Chapter 2
walker
I hate Christmas lights.
Not the idea of them. The idea is fine. Or as Priya put it in the marketing deck she made us all sit through last month, they’re magical, wholesome. Whatever. In practice, they’re a pain in my ass. My fingers ache from twisting cheap plastic clips onto the eaves in the freezing cold.
“They’ve got to be higher, Dad,” Lucy calls to me from down below. One mittened hand shades her eyes as she stares up at me. “It’s supposed to look like the North Pole, not like a sad gas station.”
I snort under my breath and shift my weight on the ladder. The wind whips across the front of the Velvet Spur. It cuts through my flannel like it’s made of tissue paper. Any colder, I’m going to have to break down and put on a snow jacket.
“You ever been to the North Pole?” I call back.
“No.” She makes a face. “But merry and bright is the goal. I watch documentaries.”
Of course she does.
I stretch up one more notch and clip the last section of lights into place. “There. That’s as high as OSHA, and my spine is gonna allow.”
“Who’s OSHA?” she asks.
“Someone who doesn’t want me falling off this ladder and breaking my neck before you hit middle school.” I climb down rung by rung. My boots thud against the frozen red clay soil when I hop off the last one. “C’mon. Let’s test these before my fingers stop working.”
She scoots closer to me, practically vibrating with excitement, and it’s contagious. No matter how much I hate hanging the lights, I live for the way her face goes soft with wonder when it all turns on. I jab the plug into the outlet and hold my breath.
For a solid three seconds, nothing happens. I mutter a few words my daughter absolutely doesn’t need to repeat and wiggle the plug.
“Uh-oh,” Lucy whispers. “Is this like last year?”
“No.” My answer sounds more confident than I am. A flashback of myself standing on the roof with half the light strands shorted out plays in my mind. The boss didn’t want to invest in new ones. I ended up on the roof at midnight with a headlamp and a prayer.
I fear a repeat. But then there’s a buzz.
The lights flicker before they slowly blaze to life, and I exhale.
A warm white glow illuminates along the eaves of the barn.
It wraps around the support beams on the porch and outlines the massive double doors.
The massive wreath over the entrance glows like something out of a movie.
Lucy’s mouth drops open. “Oh my gosh. Dad.”
She takes it all in. But I look at her instead of the barn. Her eyes shine as if I’ve personally installed a new star in the sky. The cold, the ache in my back, and the kink in my shoulder from sleeping wrong on that old couch… It all fades for half a second.
“There we go,” I say softly. “North Pole enough for you?”
She tears her gaze away from the lights just long enough to beam up at me. “It’s perfect.”
Yeah. Christmas lights are totally worth it. I sling an arm around her shoulders and pull her in against my side. I breathe in the smell of marshmallows and the cheap hot chocolate mix she spilled on her jacket earlier.
“Can we do the cabins next?” she asks, bouncing a little under my arm. “And the big tree near the spa? And the—”
“We’ve got a whole week,” I remind her. “You trying to kill me by New Year’s?”
She grins. “Of course not. I need you alive to make pancakes on Christmas morning.”
“Good to know my value around here.” I ruffle her hair again. “You ready to head in? I gotta go check on the new hay delivery.”
She doesn’t answer.
Lucy’s staring at her phone instead. Her thumbs are flying across her phone. I spot the AirPods tucked into her ears, hidden beneath her hair. Normally, I have a no screens when we’re working rule, but I broke it today.
Everyone’s got a job at Kingridge Ranch, and that includes kids, I guess. Priya’s got her doing faceless social media videos for some new family-friendly amenities on the property. Lucy takes it as seriously as if she were the CEO.
“Hey.” I put my hand on her head. “What are you listening to?”
She sighs a dramatic, preteen huff in my direction. “Fine. The new Boots & Bitching episode came out. Everyone at school is already listening to it.”
Nothing like a secret town gossip podcast to keep a bunch of fifth graders entertained.
“What did we say?” I ask. “You can listen if it’s on speaker and I’m there. They don’t exactly rate that thing PG.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who says kids should know the truth about their town.”
