Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Tessa woke still grinning, cheeks aching, ribs sore from laughing. Worth it. Every second. Skating with Cade, roasting hot dogs, pointing out constellations. It had been the kind of night she wished for.
Literally. She wished on that falling star for a kiss.
And he opened his eyes, smiled at her, and said the words that gutted her.
Home.
He wanted to go home. Her grin thinned, fragile now. Home for him was 1878. A time she couldn’t touch.
She pushed the ache down hard, went into the kitchen and spied Cade outside pitching hay to the horses. Jeez, but the man got up early. For a moment, she stood in the window watching him, entranced.
He moved from her sightline and she let out a soft sigh. Might as well cook breakfast, he’d be starving by the time he finished.
She pulled out the skillet, eggs and butter, trying to decide on eggs over easy or scrambled.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. A call from her friend Megan. She wiped her hands on a towel and picked it up.
“Meggarino! Tell me something good.”
“I need a huge favor.”
Tessa perked up. “Favors are my fav. What’s up?”
“I swear this pageant will be the death of me.”
“You’ve got this. No one is more competent than you,” Tessa said and meant it. Megan was a born leader.
“The horse we had lined up spooked during our first run through and the darn thing was so big it dwarfed the set.”
“You didn’t realize that before hand?”
“No, Mr. Yancy just offered his “pony” which is apparently a euphemism for Clydesdale.”
“Really? It’s that big?”
“I might be exaggerating on the Clydesdale thing but the horse is just huge. We were trying too hard to replicate the founding of Evergreen Springs with a powerful stallion and it was…well never mind that. Can we borrow a well behaved mini? I’ll pay the going Rent-a-Reindeer rate, although we need him as a horse, not a reindeer. ”
“Ohhh.” Tessa grinned, already picturing Einstein in the spotlight, and her grumpy cowboy forced to play nice with the PTA crowd. “Lucky for you, I’ve got the one.”
“That’s what I was hoping. Do you think Einstein can handle rehearsal today?”
“You betcha.” She spun in a circle. “When do you need him there?”
“One.”
“See you then.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Megan said and rang off.
* * *
Cade led Einstein across the elementary school parking lot, trying not to think about how strange this was. Leading a horse into a school for some Christmas program.
Tessa strode ahead, her red coat flaring around her. The bright swing of fabric caught the December sunlight and his attention. He followed her swaying hips when he should be watching Einstein.
Pay attention, Sullivan.
The mini had already tried to eat some sticky brick of oats someone dropped. Tessa called it a granola bar.
“Almost there!” she said, spinning to walk backward, her smile bright enough to make him forget why this whole thing worried him. “The kids are gonna love you both.”
Einstein tugged at the rope, distracted by children on the playground.
Cade steadied the gelding. “Easy, boy. It’s just a bunch of kids.”
The school’s main door burst open and a tall auburn haired woman stalked out.
“You made it!” She clapped her hands. “Perfect. The kids are going to love him.” The woman turned to Cade. “I’m Megan. The school principal and director of the Christmas pageant and you are…”
“Cade Sullivan.” He tipped his hat.
“He’s helping me train the minis for the parade,” Tessa said.
“Oh, you hired a ringer. Smart woman.” Megan waved them inside. “Come, come.”
A paper bag skittered across the asphalt and Einstein pinned his ears back.
Cade choked up on the rope. Last thing they needed was for Einstein to bolt when the pressure was on.
Megan lead the way .”We’ve got everything set up in the gym. The custodian put down rubber mats in case of accident.
They stepped inside. It smelled of kids. Shoes squeaked in the hallway. Music pounded somewhere ahead, bells and drums.
Cade kept a tight hold on Einstein, but the mini was calm.
“The kids are already in costume. Here we go!” Megan pushed the gym doors open with a flourish. “Welcome!”
The gym spread wide, all gleaming floors and painted lines. Paper snowflakes dangled from the ceiling on some kind of line. At the far end, a backdrop of cabins and pines leaned left, painted in vivid colors.
Kids swarmed everywhere. Girls in long skirts and bonnets. Boys with fake beards.
A boy no bigger than a fence post held a scroll almost as tall as he was, practiced unrolling it. The scroll was winning.
