Page 39 of Christmas at the Ranch

Twenty-Nine

The drive to Wilder Ranch seems to take forever.

I’m torn between being excited to see Tate again after what happened between us in the apartment, and terrified.

Should I really be coming out here? What if he doesn’t want to see me right now?

A few times, I almost tell Frank to turn around and take me back to town.

But what do I have to lose? And if my mother showing up at my apartment with a check is enough to send him running away from me again, this time forever, then I need to know that sooner rather than later.

The taxi turns down the road beside the lake that leads past the inn and toward the ranch. It’s mid-afternoon now, and the sunlight is streaming through the snow-covered trees in that pretty way it does, waves of light rippling through the hardwoods.

We’re at Wilder’s. I get out of the car and see Charlie bringing horses into the paddock closest to the driveway.

“Hello there, Emory,” he says with a smile as he closes the gate and walks toward me. “But I imagine it’s not me you’re here to see.”

All I can do is nod. “Is Tate around?”

“He’s in the south barn,” Charlie says. “You’ll find him there. See you around, kiddo.”

And then he’s gone and I’m heading toward the south barn, not quite sure what I’m going to say when I see Tate.

I push open the door just as Tate comes out of a stall. He stops walking.

“Hey,” he says, fidgeting with the leg wraps he’s holding. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

My heart swoops downward. “Why not?” I ask him.

“Your mom being here and all…I just figured you wouldn’t be able to get away.”

“Yeah, well, she mentioned seeing you jump out the window and suggested we might have some unfinished business to attend to.” I raise an eyebrow as he grimaces.

“She saw that, did she? I was hoping I could escape unnoticed.”

“And why did you feel the need to escape?”

He puts the bandages down and walks toward me, but I try to steel myself against him. I need to know where we stand.

“Jax banged his leg on a fence post out in the paddock yesterday and the vet was coming to take a look at him this afternoon. I knew I had to be here. And I didn’t really think it would be the best idea to saunter casually by your mother and out the door, doing up my pants with no explanation.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You know, you could have done up your pants before you came down the stairs. And besides, I don’t think we’d gotten that far. I hadn’t undone your pants.”

Now my cheeks are feeling hot—and if I’m being honest, so am I. I can barely understand what I’m saying. I can’t look at him, so I look into Jax’s stall instead.

“He’s okay?” I ask.

“Vet gave him the all clear but he’ll wear protective bandages when he’s turned out for a while just to be on the safe side.”

Tate steps closer. Woodsmoke, pine needles, leather, saddle soap, Tate .

I’m a goner.

“Emory?” he says. “Are you okay?”

I force myself to look at him.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“What did your mom want? Actually, hang on.” He puts the bandages down and locks Jax’s stall. “Coffee and a chat at my place?”

He makes it sound so casual. As if we could ever have a coffee and a chat, as if it could be that simple between us. But I say yes and follow him out of the barn into the afternoon. It has started to snow again, thick white flakes that I can feel landing in my hair like confetti.

He turns back toward me. “I have something I want to show you, anyway,” he says. “So it’s good you came by.”

He sounds so easy about everything—and meanwhile, I’m a simmering mess inside. Do I have no effect on him? I know it wasn’t all one-sided earlier, it couldn’t have been. But maybe I’m wrong. I walk along beside him until we get to his place, my thoughts spinning.

He opens the door to his cabin and we walk inside. It smells so good, it’s almost overwhelming.

We have memories in here now, just like everywhere.

“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

I sit down on one of the stools at his pale granite breakfast bar.

I try not to think about myself standing in the middle of this kitchen half naked, just days before, in a Fit-mas Tree T-shirt.

I feel so nervous, it’s like I’m waiting for a job interview.

And when he comes out of his room holding a folder, it feels even more like an interview.

He puts it down on the breakfast bar between us, and now he seems nervous, too. But he doesn’t address the folder.

“So, your mom? Tell me what happened.”

I start to explain, as much as I can. “I do think she feels terrible and maybe my dad does, too.” Then I tell him about the check, and our visit to Gill’s. “But he wouldn’t take it. He was just…so noble about it.”

Tate smiles, a little sadly. “That’s Gill for you, proud and noble to a fault. Maybe a little stubborn, too. He’s been so helpful to us, as you know. He’s such a great guy.”

