A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas. Maisey Yates
“Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t entirely sincere?”
“It was sincere.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she focused on the scenery around them. Many of the trees that were spread across the flat land were bare, their branches like bony fingers reaching toward the sky, just a few lone brown and yellow leaves clinging on for dear life.
But up ahead, and growing up the mountainside, was the thick blanket of evergreens that never withered or changed. The wind blew down the hillside, across the trail, kicking up the scent of pine, damp earth and moss.
She wondered if after today she would find comfort of some kind in smells like this. In the strange, heavy scent in the barn, and in the fresh woodsy scent of the pine.
The horse’s gait was strange at first, difficult to get used to, but after a while, she settled into it. Learned to move in her saddle along with Sunflower. They rode the horses into the thick line of pine, the trail continuing on up through the evergreens and to the mountain.
It was so quiet. There was no sound beyond the intermittent breeze, the swish and flick of the horses’ tails.
It was vast. Even now where they were, closed in on the trail, surrounded on all sides by trees, she sensed that vastness. She felt like nothing more than a tiny dot, in the center of the world.
It was a strange, heavy feeling.
McKenna was often the biggest thing in her own world. Her wants. Her needs. Her hunger. Her cold. And right now, she felt like nothing. Like gold dust. A glimmer of something, but not so substantial all on her own.
It wasn’t an awful feeling. It was clarifying.
Like a relief.
If she wasn’t the center of everything, then she didn’t need to strive quite so much. Then maybe she didn’t need to worry the way she often did. Maybe she could set down concerns for the future for just a moment and be here. With the strong silent cowboy riding in front of her as she lived a moment out of time that she could never have imagined she might find herself in.
She didn’t have to pretend to be anyone else. Didn’t have to fantasize about an alternate reality. She was the one existing here, free of concern, out in the middle of nowhere, on the back of a horse.
And she felt... The strangest thing, starting at the center of her chest and spreading outward like warmth. A still, calm feeling that was like nothing else she’d ever felt.
Was it contentment? Peace?
Had she truly come out to the country and found something she hadn’t been able to find anywhere else?
She would worry about being a cliché, but she didn’t want to worry. Not now. Not now. The trail wound around, narrowing slightly, boulders rising up on either side. She was worried for a moment that her horse might not want to go through, but Sunflower kept on going. Clearly, everything that Grant had said she was. The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder, and when they made their way through the rocks, there it was. Water rushing in a torrent, flowing over the side of a cliff.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Wishing Well Falls,” he said.
She stared at it, in absolute awe. The water was a wicked beast, churning and frothing as it spilled over the side of the rocks.
If she’d felt small before, this diminished her further. She was on the back of an animal that could dispatch her with one quick move, near water that could sweep her away before she could call out for help.
All those stories of people going into the wilderness and finding themselves made sense. You could find your own insignificance out here. Your place as a thread in the patchwork of the world, rather than imagining you were the whole damn quilt.
“Let’s ride the horses down to the swimming hole,” he said, tugging his reins and starting down the trail.
“What?” The trail up ahead was steep, and the very idea filled her with dread.
“They’ll be fine,” he said.
He urged his horse forward, and she watched as Guinevere made an easy trek down the path, surefooted even on the rocky ground.
Sunflower at this point didn’t have to be urged much by her, but kept on following her leader. McKenna held on tightly, leaning back and gritting her teeth as the horse made her way down the trail.
When they reached the bottom, Grant looked back at her.
“What do you think?”
Now that her heart wasn’t racing so quickly from the stress of making it down there, she was able to appreciate the beauty. “It’s like a secret garden.”
“Like a what?” he asked.
“It’s a book I read. When I was a kid. The Secret Garden. It’s about this girl. Her parents died. And she ends up living with her aunt and uncle. But her cousin is sick, so he’s not allowed to go outside. And while she’s wandering around trying to entertain herself she finds a secret garden.”
She hadn’t minded that book much. As books about orphans went. It was realistic enough in that no one had much cared about the girl, but had taken her in out of a sense of obligation. Granted, she had held out some hope for a while that she might discover she had a distant aunt and uncle in England, so that she might have a rambling manor home to wander around.
But alas. That was not to be.
Still, she had enjoyed that book. Because it was the orphan girl who’d had something to give to the boy who still had his family. Because she had been smart, and she had been valuable.
Sometimes she wondered if the reason she had hope in her heart was because of all the books she’d read. Because they had often depicted bleak things, and sometimes had shown her things she didn’t like. But they had also taught her things about herself, and things about the world. The terrible things people believed and did, and the wonderful things, too. And the ways in which people could triumph as long as they always believed in something.
Like magical waterfalls named after wishing wells, and cowboys who seemed good, straight down to their bones.
“Do you want to explore for a minute?” he asked.
“Will the horses be okay?”
“They’ll be fine.”
Grant dismounted, and then walked over to her, reaching his hand up. She was grateful, because she wasn’t sure she could manage the dismount on her own.
She reached down, taking hold of his hand, something that still sent a shock through her, even though their hands had touched several times that day.
She leaned forward, not quite sure how to proceed, and slipped just a little bit. But even she, in all her nervous state, wasn’t as terrified as Grant looked in that moment. His eyes went wide, and then he reached up, large hands grabbing hold of her waist, and lifted her down from the horse as though she were as light as a child. He was strong. Stronger even than she had realized. And when he set her down, her toes nearly touching his, their eyes met, and she realized that he was even more handsome than she had thought.
His green eyes were blazing into hers with absolute ferocity, his chest rising and falling with a hard, heavy pitch.
He felt it, too.
She couldn’t do anything but stare. She didn’t want to move away. She felt drawn to him. To his heat. His intensity.
His hands were still wrapped around her waist, the heat from them bleeding into her skin. He flexed his fingers. Almost imperceptibly. But the slide of the fabric from her shirt against her skin, and the rasp of heat from his fingers beyond, sent a shock of attraction straight to her center like a lightning rod. She looked up, her eyes landing on his lips. She was fascinated. By the whiskers there. She wanted to