“Places, everyone!” Megan clapped her hands again. “We’re running the rescue scene from the beginning. Timothy, you’re up.”
Rescue scene? An uncomfortable prickle started at the base of Cade’s neck. That’s when he saw the banner stretched over the stage, painted in glittery red and green letters.
EVERGREEN SPRINGS: A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE —DECEMBER 1870.
Cade went still. The year Evergreen Springs was founded. The year he and Wyatt first came to Montana.
A freckle-faced boy in a fake beard stepped forward. “Our town is starving! We need food, or we shall surely perish!”
Those words. Not exact, but close to what Holden said when he’d stood in the church, his voice hoarse from cold and three days without food. “We’re down to stone soup. If someone doesn’t get through to Carson City...”
A pigtailed girl threw her arms wide. “But the storm is too fierce! No one can get through!”
They were reenacting the Great Blizzard of 1870.
The memory rolled over Cade. Wind that screamed for four days straight, so loud you couldn’t hear the person next to you shout.
Snow that buried doors, windows, whole buildings.
They’d burned furniture when the wood ran out, chairs first, then tables, then books.
Mrs. Clement wept as they fed her rocking chair to the flames.
These well-fed children in their warm building were acting out the worst week of his life like it was just another story, something fun to perform before cookies and punch.
A freckled boy stepped forward, chest puffed. “I’ll take the strongest horse and ride out for supplies!”
Megan waved her clipboard at Cade and beamed. “That’s your cue. Bring Einstein over. You’re playing Captain Murray’s horse—well, Einstein is. The horse that saved our town!”
Captain Murray? No, no. They messed it up. Holden was the one. Holden Reed. Cade had helped Holden wrap his horse’s hooves in burlap, tied scarves around his face until only his eyes showed. They’d both known he might not make it back.
Megan motioned for him.
Cade tugged the lead and guided Einstein to the spot.
One of the kids shouted. “The rescue horse!”
The gym sounds faded. Cade heard only wind, that killing wind. He saw Holden again, not this play-acting child, saying he’d try, saying someone had o get to the fort in Billings or they would all die.
Three days. Three days not knowing if he’d frozen to death a mile out, if help would come, if they’d all starve waiting.
The kid playing Captain Murray—who did not save everyone—claimed on Einstein’s back. The mini help perfectly still, accepting the rider.
“Lead him off stage,” Megan directed Cade.
He took Einstein and the kid behind the curtain, but his mind was back in 1870 when the real Holden came stumbling back. His horse, a rangy bay named Moss, ribs showing, both of them barely alive. But behind them, through the still-falling snow, the calvary and supply sleds.
Most of them had lived, but only just. Tommy Fisk lost two toes to frostbite. Mrs. Jessup’s youngest baby caught pneumonia and didn’t see spring. Old Mrs. Giddings died in her sleep. Others were lost too. People who hadn’t made it into town.
The kids recreated that moment with barely any accuracy but Megan seemed pleased.
“That’s exactly the energy we need,” Megan said, clipboard smacking against her thigh. “You looked so serious, so determined! Just like a real frontier hero!”
The kids erupted in cheers. The music started again, louder, and two boys started sword fighting with their scrolls while a girl practiced her death scene, dramatically clutching her heart.
A death scene. A skit. A play. Folderol. Nobody mentioned the real bodies stored in Jacobson’s shed because the ground was too frozen for graves.
Tessa hurried over, cheeks pink from the warm room, eyes bright with excitement. She looked like everything good in this soft, easy world. He was glad for their ease, but they had no idea about their ancestors’ sacrifices.
“See? Einstein nailed it. The kids love him.” Tessa beamed at Cade like he’d done something wonderful. “Did you see Timothy’s face when—” She paused. “Cade?”
He’d been staring at nothing, fists clenched, the lead rope cutting into his palm.
“Here.” He pressed Einstein’s rope into her hand. “That’s not how it happened.”
Her smile faltered, confusion clouding her eyes. “What? How what happened?”
“The story. That’s not how it happened. It wasn’t Captain Murray. It was Holden Reed and so many other things are wrong.”
