Chapter 3
As Ty walked up the road to the barn in the snowy darkness, snow soaked through his blue jeans inside of five minutes, and the wind seemed to find every nook and cranny of his clothes to blow more snow into.
Trudging patiently at his side, looking adorable in the fleece throw that kept sliding down her neck, Cinders was more easily able to move through the snow than he was as they made their way along the road.
They went over a little stone bridge, beneath which the water was frozen solid and covered with heaps of snow. Only a few larger boulders peeked through the humps of white.
The pine trees and bare-branched trees sheltered them both for a short way, then they came out into a large clearing which looked like a parking lot.
There was a single set of tire tracks, mostly hidden with the recent snowfall and almost covered by the blowing snow. Two wooden buildings sat at one edge of the circular parking lot and between them were two empty flag poles, their tie lines clanking mournfully in the wind.
Ty paused to catch his breath, and for Cinders to sniff the wind, then she nuzzled his shoulder as if telling him to get a move on.
With a slight tug on her lead, Ty started walking again, moving grateful beneath a canopy of pine trees, the air scented with the crisp smell of pine needles, a bit of dense, still air seeming to shelter them for a brief while.
Once on the other side of the glade, they came out into another clearing. On the right was a slope that led down to a flat area, which might be a frozen over river, or it just might have been an extension of the prairie, he didn’t know.
He was happy to see the main lodge up ahead, as it meant that only a little way along was the barn. The lodge’s windows showed only pitch dark inside, but there were footprints along the edge of the road leading from the lodge to where the barn was, and they looked fresh, which gave him hope.
Cinders must have scented the barn, for her ears perked, and she lifted her head, giving a half-whinny, the way a human might make a surprised sound at being somewhere that felt familiar, even when it was entirely new to them.
When she started moving, he had to hustle to keep up with her stride as she churned up snow, hanging onto the halter and lead with loose hands, in case she decided to bolt for the barn.
Cinders turned out to be more well-mannered than that, never moving faster than a fast walk and, in short order, they were at the barn. The doors were half open, snow swirling along the opening as if trying to get inside, a swirl through which Ty could see brightness, sense warmth.
He was about to knock when Cinder’s whinnied, sharp and hard, as if calling for a friend.
Startled, Ty jumped back, pulling Cinders with him, when one side of the barn door was opened. An older man stood there, back-lit by the low lights of the barn, the edges of his silhouette somehow warm, a golden, welcoming glow all around him.
The man had gray hair and a gray mustache and wore a plaid snap-button shirt that strained across his pot belly, and overall he reminded Ty of the worn-out looking cowboys who nevertheless commanded the highest respect based on their experience.
This guy knew his way around a barn, that was for sure, and as he looked Ty over, his blue eyes were smiling.
“C’mon in, young feller,” he said. “I’m Bill, and I expect this is Cinders.”
He reached out a hand to her, and she responded right away, making a satisfied noise in her throat, snuffling at his belly, his hand, looking for treats.
“Did Santa catch up with you, then?”
Bill’s hand was on the barn door, as if he was looking for a secret password from Ty before granting him admission to the warmth inside. Then he winked at Ty, and Ty suddenly got it.
“Yes, sir,” he said, somewhat loudly, in case anyone, a small child, perhaps, was listening. “The snow was putting him behind schedule, so I was happy to help out.”
With a nod, Bill swung open the broad, red-painted, snow-speckled barn door, letting Ty and Cinders at last into the warmth and the golden light that seemed to swirl in a circle, reflecting against the hay in the loft.
In the midst of the open area of the barn, there was a man sitting in a folding chair around a rustic-looking hand-forged iron fire pit, whose metal sides were cut with stars and quarter moons, and through which firelight flickered.
Beneath the fire pit was a sturdy base made of thick red flagstones, and nearby was a hand-held fire extinguisher, just in case.
“Hello,” said a thin, scholarly looking man with ginger hair and a warm smile. “I’m Austin and you must be the delivery driver that Santa sent.”
Again, the secret code became quite clear to Ty and, just as another man came around the corner with a young girl in tow, Ty knew what he needed to do.
Christmas had never been big between him and his Dad, though they were never short of affection for each other, so as he opened his mouth, he felt like he was about to step right inside one of those sappy, sweet Hallmark commercials.
“I’m Ty,” he said, gesturing to himself and then to the pony. “And this is Cinders.”
The young girl, Bea, it must be, let go of the cowboy-looking fellow, who had blond hair and a broad, cherry-cheeked smile, and raced around the fire pit.
She opened her mouth as if to let out a shriek of joy, and Cinder’s whole body tightened, as if ready for an onslaught, inadvertently overwhelmed, it must seem, at having a stranger rushing at her.
Then Bea stopped, clasping her hands together in front of her, looking at Bill, eyes wide, as if waiting for a signal.
“That’s right, Bea,” said Bill. “Nice and slow, now, that’s the way.” Bill looked at Ty and gave him a short, quick nod, as if giving Ty the signal to begin.
“Hey there, Bea,” said Ty, as earnestly as he could.
“It was snowing pretty hard near the Colorado border, and as I was driving north, that’s when Santa flagged me down.
Said he needed my help delivering Cinders here, otherwise, all the other children in this part of the world would get their presents late.
Normally I don’t stop along my route, but of course I said yes, because, you know, it was Santa. ”
“Santa sent you?” asked Bea, her green eyes wide as she swept a lock of strawberry blond hair away from her face. “Was he wearing his red coat? Was he jolly? Did he get my letter?”
