Page 40 of Christmas at the Ranch

Thirty

I blink back tears and close the diary. I never wrote in it again.

I left it here in Evergreen, threw it in a trash bag.

I told myself I needed to forget about Tate and that discarding the diary in which I had so painstakingly kept an account of our time together would be the first step. I didn’t want to remember any of it.

But now I think about what happened next, all the things I didn’t write down.

I sat in the back seat of the Jaguar, my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, refusing to look at the town I had so loved as we left it behind for what I was sure would be forever.

Remembering all this is the most horrible feeling—one I’ve only ever experienced once before, ten years ago, right here in this place.

“Is this why you asked me here? To read this, and to remember why we should never be together?”

He gives me a long look, and then without a word, he stands and leaves the room.

I sit in stunned silence. When he returns, he’s carrying a shoebox. He puts it down in front of me.

“Open it,” he says.

I do, to reveal a stack of papers I realize are letters.

I lift the first one and start to read.

Dear Emory,

I miss you so much. I can’t believe things ended between us the way they did.

I’m upset, still. I wish you hadn’t brought your dad into it.

But I should have talked to you about it instead of just shutting you out like that.

I was so hurt, but mostly, I think I was afraid.

I have been afraid since the second I met you, and it felt like this perfect dream girl had just…

dropped out of the sky onto my beach or something.

I was afraid it couldn’t be real. Instead of fighting for us, I made my worst fears come true.

Because now it’s not. It feels like you were never even here.

You came to my house, you threw pebbles at my window, and I ignored you.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that.

And now I have no way to reach you. I tried.

I even went to Toronto. But I left without seeing you.

And it’s possible—more like probable—that you never want to see me again. That you’ve forgotten me already.

Because maybe my fears are true. I don’t fit into your world. Maybe the sooner I accept that, the sooner my heart will heal.

Only, right now, it feels like it never will. I can’t imagine ever getting over you. I have this thought sometimes that we’ll find our way back to each other one day, if it’s really meant to be. I guess I have no other choice but to wait and see.

For now, all I can say is…

Love,

Tate

I read through letter after letter. They become slightly less heartbroken, and almost conversational, after a while.

He starts to share news with me, tells me about his experiences at the Royal Agricultural Winter Fair.

That he looked for me. He tells me about the horses, and especially Star.

We’ve started training Star and she’s spirited, but taking to it…

This year will be Star’s first time being ridden in the Starlight Ride; I’m the one who’s going to ride her, but I wish you could, too…

I look up at him. “Why didn’t you ever mail these?”

“It’s not exactly something I’m proud of,” he says. “I should have had the courage to, but I felt like it would be better to see you first, to try to explain things to you in person, rather than just mailing all these. I mean, how would you have reacted?”

“I would have driven straight here. All these years, all I wanted was to know that you were thinking about me, too.” Then I sigh, and I put down the letter I’m holding. “Because I was. I thought about you. I waited for it to stop, and it didn’t.”

We stare at each other in silence, what could have been hanging between us.

“Can you forgive me?” he asks. “For letting it go this long?”

“It was my fault, too. What was I thinking, bringing my dad over? I should have known he would act that way.”

“I blamed you for his behavior. I was so unfair. I’m sorry, Emory.”

“We had no idea what we were doing, did we?” I shake my head. “And I could have called you. I could have written. It didn’t need to be all on you.”

More silence. I can feel the air between us filling with all our regrets. But then, he ventures, “Maybe this is the way it needed to be. Maybe the timing would have been wrong if we had done it any other way.”

I nod. “I like that. It makes it feel less like being apart was wasted time…”

“And more like, we just had to wait for the right moment.” Now he smiles, and I do, too.

“A moment that arrived with me standing in your kitchen in the middle of the night, thinking you were a burglar.”

He laughs. It’s the softest, sweetest sound. “There you were. You know, if I could have made a Christmas wish, it probably would have been something along the lines of, ‘Emory Oakes, standing half naked in my kitchen.’?” Now he grins. “You looked so cute in that damn T-shirt. What did it say?”

