Page 32 of Christmas at the Ranch

Twenty-Three

“The stuff you’ve been using for riding is all here,” Tate tells me, opening a locker in the tack room.

I see the helmet and boots I used, tucked away, waiting for me—and it warms my heart, makes me smile at him.

He smiles back and we linger for a moment, just staring at each other.

Then we hear Star whinnying. She saw us pass her stall and is growing impatient, as if she knows what’s next.

We bring Star out of her stall. She keeps her ears pricked forward, and headbutts both of us frequently and gently—as if she’s happy to see us together. As we get her tacked up, I feel us fall back into that easy rhythm we used to have around the horses, Tate and I.

When our hands touch as we pull Star’s bridle over her ears, I’m caught, yet again, in the snare of his gaze—but for the first time since I got here, it doesn’t feel like a risk. It feels safe. It feels like something I need to explore.

Tate. I can smell him all around me: woodsmoke, pine, saddle soap, leather, him.

The bridle is on and now we’re just standing here, the softness of Star’s neck between us. I place my hand on top of Star’s mane, stroke the silken strands to smooth them down. And then, Tate puts his hand there, too. Our hands are almost touching.

“I’m so glad I came here,” I find myself saying. “I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe it sounds strange, to have run from my parents during such a hard time for them—but I needed distance, to try to find a way to get through this. And somehow, this felt like the only place for me to go.”

“I get it,” he says, his tone full of understanding. “You really were so happy here. I remember it.”

“I remember it, too.”

“It must have been so hard, finding out about your parents,” he says.

As we stand there, gently stroking Star’s coat with brushes, then putting on her tack, I tell him how it felt that morning at the gym to see my dad on TV. How I was surprised but not surprised.

“I know you said I shouldn’t carry the responsibility, but it’s hard not to, still.

I can’t shake the feeling that if I hadn’t pulled away, maybe my parents’ path would be different.

I don’t know what’s going to become of either of them, you know?

I’m worried about them—but I’m also so worried about other people, too.

” I swallow, look away from him. “Like Gill,” I say.

Then, I explain that I gave my trust fund to my mother.

“If I still had it, I’d use it to pay him back.

Only, that feels like just the tip of the iceberg. ”

Our hands are still resting side by side atop Star’s mane, almost touching, whispering against each other, secrets only we know.

“You can’t fix everything,” Tate says softly. And I know what he means.

“I wish I hadn’t tried,” I say. “Before. With you. I shouldn’t have done that, brought my dad into it the way I did.”

He looks pained now, shakes his head.

And then, Star stamps her foot and whinnies, losing patience, at the end of her rope over our long conversation. We put on her bridle and he hands me her reins, then he goes to get a lantern.

Soon, I’m on Star’s back, reins in my gloved hands, and Tate is walking beside us.

As we head into the woods, I think maybe I should be scared.

It’s dark, she’s got a history of spooking on the trail, she has a lantern around her neck but the trail isn’t lit up, and we’re walking into darkness.

But the moon is full, lighting our way. And Tate’s voice is soft, comforting as he speaks to Star, telling her how good she is, how brave she is.

We don’t speak anymore as Star moves sedately through the darkness; the light from the lantern on a leather strap, hung loosely around her neck, bobs up and down, casting its light into the trees, and I find myself thinking of the night of the Starlight Ride. The memory is so bittersweet.

“Maybe she really can do the Starlight Ride,” I find myself saying. “Look how well she’s doing.”

“Maybe,” Tate says. Then he looks up at me. “How about you? Should I sign you up?”

“Oh,” I say, startled. “There’s nothing I want more, but the Starlight Ride is on Christmas Eve. My car will be ready. I’m supposed to go to Lani’s.”

Just then, something darts out of the darkness, a marten or a squirrel, I don’t know.

It all happens so fast I don’t have time to register what it is or do anything about it; Star gets the bit in her mouth and she’s off down the trail, galloping a few strides before rearing up and tossing me.

There’s enough snow to cushion my fall, and the moment I land—on my backside, yet again—I know I’m not hurt, I’ve only added another bruise to my collection.

My helmet is firmly on. But still, I feel tears spring to my eyes.

I know what this means for Star. And I know it’s all my fault. I was so caught up in Tate, in my feelings for him, that I forgot about her. I wasn’t careful. And now, even though I’m fine, I know Star will suffer for this.

“Emory! Are you okay?”

Tate runs over, and I stay sitting in the snow, telling him that I’m fine, that he should chase after Star. I watch as he pursues her and finally catches up, grabbing her reins and holding her firmly. He speaks to her, calms her down, walks back toward me.

I need to calm myself down, too. I wipe hastily at the tears on my cheeks and stand, brushing the snow from my pants. When I get close, I see that Tate’s expression is distraught.

“You’re really okay?” he asks me, holding Star’s reins in one hand and running his other over my neck, my back.

“I swear, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t hit your head?”

“No. My helmet stayed put, too. Like last time, it was nothing. You know falls happen.”

“I know,” he says, but there’s something in his voice that feels like maybe he doesn’t believe this right now. And he won’t look at me.

“Maybe you should head back to town,” he says. “I think I need a little time with her. On my own. I need to do some training, so this doesn’t happen again. And I need to be…a bit calmer than I am right now.”

“I can help—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“No. You should go,” he says. “You can’t ride Star, not anymore. It’s not safe. I’m sorry.”

His words sound so final. So certain. Eventually, he looks at me—but it’s not the same. It’s as if, behind his eyes, and in his heart, a wall has gone up, shutting me out.

It’s not safe, he said—but I know he didn’t just mean riding Star. He was also talking about us. The way that, no matter what, maybe we were just always destined to hurt each other.