“Yeah, but I meant stuff like taxes and the mayor being full of shit. Not… whatever that woman talks about.”
Lucy snickers. “She doesn’t use bad words every episode.”
“Mm-hmm.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s take a break. Phone.”
Lucy reluctantly drops the phone into my palm. I stuff it into my coat pocket.
She inches toward the barn doors. “Can I go help Patty June with the cookie table then?”
“Fine,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “Three cookies. That’s it. If I catch you in the frosting bowls again, I’m telling Patty June she has to hide the sprinkles from now on.”
She clutches her heart like I’ve threatened to burn her stuffed animals. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
She huffs a laugh and then darts toward the doors. The lights reflect off her coat. Little points of gold catch in her dark hair. For a second, my chest squeezes so tight I have to take a breath against it.
Lucy doesn’t know what this life has cost me over the years, and I’m thankful for that.
The lack of sleep and the hours spent out on the tractor are nothing compared to what her mother put me through.
I can still hear the doors slamming. I can still feel the ache of being good enough to sleep with but not good enough to stay with.
Living where you work made it easy to put in nights, weekends, and every spare hour I had for years.
I worried about her not having a mother in her life.
But somewhere along the way, these people became family.
I’d do it all over again to make sure Lucy gets the life we’ve got now.
Her world is cookies and lights and a ranch big enough to lose a bad day in.
She doesn’t need to know about the other stuff.
Lucy is growing up so fast, it makes me wish I could slow the clock.
Tears well up behind my eyes, and I shake off the thoughts before they drag me under. I’ve got important things to think about now. Things that won’t make me cry. Like hay… And that new load of feed that better not be frozen solid when I get there.
I grab the ladder with one hand, tuck it under my arm, and turn toward the equipment shed.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk.
My breath puffs white in front of me. Somewhere behind the guest cabins, Hunkleberry barks.
The sound is followed by an echo of Holden Kingridge yelling something about staying out of the trash.
Most of the Kingridge crew is supposed to be on holiday break. Even Alexander, and that dude never takes a day off. But I’m starting to think that none of those control freaks can stomach actually resting. As far as I’m concerned, it’s business as usual around here.
I’ve almost made it to the shed when I hear tires on gravel. But the sound is all wrong. It’s too soft, too smooth. It’s not one of our trucks, and it sure as hell isn’t one of the ranch ATVs. This is quieter. Sleeker… Maybe a rental car. But that’s odd.
We’re not at peak tourist season yet. The holiday packages don’t kick in for another couple of weeks.
Nearly all of our cabins are undergoing renovation.
Today wasn’t supposed to be a big arrival day.
As far as I know, there is just one family for the weekend who arrived yesterday, and a yoga retreat Danner conned Priya into letting him host.
I squint toward the main drive. A dark SUV glides into view. It kicks up a fan of powdery snow behind it. The thing looks like it’s never seen a dirt road in its life. It pulls into the guest parking spots near the lobby and idles there, engine humming.
Across the drive, the blinds twitch in the windows of the farmhands' cabins. The neighborhood watch in this place is world-renowned.
“Who in the hell…” I mutter.
I lean the ladder against the side of the shed and wipe my palms on my jeans. The SUV’s engine cuts off. For a long second, nothing happens.
Then the driver’s door opens.
And she steps out.
For one stupid second, I forget how to breathe. The woman has clearly been dropped here by mistake. She’s too polished, too curvy… too gorgeous for this ranch. The cold doesn’t touch her, but something in me lights up like I grabbed a live wire.
Mine.
The word slams into my consciousness before rational thought can catch up.
It’s primal, absolute, and undeniable. I shake away the thoughts.
No. Ridiculous is what it is. I'm thirty-eight years old.
I've been married, rejected, and rebuilt from the ground up.
I know better than to believe in this kind of instant certainty.
But the thoughts are relentless.
Nothing else matters. She's mine. This woman is going to ruin me. I know it the same way I know the sun's going to rise tomorrow. She hasn't said a word to me, and I'm already gone.