that they need more business.

I hope my little article will help, and also feel more determined than ever to get Bruce and the Enquirer online so these establishments will all be searchable on the internet for potential visitors to Evergreen.

The soup is ready, and we’re about to sit down to lunch when there’s a knock at the door. Sam pops out of her chair. “It might be a guest!” she exclaims.

But when she returns, she doesn’t have a guest in tow. She’s leading Tate into the kitchen and looking up at him like he hung the moon. “Mama, look who’s here!”

She looks thrilled, but Reesa seems guarded. “I told you we’d have to revisit lessons in the new year, Tate.”

“That’s not exactly why I’m here. Is it, kiddo?” Tate smiles down at Sam, ruffles her hair, then turns his smile on me. I smile back, hoping my sudden longing for him, a feeling that’s almost like a reflex, isn’t written all over my face.

“I have news,” he says. “A new riding instructor just accepted a job over at Wilder’s. It was hard for me to find someone, but it’s official now.” He looks over at me and winks, and I remember our conversation out on the trail. How much he needed and wanted this.

“Wow, congratulations, Tate!”

“That’s great news for you,” Reesa says. “So, you’ll be focusing more on horse training, you and Charlie? The way you’ve been talking about?”

Tate glances at me again, and I can see pride in his eyes. One of his dreams coming true. I beam back at him.

“That’s correct,” he says to Reesa.

And,” he continues, “the new instructor needs to learn the ropes. I’m wondering if you might send Sam over as much as possible for the rest of the school holidays to do lessons with her.”

As Reesa starts to protest, he says, “I won’t accept payment, it’s for the new instructor’s training.

And we can definitely talk about moving forward with lessons in the new year, okay?

But you should know I’m working on a plan to have some of the students help exercise the horses in exchange for lessons. ”

“You can’t afford to be giving free lessons,” Reesa says, still uncertain. I see that Sam is gazing nervously at her mother. I remember her saying something the first day I came to stay, about them maybe finally being able to afford riding lessons again if they got some more business at the inn.

“You’d be helping me,” Tate says. “I need Sam.”

I can feel Sam practically vibrating with excitement beside me, and when her mother says yes, she starts jumping up and down. “Calm down, you’ll scare the guests upstairs,” her mother says, but she’s happy, too, I can tell.

“Speaking of helping me,” Tate says, and now he’s looking at me again. “A new riding instructor, expanding Wilder Ranch, and going into horse training is probably newsworthy, right?”

“I think so, and I’m sure Bruce would agree,” I say.

“Why don’t you come over for a bit when you’re done here? Have a coffee with me, get the scoop on what I’m up to?”

“Sure,” I say, keeping my voice casual, even though the idea of spending time with him makes me feel anything but—no matter what I keep telling myself. “I’ll come over when I’m done here.”

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he says. “Mariella’s waiting with the horses outside. We rode over here. I should go.”

And as quickly as my spirits lifted, they’re down again. He is not yours, and he never will be, I tell myself sternly.

Sam is observing my expression, looking confused. “You okay?” she mouths. I nod and look away, embarrassed that my emotions are so obvious even a nine-year-old can clock them.

When Tate is gone, Reesa sets out the soup and scones—still, I can’t help but be drawn to the window, where Sam is standing, too.

She sighs and clasps her hands together.

I follow her gaze out to the woods, where Tate and Mariella are riding on horseback through the trees, along the very same path I was on, just the day before.

It had felt then like we were the only two people in the world. I force myself not to look away; I make myself watch as Tate and Mariella, against the backdrop of the setting sun, talk and laugh their way out of my line of sight.

Training my heart to remember that Tate is not mine feels harder than breaking a wild horse. But I have to keep trying, even in this place where the memories of him, of us, are all around.

Dear Diary,

I am no longer a virgin.

It happened in the hayloft, which I wasn’t sure about at first, but then I realized there would be no other place for us to be alone—and that I really wanted it to happen before I left. Sooner rather than later, frankly, so it could happen more than once.

We’ve spent every possible moment together for the past two weeks, and we only have one week left.

I have to believe our relationship will go beyond this time—but even if it doesn’t, I have no regrets.

I tried to find a way to tell him this, and he looked into my eyes—Diary, I cannot possibly express the way it feels when our eyes meet, every single time.

Like I’m spinning, like I’m floating, like the world is brand-new…

He kept asking if I was sure and I kept telling him I had never been more certain of anything, ever.

When I told him it was my first time, he got really quiet.

I was worried he might think it was weird that I was eighteen and had never gotten this far with anyone—except at this point, I’ve been pretty honest with him about most things.

All we do is talk and talk (and kiss) and talk.

He knows I’ve never really liked anyone at my school.

I do know he’s had a few girlfriends, but no one he has felt this way about.

I believe him when he says that. I try not to get too jealous, thinking about being gone in just one more week and all the girls who are probably crazy about him, because who wouldn’t be?

But then he looked into my eyes and said, “It’s not my first time—but it is my first time with someone I feel this way about.

Someone I’m in love with. And so, in a way, it really is a first time.

” When I close my eyes, I can hear him say those words to me.

Over and over, the most perfect words to say.

He made it really special. I came over after dinner, late, snuck out—although honestly, I don’t know why I bother, no one seems to notice what I’m doing. I wonder if half of my parents’ guests even know I’m around. And my mom just thinks I’m upstairs reading or over at the barn taking lessons.

I like that only Tate and I will ever know exactly what it was like.

He had lanterns all set up on the hay bales—like candles, but of course, those wouldn’t have been safe with all the hay. The plaid horse blanket was laid out, and another blanket on top of that. I was so touched. It was so sweet.

I was so nervous. I could hardly look at him—but when I did, I knew it would be okay.

“I want this. I want you,” I said to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “This will never have been a mistake.”

It did hurt, for just a minute. Then it didn’t anymore, and I was worrying about what I was doing, if I was doing it right. As if reading my mind, Tate kissed me, then pulled away and looked at me, his gaze deeper, I think, than it has ever been. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

I believed him. Suddenly, it felt like I was perfect.

The very best, most beautiful version of myself possible.

I stopped being self-conscious and focused only on what I was feeling in my heart—and my body.

The intensity of his kiss, the way his skin felt on mine, how I didn’t just feel but knew in that moment I was closer to him than I had ever been to anyone.

He was gentle, he was sweet—but also…well, he’s so hot.

It was so good. Thinking about it makes me blush—and want to do it all over again.

When it was over, he pulled the blankets over us and held me close, kissed my hair, whispered in my ear.

“In case it wasn’t clear before, City Girl, I wasn’t just saying that because I wanted you.

I mean, I did want you—I do, actually, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

But I love you, Emory Oakes. I really do. ”

“I love you, too, Tate Wilder,” I said. And I felt like the happiest, luckiest girl in the world.