Chapter 9 #2
“Yeah, they’re all good. Safely tucked away at the beach, probably drinking non-alcoholic fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them and sucking down as much fresh mahi mahi as they can get their hands on.”
“I’m glad. Here,” Van said, handing me a humungous down coat. “I know it’s too big, but you’ve got that long underwear underneath your clothes. This will help keep the heat in.”
“Thank you,” I said, pulling it on over my hooded sweatshirt. It was the warmest piece of clothing I had been able to find that fit me back at Grandpa’s cabin. Luckily, my grandma’s old winter boots were good as new and fit me perfectly.
As I zipped up the coat, Van stepped behind me and pulled my hair free from the bulky fabric.
He fixed a winter beanie on my head and fluffed the coat’s fur-lined hood around my shoulders.
When I turned to look at him, he was wearing a black cowboy hat, just like that night at Manny’s eons ago.
He looked so sexy that I was finding it hard to breathe.
“Won’t you get cold wearing that?”
“Naw, I’m used to it. ’Sides,” he said, and he flicked the brim with two fingers, “keeps the snow out of my eyes. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, and reached forward to kiss his cheek. “Now let’s go feed your horse and cut down a Christmas tree!”
* * *
I’d forgotten all about my hairdryer and Italian lingerie, probably now buried beneath ten feet of snow, but Holly’s songs were on my mind as we walked from the barn and into the forest surrounding Van’s house.
Van led Pep, his buckskin gelding, with a rope.
He navigated the snow easily, and Fowl, who I had finally realized looked like a mix between a Bernese Mountain dog and an Airedale, jumped and ran ahead of us, clearly enjoying getting lost in the fresh-fallen fluff, but his thick, curly coat kept him warm.
We humans wore snowshoes, and they made the trek through the stuff much easier.
Van had made a call to a guy named Shep, who said that trying to go after my belongings today was a no-go.
The pass was closed several miles down the road from the cabins, so if something happened to us when we tried to rappel down to get to my car, it would be hard for emergency crews to get up to us. Besides, me? Rappel? Uh, yeah, no.
I would just have to wait. There was nothing I could do about it if Holly’s notebook had been water damaged or, Heaven forbid, had caught fire.
Shep hadn’t mentioned a fire in the middle of the mountains, so I had hope that that hadn’t happened, but I was terrified Holly’s last words would be ruined or destroyed somehow.
I’d never forget them. Just like her older songs had always been, the new songs we’d written together had been inked onto my soul.
They were special. They meant something, and I had been a part of making them.
Saving the original written words in her handwriting was important to me.
As we walked and talked about nothing at all, the songs wound their way around my brain, and I hummed along as I remembered singing some of Holly’s songs at those rodeo gigs I used to play. They’d been so fun. There wasn’t a better way to connect to people than at smaller events like that.
I thought about what to do with those songs.
I could make an album with the crude recordings Holly and I made together.
Maybe I could donate the proceeds to her family or to some kind of fund that helped women fight for their rights in the workplace.
And screw my label. If they wouldn’t get behind my ideas, I’d do it on my own.
I could think of five people off the top of my head that would jump at the chance to produce it.
And to help raise even more money, I could tour rodeos again with that record. Maybe Van could go with me. We could be the traveling cowboy couple. Ha.
I laughed out loud at my idea, and Van stopped and looked over his shoulder at me.
I’d been trying to follow in his sure footsteps again, but I was just as clumsy as always.
Snow had sneaked inside my boots, but it was such a peaceful morning that I couldn’t be bothered to care.
It wasn’t often I felt this kind of grounded calm.
The snow had finally stopped falling, but it shook free from the boughs of trees as birds and squirrels got back to their lives after the storm, singing and chittering and jumping from branch to branch in search of food.
We’d even caught sight of a moose bumbling through the trees next to the edge of a big open field.
He saw us, though, and made a break for a less human-populated area.
“What?” Van asked as he dropped Pep’s rope and walked back to me.
He tugged my hat down tighter on my head and pulled at my coat’s hood strings to tighten them.
When he was satisfied with his work, he lifted his gloved hands to my face and tucked my hair inside the hood, swiping tendrils of it away from my mouth with his fingers.
“Nothing,” I said, “just thinking.”
“About?”
“The future.”
“Hm.” He nodded. He didn’t ask what about the future specifically I’d been thinking about, and I almost got the feeling he didn’t want to know.
“What are you thinking about?”
He looked in my eyes, and his white puff of breath washed over my face when he said, “You.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “Me? What about me?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.”
His eyes dropped to my coat, but I ducked my head, trying to catch his gaze. “Will you tell me?”
“It’s stupid,” he said, looking back up. He brushed his thumb over the dip in my chin, and the suede fabric of his glove felt warm and soft.
I whispered, “Tell me anyway?”
He shook his head but spoke. He smiled a little but I swore I could see a little trepidation in his eyes. It didn’t fit my image of him. I had imagined him all these years to be fearless.
“I know it’s dumb,” he said, “but I can’t stop myself from imaginin’ you stayin’ here. With me. What that’d be like, to wake up with you in my arms every mornin’.”
A million thoughts roared through my mind—some X-rated, some warm and fuzzy—but what I said instead was, “I can’t stay here.” Instantly, I knew he’d take it the wrong way. How could he not? It sounded so final.
He took a step back and then another. “I know that.”
“Wait, Van.”
“No,” he said, turning away, and I watched his expression harden. “I get it. Your life is elsewhere.”
“Van! Would you wait, please?”
As he walked away, I scrambled to keep up. “What I meant was that I can’t stay up here indefinitely. I’ll have to go back to LA at some point, but I have an idea, and I was hoping you might help me with it.”