Chapter Thirteen
Nate
The bells slowed to an easy rhythm as Martin steered the sleigh toward the barn. Thunder’s and Lightning’s breaths billowed in soft plumes that drifted skyward and disappeared into the night. The air was colder now, quieter, as if the world had paused to listen.
The ride had felt enchanted, unreal but the stillness that followed was almost holy. The last of Silas’s lights blinked through the trees behind us, a final wave from a man I was only beginning to understand.
Martin hopped down first and landed with the ease of someone who belonged to this place. Snow crunched under his boots as he came around to help Jo down. She accepted his hand, but when she turned back to me, her cheeks were flushed.
I climbed out after her, still half-lost in my own head. Guilt tugged at me—the horses, the land, the years I’d stayed away. I had no idea what I owed this place or if I even had the right to feel anything about it.
“Thank you,” I told Martin, my voice rougher than I’d meant it to be. “For tonight. For taking care of them.”
He brushed the snow from his coat and gave one of those small, unbothered smiles that spoke of long winters and patient hearts. “They were happy to stretch their legs,” he said. “And so was I.”
Despite myself, I smiled. “They seem well cared for.”
“They are,” he said simply. Then his expression softened, the way light fades but leaves warmth behind. “You know, Silas bought them for you. Black just like you imagined.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Silas was particular about what he wanted,” he said, nodding at Thunder and Lightning.
“They’re the second pair he bought that look like this.
First ones were years back—before I even had my own place.
He never gave up the notion that one day you’d come back and see he’d kept a bit of your summer waiting for you. ”
The words hit somewhere deep, where old defenses had gathered dust. “I never knew about any of this.”
“Well you do now,” Martin added quietly. “And that matters.”
My throat tightened, and I looked away. Snowflakes drifted through the lantern light, bright against the dark.
Martin patted one of the horses’ necks, the motion reverent but easy.
“They’ve done their work. Now they get to rest. Some people think doing nothing is the easier choice, but it rarely is.
It’s better to keep busy and stay connected.
Maybe that’s the kind of thing Silas hoped you’d see for yourself one day.
” He climbed back onto the sleigh, and gave the reins a soft click, and Thunder and Lightning started forward, bells chiming once again.
Then he was gone, sleigh gliding down the lane, the sound of hooves fading into the hush.
Jo and I stood together, watching until the last glimmer of light vanished between the trees.
“He bought them for you,” Jo said quietly.
I nodded, still staring at the empty lane. “I don’t know what to do with that. I didn’t think Silas really cared about me. I let my father’s opinion of him become my own.”
Jo’s hand found my arm, a soft weight through the wool of my coat. “What did Martin mean when he said Silas was particular about how they needed to look?”
I let out a slow breath. “Silas must have told him that when I was ten, I used to draw these huge, black draft horses. I thought Silas needed them to bring his barn alive. He said he’d get some. I thought he was humoring me.”
Her thumb brushed against my sleeve, an absent motion that somehow steadied me.
“Eighteen years,” I murmured. “He remembered.”
“He was listening,” she said.
“But why?” The words felt smaller than the ache behind them.
The last of the lights on the trees went out, until only the faint reflection of snow kept the night from being completely black.
Jo stepped closer. I don’t remember pulling her in, but suddenly she was against me. Her head fit beneath my chin, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I let myself exhale.
The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of snow and breath and things I hadn’t known I might want.
Jo shifted slightly, looking up at me. The reflection of the snow caught in her eyes. “You okay?”
“Not even close,” I said honestly. “But this helps.”
Her lips curved faintly, something between compassion and understanding.
We stood there until our breaths evened, until the world narrowed to the sound of wind moving through pine.
When I finally spoke again, it was quiet. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
Jo’s smile deepened, small and sure. “I’d rather have that coffee.”
Holy shit. Okay.
“Coffee it is,” I said.
We started toward the farmhouse. The snow whispered beneath our boots, and behind us, the last of the lantern light went out. Ahead, the porch glowed in anticipation.