“He is,” I say, thinking about how he offered my mom lunch after what my parents had done.

Now, with Tate, the silence after my words stretches into awkward territory—yet I have no idea how to fill it. I look down at the folder. “What was it you wanted to show me?”

He pulls the folder toward himself, looks down at it, takes a deep breath.

Then he opens it.

It’s a composition book, with the name Emory Oakes written on the front in familiar handwriting.

My breath catches in my throat. My old diary.

“I threw that away before I left here when I was eighteen,” I manage.

“Yeah,” he says. “And then, I was out for a walk on the road a few days after you left. Some animals had gotten into the garbage from your rental place,” he says with a wry smile.

“It was just there in the snow. I couldn’t believe it.

It felt like…” He looks down at the diary, then up at me again.

“Like it meant something, but I never could figure out what. Not until now.”

“This is so embarrassing,” I say. “I wrote so much in there about…” Us. You.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. “Please.”

“Did you read it?” I ask him.

“I wanted to, but that wouldn’t have been right.

” He pauses. “I gave it to Charlie, told him to lock it away. That I would return it to you one day if I ever got the courage. Then I brought it with me when I came to Toronto. And chickened out, as I told you. It turns out you were the brave one. You’re the one who came back. ”

I pull the notebook toward me. I know every word by heart, but still, I open it to the final page. And with a sinking sensation in my heart, I start to read.

Dear Diary,

I made a huge mistake.

I found my dad this morning, after our Christmas brunch, after we’d opened our presents and everyone was relaxing, and I asked for his help. I told him that I had become friends with Tate and his dad, Charlie.

“Your mother mentioned,” my dad said, frowning, disapproval in his voice, but I chose to ignore it.

I explained to my dad as much as I knew about Tate and Charlie’s financial issues.

“Dad, I never really ask you for anything, but do you think you could help them out in some way? Maybe offer to be a financial backer or something?”

I realize now how na?ve I was being. It’s never simple with my father. He’s all business, all the time—always trying to get ahead, I guess. He asked if he could come with me over to the ranch, to speak with Charlie about an idea he had.

“I’ve been wanting to get into horse breeding for a while,” he said. “And your mother did tell me what a quaint facility it is. I could definitely do something with it, make some positive changes.”

This was when I began to realize this could be a mistake.

But it was too late, I had already asked for his help.

I couldn’t say no. We headed over together.

Tate looked confused when he saw me with my dad.

I know he had expected me to come over by myself, so we could have some time alone on Christmas.

He had told me he had a gift for me—but I didn’t have anything for him!

I think that’s why I brought my dad into things.

I felt sure I could solve any problems Wilder Ranch was having and make Tate happy.

And Charlie, too. The perfect Christmas gift.

I was so, so wrong.

My dad walked up to Charlie and offered to buy the place.

It was awful. It was so embarrassing. But it was worse than that.

It was shameful. How could my dad see a place like Wilder’s as just something to buy, something to change completely and utterly?

He started talking about how fun it would be to get involved with breeding Thoroughbreds for racing—when Tate and I have talked about how much he disapproves of racing, which is hard on horses and results in mistreatment, then the horses just being cast aside if they underperform.

Sold off as horsemeat, if you can believe it.

But my dad wouldn’t know about any of that, nor would he care.

Tate looked at me like I was a complete stranger, and to be honest, so did Charlie. He just said, “No, thank you, Wilder’s is not for sale” before heading off to do some chores.

“I tried, Emory,” my dad said to me in front of Tate. “But it seems like these guys don’t want what I’m offering. Maybe they just want to play small.”

I had planned to stay, but Tate, his expression as cold as the ice on the lake, told me he had something important to do with his dad.

“You should go, too,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”

I wanted to explain myself, but I couldn’t find the words. What had I just done?

I told myself I’d give him some space, and I’d give myself some time to figure out a way to make it right, that when he called later, I’d come straight over and we’d talk.

He didn’t call. So, I walked over there. It was late at that point, and I didn’t want to knock on the front door of his house and wake up Charlie, so I threw handfuls of snow at his window, then tiny pebbles. His light was on, but he didn’t come.

As I walked away, I had the most horrible feeling that I would never be coming back here. That Tate was finished with me forever.