Chapter Eleven
Nate
We pulled onto the driveway of the farm.
Her headlights cut across the snow-dusted front of the main house.
Without hesitation, I strode over to her car and opened her door.
She took my hand and rose to stand before me.
The silence, broken only by the tick of cooling metal, was immediately thick with all the things I wanted to ask her, but didn’t because I’d promised to give her time.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, and stepping back. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echoed, resisting the urge to pull her to me. I wanted to talk about her past, about why her expression darkened whenever she mentioned her father, and about her smudged tattoo. More than that, I didn’t want our time together to end.
“Thank you for the company,” she added, taking another step back. “And for following me. I appreciate the courtesy, Nate.”
She used my name the way she used my car’s expensive make. As a label to maintain distance. A barrier.
“I was glad to do it,” I said, forcing my tone to stay measured and kind.
I was born into a wealthy family but had surpassed even my father’s success by trusting my gut.
So, although she was a walking red flag, my gut told me she was worth whatever trouble she’d bring.
A feeling that strong didn’t need to make sense.
I leaned in. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? Grab a cup of coffee?”
Her lips curled into a reluctant, tired smile. “I’m good.”
“Right.” I closed her car door, prepared for the awkward goodnight.
It felt like a door closing.
Or an opportunity missed.
Like saying goodbye to Silas.
He shouldn’t have died without me thanking him for taking me in. If I’d followed Aunt Claire’s advice and sought him out . . . just once since leaving with my father . . .
I pushed the regret back; it was a distraction, a useless energy suck.
Some of what I was thinking must have shown on my face, because Jo’s expression had softened with concern.
We stood ten feet apart, the frigid air making our breath plume, locked in a silent, mutually attracted yet confused standoff.
I gave her a small wave, acknowledging her need for space. She raised her hand to wave back.
That was when the bells started.
It wasn’t a sudden jingle, but a measured, rhythmic ringing coming from the back acreage of the farm. We both froze, listening.
Then, slowly, magically, the field behind the farmhouse came to life.
Tiny white lights began to flick on, stretching across the vast, snow-covered expanse behind the guesthouse and the main house.
The lights weren’t random; they followed paths and wove between the rows of White Pine trees Silas had planted, creating an illuminated, snow-globe landscape that vanished into the darkness.
“What in God’s name is that?” I murmured.
From the central path, two massive figures emerged. They were black draft horses, their coats dark against the snow, their harness decked out in polished brass and bells that provided the rhythmic ringing. They pulled a white and red sleigh that looked like something out of a greeting card.
The sleigh pulled up beside us. A man sat on the driver’s seat.
He was heavily bundled in a thick, dark canvas coat that looked like it had survived fifty winters, a wool scarf wrapped high, and a worn leather hat.
The perfect portrayal of old farmer, enough to make me smile and half expect his presence to be a joke.
“Martin!” Jo exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. She quickly crossed over to the sleigh.
“Evening, Jo,” the man—Martin—said, tipping the brim of his hat. He had eyes that crinkled at the corners. He nodded toward the horses. “Thunder and Lightning decided you two needed a ride.”
I stared. The horses. So massive and magnificent. Looked exactly like the poorly drawn beasts in my ten-year-old notebook.
“Tonight?” Jo asked, her voice laced with confusion but also awe as she gazed at the lit field.
Martin gave the reins a quick, practiced shift.
“Well, Mr. Keaton didn’t come all this way to see the farm without getting a real look at what Silas made it into, now did he?
” He looked directly at me. “These fellas belonged to Silas. I’m just keeping them exercised and giving you a chance to meet them. ”
My chest tightened. Thunder and Lightning. The names echoed the innocent request of a lonely ten-year-old. Martin wasn’t asking me to take responsibility; he was offering me a piece of the history I missed.
I walked over, reaching out to gently touch the strong, warm neck of the nearest horse.
They were immense, but calm. I wondered if they loved my uncle, if they missed him.
For the first time, they didn’t feel like something to avoid; they felt like two loyal creatures who, like I once had, through no fault of their own, had been sent away.
I felt a strange longing to go back in time and revisit that summer.
Jo came to stand right beside me, her shoulder bumping mine. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she breathed. “Silas loved them.”
I turned my head and looked at her, the light from the field reflected in her storm-colored eyes. “Yes, they are,” I agreed, fully meaning her.
“I’ve only ever seen them in the field,” she murmured. “Silas wasn’t healthy enough to take them out.”
Martin nodded. “It took a bit to get them back into shape, but, like everyone, they’re happier when they have a purpose and attention.”
Jo looked out at the magically lit paths that wove between the trees, then back at Martin. “I’ve also never seen the trees lit. Silas did all this for Cutting Day?”
Martin chuckled, shaking his head. “More like he did it for Libby, but she thought she was too old for courting. He never did win her heart, but he loved to do anything he could to make her smile.”
“Libby Winston?” I asked, remembering the flustered, flirting grandmother from town.
Martin frowned a bit protectively, and I liked how everyone in this town seemed to look after each other. “Yes.”
I smiled. “I can imagine them together.”
Martin relaxed and squinted at us. “You two getting in? I’m not getting any younger, and the night isn’t getting any warmer.”
Jo’s eyes darted between the sleigh and me. “We’re not dressed for a night ride.”
Martin reached behind him and pulled out a thick, fur-lined blanket. “I’ve got this.”
The idea of Jo snuggled to my side beneath that single blanket was enough to have me grinning like an idiot. I helped her up into the sleigh, ensuring she was safely seated and covered her with the blanket. Then I sat down beside her and waited.
She gave me a long look, then raised half of the blanket. I scooted beneath it. We settled side by side, thigh to thigh. The sleigh bells gave a gentle jingle as the sleigh jolted forward.
Who said the night wasn’t getting warmer?