Thaw My Heart (Lone Pine Ranch #1)

Chapter 1

The scowl branded on my face feels permanent.

Camera lights flash in rapid succession, nearly blinding me.

I’m doing my best not to appear as pissed off and uncomfortable as I feel.

Fern Rivers stands next to me, an older woman I’ve known since my youth.

She tugs me closer, bringing our shoulders snug.

“Ryker bailed again?” She asks between bright flashes of light. Snowflakes land and melt instantly on her salt and pepper hair, flowing gracefully over her shoulders.

“Yup,” I say, flatly.

I shouldn’t even be surprised, considering last year he did the same damn thing. My best friend, Ryker Malone, and the man who should’ve been here this evening, is much more suited for PR jobs like this one. Much more photogenic and socially inclined.

Yet here I am, hating every second.

“Kit, can we get a smile?” The man holding the camera gestures to me. He’s from The Silver Lake Gazette, the local newspaper in town.

“I am smiling,” I gruff.

Fern chuckles next to me, trying to hide her laugh with her mittened hand.

The faint whiff of gingerbread cookies reminds me of the summers I spent here at her little farm, escaping my responsibilities on the ranch.

I frown at her laugh, and she smiles cheekily.

A beaming smile that’s stark white in comparison to her golden-brown skin.

“This needs to say happy donation day, with a happy smile,” the news photographer directs, smiling with effect. “Fern, you’re doing great. Just a little more effort, Kit.”

Fuck me.

With a deep sigh, I try. Facial nerves twitching. I’m probably photographing like a serial killer, but it’s the best I can do given that I’m severely out of practice.

“That’s… okay. That’ll do.” He gives a thumbs-up to his crew. “Thank you!” He waves at Fern and me, walking off towards their news van.

I let out a rough exhale, breathing freely now that all the unwanted noise is behind us.

Fern steps closer to the large trailer hitched behind my silver Ford F-250, stocked full of hay and supplies to help local farms during the winter season.

A charitable donation from Lone Pine Ranch that’s been ongoing for the past five years, or so Ryker told me.

“This is going to help a lot of people. Thank you, Kit.”

“It's all Cole’s idea.” Cole Harlow is my uncle and a literal living legend on the ranch.

She turns to me with a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Your uncle must be so happy to have you back home.”

Two years ago, I returned to Aspen Hollow. A small town built around the shimmering waters of Silver Lake, tucked away in the Rocky Mountains. I didn’t come back by choice, and the only reason I did return is because I had nowhere else to go. “Can I help at all?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “We’ll make sure it all goes where it needs to. I’ve got plenty of hands today.” A team of five exits the barn, heading toward the trailer to unload. I half expect to see her daughter with them, but for some reason, she isn’t here today.

She’s also the reason I visited this farm quite often as a boy. Nowadays, she’s busy at the local veterinary clinic. Occasionally assisting at Lone Pine Ranch. I wonder if she’s working today or avoiding me. Most likely, it’s the latter, considering how we left things between us.

“Alaska is running errands with Charlie,” Fern knowingly smiles, flashing her blue eyes, the same color as Alaska’s. She must’ve noticed I was looking for her.

“How’s he doing?” I ask, feeling a lump in my throat, knowing damn well he’s been sick for a while.

Last year, Charlie Rivers was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease, and since I found out, I haven’t been sure how to act or how to help.

To be honest, I’m not equipped to deal with any more sadness than what’s currently taking up space in my mind.

“You know, Charlie, he’s a fighter,” she smiles, but her eyes look tired. “Some days are good and others, well…” she trails off as her face fills with sadness. “I’ll let Alaska know you said hi.”

Ever since Charlie got sick, my relationship with Alaska has been different. I used to consider her a good friend, and at one time, maybe even more. But it’s been months since we’ve had a conversation, and I know it’s my fault.

“Thanks, Fern,” I tip my faded navy ballcap to her. A hat specifically made for me, displaying a single pine tree with Lone Pine Ranch written underneath.

Despite its practicality, I refuse to wear a cowboy hat. My life hasn’t spiraled that far down yet. Though I ended up back home where I said I’d never be, that hat is a symbol. A choice that doesn’t feel like mine.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” I gesture to my truck before awkwardly heading off towards the bar.

“The mechanical Santa is back up,” Fern warns before I get too far.

I cringe, turning around. “Already?”

I hate that fucking Santa. No matter how many beers I drink, it always seems to watch and insult me with its joyful expression, speaking words of merriment.