I groan. “?‘Do you have the balls to try the Fit-mas Tree?’?” I admit, laughing.

“What the hell does that even mean, Emory?”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Now I’m reaching for his shirt, and it’s like I’ve turned on a switch.

We pull at each other’s clothes, desperately, hungrily.

He presses me against the breakfast bar, undressing me further and kissing me all at the same time.

I pull off his shirt and his firm, smooth chest is tantalizing as my hands explore down to the low waistband of his jeans.

“Let’s go to my room,” he breathes.

I make a noise of assent and he pulls me up, lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to his bedroom. In the doorway, he holds me against his body with one hand, bumps his door shut with his hip, carries me toward the bed and lays me down.

He kisses me all the way down my body as I recline.

His lips are on mine, then my collarbone, my breasts, my thighs, my knees, my calves, my toes.

I truly think I might pass out from the pleasure of his mouth all over my body.

This is everything I ever dreamed of with him—and more, so much more.

He kisses my stomach, whispers into my navel how beautiful I am, how perfect.

I lose my hands in his hair, and my mind in the sound of his breath, the touch of his fingers, his tongue.

Soon, I can’t take it anymore. “I want you,” I breathe.

“I need you.” I pull him up, reach for his belt buckle.

“Also, how am I totally naked and you’ve still got your pants on?

We need to fix that, right now.” I unbutton his pants and pull them off, pull him on top of me, slide his boxers down and away.

“Wait,” he whispers, rolling away from me, reaching into his nightstand for a condom, which I help him put on as he lies on his side, so dizzy by now with my desire I have no idea how I manage it, but I do.

His lips are on mine again, he’s back on top of me, his chest against mine, our hips aligned.

“Please,” I whisper—and with a shuddering sigh that I echo, he slides himself inside me.

“Pleasure” is not the right word to describe how this feels.

It is dizzying bliss; it is coming home.

“Tate,” I whisper, and he says my name, too, in whispers, in moans.

I run my hands down his muscled back, grip his backside so I can greedily pull more of him inside me.

How is this possible, that anything could feel this good, this right?

I wrap my legs around his thighs as I look into his amber-brown eyes.

My desire feels bottomless, but he meets it, meets me, thrusting as hard and as fast as I need him to, while still kissing me tenderly and making me feel perfectly safe, entirely loved.

“Oh God,” he groans. He kisses my mouth, then lowers his head, runs his tongue over one of my nipples.

And it’s all over for me. I couldn’t wait if I wanted to.

And I don’t have to; he’s right there with me, our sighs of gratification mingling into one, the orgasm lasting so long my entire body is shaking and spent when it’s over.

After a few minutes, he leans up on one elbow and looks down at me, smiling.

“You look rather pleased with yourself,” I say.

His grin widens. “Well, I mean, I just got laid… ”

I swat at him, and he rolls over onto his back. We stay like that, side by side, still breathing heavily, looking up at his ceiling.

“Emory?” I turn to him. His expression is now serious. “That was amazing. Everything I ever dreamed. It still doesn’t feel real.” He kisses me softly. I lean up on my elbow to look down at him.

“But it is real,” I say. “You and me.”

He nods. “The best thing I’ve ever known.”

I lower my head so it’s resting on his chest, where I can feel his heart, still racing from everything we just did together.

“I have to ask you this,” he says. “Will you stay here for Christmas? Will you come with us on the Starlight Ride? I know you have obligations in the city—but I just got you back, and I want you to stay a little while.”

I think about Lani, how I told her I’d be at her place in time for Christmas. But I know she’ll understand. Despite my protests, she’s been rooting for Tate and me this whole time.

“Yes, I’ll stay,” I say, and Tate pulls me closer, holds me tighter, like he never wants to let me go. I feel the same. I could stay here like this forever.

As I continue to listen to his heart, it slows. He relaxes. This new cadence of his heart calms me, too. I close my eyes and breathe along with him, slowly and surely, until we’re both asleep, dreaming of nothing at all because our biggest dream has just come true.