Now Ty was a little out of his depth. He knew about Christmas, sure he did, but it seemed a long time ago that he’d ever written to Santa or wondered whether he was truly as jolly as the images of him seemed to imply. Still, he needed to go on with what he started.
“Well, I could see he was jolly, and I didn’t have time to ask him about your letter, but he was wearing his red coat and hat and all. And the reindeer? They were a lot bigger than you’d think.”
“They have to be big to pull that sleigh everywhere,” said Bea, a wise look on her face.
“Hi, I’m Clay,” said the blonde cowboy as he came up to Ty to shake hands. Ty whipped off one of his gloves and then the other, tucked them beneath his arm and shook hands. “Should I take her?” Clay asked, then he looked over his shoulder at Bea. “Or do you want to, honeybee?”
This was a well-loved child, that was for certain, and at her solemn nod and wide-eyed appreciation as she walked all the way up to Cinders, Ty decided that she deserved the pony that she approached with such pleasure and careful slowness.
She reached out and patted Cinders gently, then pulled off the wolf-patterned throw.
“This is wet,” she said, wrinkling her small nose.
“I didn’t want her ears to get cold,” said Ty.
She nodded, tugging on the straps to the blanket Cinders was wearing as Bill handed her a chamois cloth.
“Let your dad help you,” said Bill. “That blanket is soaked and sure to be heavy. Those leg wraps are soaked, as well.”
“Clay can help, too,” announced Bea with a firm nod. “I don’t want Daddy Clay to feel left out of my Christmas present.”
Ty handed over the lead to Cinder’s halter to Bill, feeling a little muddled in his head that he couldn’t figure it out.
Bea looked a whole lot like Austin, and not at all like Clay.
She had the same slender, serious face as Austin, and though her hair was a lighter ginger color than Austin’s, it was in the same shade.
Clay was blond haired and broad across the shoulders, with thick sturdy thighs, whereas Austin and Bea were slender, as though they spent a lot of time indoors.
But he didn’t say anything as he peeled off his knitted cap and damp down vest, beneath which his thick wool shirt was just on the verge of letting the dampness through.
He wanted a hot shower, in addition to that cup of black coffee, but everybody was busy with Cinders, taking off her blankets and leg wraps, wiping her with chamois cloths. Bill was petting her nose and cooing gently at her, and Bea was as serious as a monk as she wiped her pony down.
He looked around for a place to hang his wet things so by the time he had to head out again, they would at least be mostly dry.
“Here.”
Startled, Ty came out of his slight daze as Austin reached for the down vest.
“Clay’s the horse expert in the family,” said Austin with a smile. “I’m the ranch’s accountant and my experience with horses is sadly limited. Let me hang up your wet things, and you can grab a cup of coffee from Leland’s office.”
Ty knew that Leland was the owner or manager, or something, of the ranch.
As he went where Austin gestured, and stepped over the threshold into a slightly shabby little corner office, he thought he’d find an old coffee maker and perhaps some styrofoam cups and wrinkled packets of white sugar.
What he was amazed to find was a brand new Keurig coffee maker with a single cup dispenser on one side, and a drip coffee pot on the other.
He knew the Keurig was brand new because the box it came in was resting on the desk and bright red and white wrapping paper was crumpled in the trash. When he heard a sound behind him, he turned to find Austin standing in the doorway, looking a tad chagrined.
“This is the present we chipped in to get for Leland,” said Austin.
“He was supposed to be here with Jamie to help us celebrate Cinder’s arrival, but had stopped at his mom’s in Chugwater, and decided not to risk driving in the blizzard.
” Austin laughed under his breath. “He told us to open it and enjoy it, like he already knew what it was. But he’s like that. ”
“It smells amazing,” said Ty, rubbing his hands together to get the blood flowing, because while the middle of the barn was glowing and warm, the edges of it, like Leland’s office, were still a tad chilly.
“There’s real cups, too, and some half-n-half in the fridge, so help yourself.”
Austin waved at the desk, and Ty took a moment to absorb what he was seeing: a tray with a sugar bowl, spoons, and two small stacks of white mugs.
The rest of the desk was tidy, and bare, though rings on it indicated many cups of coffee enjoyed while working on the computer. A small calendar from a feed-and-grain store was tacked to the wall, turned to December. Another calendar from the same company lay unopened on the corner of the desk.
Austin went back to the excitement of the new pony, and Ty made himself a single cup of Newman’s Own French Roast, and took a deep breath as he told his body to relax and slow down a dang minute. He’d drink the coffee, then he’d be on his way.
He took his time doctoring the coffee with the sugar from the sugar bowl and the carton of half-n-half he found in the little fridge, tucked in amongst several dark bottles of what looked like root beer.
Then he stood in the doorway and drank his coffee, feeling the warmth from the metal fire pit as he enjoyed the sight of Bea, on her toes, gently wiping around Cinders’ perked ears.
Bea was so slow and careful, in spite of the fact that she was practically vibrating with joy at her new pet, her new best friend. When Cinders tossed her head, perhaps to get a fly off her, Bea held still and waited, then whispered something into the pony’s ear, meant for only the pony to hear.
“Come out, young fellow,” said Bill. “Bring your coffee with you, it’s okay.”
Someone had gotten another folding chair and Bill gestured to it, an expression on his face that seemed to say: We’ve been waiting for you.
Whether that was true or not, the feeling of being welcome made Ty’s throat feel thick.
He’d been on his own for what felt like so long, it was almost painful to remember, to realize, that there were people in the world who were not alone. And not only that, who might feel that his company, however brief, was worth having.