There’s nothing merry about Christmas, least of all that creepy mechanical Santa they insist on keeping right in the entryway to the local bar.

“Beer is still cold, that’s all that matters,” Fern smiles.

The promise of an ice-cold beer is the only thing getting me through this damn day.

The rustic, yet charming town of Aspen Hollow is alive with sparkling Christmas lights and decorative wreaths on every door. Fake reindeer with bows on their necks are strapped to Santa’s sleigh, and the nativity scene is already set up in front of the old church.

A goddamn spectacle.

Elkhorn Tavern, one of my favorite haunts in town, used to be a saloon in the late 1800s—a historic place fashioned inside an old barn. Ryker and I used to frequent quite often, but it’s been a while since my last visit. Rarely did I venture into town at this time of year, and for damn good reason.

“Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!” Jolly mechanical Santa greets me.

And that’s one of them.

“Die in a fire,” I growl before pushing open the double barn doors, debating on setting Santa on fire.

Perhaps I could drag it out back and dispose of it once and for all. I wonder if anyone would notice if creepy Santa went missing…

A wolfish smirk crosses my face as I make my way into the bar.

Timber walls surround me with horseshoe coat racks, a padded bench with plaid pillows, and a blue neon sign that reads Beer This Way.

Past the threshold, the bar is lit with fairy lights strung around in random places.

Two refurbished pool tables take up the corner, with lantern lights on the tables, and elk horns hanging on the walls in disarray.

And a small stage is at the back for when local bands come to play.

I plop down on a wooden stool, far from the other customers.

Country Christmas music plays softly from the speakers, grating down my spine.

There seems to be no end to this holiday bullshit.

“Hey, Kit,” Ernest, the owner of the bar, slides my pint of Budweiser towards me. Of course, he still remembers my preferred brand to drown my sorrows. “Haven’t seen you here in a while. It’s been at least three months,” he scratches his black goatee, recalling the amount of time.

“Busy on the ranch,” I reply, taking a sip.

There’s always a mountain of work to do, but still, I’ve been avoiding this town on purpose.

Since it’s so small, everyone’s adamant about forming close relationships, but I feel differently.

I moved out here to be alone, to escape the city, and what better place than the rural town of Aspen Hollow?

Or so I thought.

“Bit early for Santa, don’t you think? It’s November.”

Well, the end of it, but I’m holding on tight to those last days like a life raft with holes in the sides. Undeniably a sinking ship.

Ernest laughs heartily, polishing beer glasses. “I put it out every year just for you, Kit,” he winks.

I glare as if I can shoot lasers from my eyes.

“Besides, you know how much this town loves Christmas,” he adds.

“So, how’s things?” I ask him, moving on.

He chuckles at my change in conversation. “Family just came through from California. Gave me another postcard for my collection,” he points to the timber ceiling above the bar, covered in colorful postcards from passing visitors.

My beer gets stuck in my throat.

I spent the last two years trying not to think about my past. About the decade I spent in San Francisco chasing my dreams, like my dear mother would’ve wanted.

But it only ended up breaking my heart.

I take another sip, attempting to wash away the bad memories of the woman who broke my heart and the little girl I had to leave behind. “That’s nice.” I set down my glass, not meeting his eyes, hoping that’s a good enough response to enjoy the rest of my beer in silence.

“Your new neighbor seems nice,” he says, breaking the silence with a playful smirk.

“Excuse me?” What the fuck is he talking about?

“She’s bright, bubbly, and fine as frog hair,” he muses, pretending that he doesn’t hear me. “You met her yet?”

“What goddamn neighbor?” My voice rises. I live in a modern rustic two-story home. A home that’s close enough to the ranch but far enough to give me the solitude I crave. Only one house is next to mine, a vacant one, or so it has been since I moved back home.

“Her name is Sadie Lane,” he lights up.

My mind launches into overdrive, trying to fill in the missing blanks.

The ranch is full of workers, around thirty, but people were always coming and going as the seasons ended. For her to live on the lands of the ranch, she has to be a new recruit. Someone hand-picked by my uncle. Someone who’s planning to stay for a while, or at least until after calving season.

“So she’s working at Lone Pine?”

Ernest nods. “She’s a cowgirl. And very charming, you’ll like her, Kit.”

“Don’t think so.” I glance at the sign behind the bar that reads No Smoking, wishing I could light one up to take away the stress. A new neighbor and a new cowgirl are not what I need today.