She glanced at the stage where kids argued about whose beard was better, then back at him. “It’s just a children’s play, Cade. They took some creative liberties with the history—”
“Creative liberties?” The words burned. “You weren’t there. You have no idea.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind, and maybe he had. How could he explain that these kids were playing dress-up in his memories? That their “Christmas miracle” had cost five lives and nearly a dozen more?
“Cade—”
“I need air.” He turned before she could finish, before her kindness could undo him.
* * *
Tessa burst out of the school gym, Einstein’s rope tight in her grip. Cade was already halfway to the trailer, long strides eating up the parking lot like he meant to outrun her.
“Wait up.” She jogged after him, tugging the gelding along. He didn’t slow.
Einstein snorted, tossing his head before settling again. At least the horse hadn’t abandoned her.
“Come on,” Cade muttered when she caught up. He took the rope, eyes on the horse, never on her and loaded Einstein.
Oh, hell no. He didn’t get to vanish into silence after she’d watched his face fracture during the pageant. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
He swung the trailer ramp shut. Chains rattled like iron bars.
She blocked his path. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not.” He tested the latch, too focused.
“You’re broody. Even for you.”
“I’m not that either.”
“Then what are you?”
For a breath he looked at her, pain flickering in his eyes, old and raw. Then he climbed into the truck, door closing like a wall.
Like that would stop her. She slid into the driver’s side. “You can’t just shut down every time something bothers you.”
“Watch me.”
“Stubborn man.” She started the truck. Cade stiffened beside her, hands braced on his thighs, gaze locked on the windshield like he could keep them safe by sheer force of will.
She cranked the radio. Christmas carols burst out, and she sang Jingle Bells loud enough to rattle the windows. Every laughing-all-the-way was aimed straight at his brooding.
He sat rigid, jaw clenched, knuckles digging into his knees whenever the tires humped on salted pavement.
During a break she said. “Most people would just tell me what’s incorrect.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No kidding. The pageant hit a nerve.”
He fisted his hands.
“And I think,” she whispered, “whatever happened back then matters to you a lot.”
The heater wheezed out dusty air. Snow fell in fat flakes, peaceful as a snow globe. Nothing like the storm inside him.
“It was just a kids’ play, Cade.”
“That’s the problem.”
She let the silence stretch. It buzzed between them like the moment before lightning strikes.
By the time they reached the ranch, she was aching to close the gap. Fix it. Fix him. Kiss him senseless.
He didn’t move when she parked, just stared at the barn lights.
“Cade—”
“Let’s get Einstein settled.” He was out before she could finish.
She hurried after him. “You can’t avoid me forever.”
“I can try.”
Inside the barn, warmth wrapped around her. Cade moved automatically, settling Einstein with practiced care. There was poetry in his competence, the calm strength of his hands, the unthinking rhythm of work. Controlled power, surprising gentleness. Her stomach flipped.
“You’re sulking,” she said, leaning on the stall door.
“I’m working.”
“Sulking while working. Efficient.”
He shot her a look.
“You think too much,” she said, stepping closer. “You were wonderful today. The kids loved you.”
“They loved the story.”
“Same thing.”
“No. Not the same.”
There it was. The wound.
“That wasn’t how it happened,” he said, smoothing Einstein’s neck like he was calming himself.
“Then tell me.”
He shook his head.
She edged closer. Heat radiated from him. Her pulse jumped. “What is it?”
“I don’t belong in your world.”
She held his gaze. “And I don’t belong in yours, but here we are anyway.”
His hand came up, rough fingers brushing her cheek. Her breath caught. She swayed closer, lips parting. He bent toward her, eyes darkening, mouth hovering so close she could feel the heat of it—
Wham.
Einstein shoved between them. Tessa squealed, and broke into helpless laughter, clutching Cade. “Worst timing ever.”
Color crept up his neck. Cade. Blushing. Redder than Christmas.
Einstein nosed into her pocket, shameless.
“Guess he doesn’t want to share,” she said, wiping her eyes.
When she looked up, Cade’s gaze burned. Promises in it.
He cleared his throat. “We should get back to work. These horses aren’t going to train themselves.”
She could have pushed. Could have hauled him back in, Einstein be damned. But instinct said wait. He was a wild horse, press too hard and he’d bolt.