Christmas at Fox Ridge

3. Lucas

Chapter three

Lucas

December 20

T ugging my arm across my chest to stretch out the constant dull ache in my shoulder, I stare down the alley at the final mare for the night. I typically limit myself to working Monday through Thursday—any more and I feel it in my bones for days. But after a rough summer, nasty fall, and the start of what looks to be an abysmal winter, my options are busting my ass for more money or selling the ranch. Which is why I’m working at six p.m. on a Saturday, listening to the wind whip through the rafters of the otherwise silent barn.

I’m not selling the ranch.

Don’t give a crap what my family thinks.

I give the old mare I just finished trimming a few extra scratches along her back while feeling around in my pocket for a mint. She takes it greedily then politely sniffs my hand for more.

“Sorry, girl. Just one today. Not supposed to give you any, but you know you’re my favourite here.”

Her withers shudder as I drag my nails down the root of her mane.

I plunk my tools down ten feet away, and a resounding crack carries up my spine. The obnoxious ringer my little sister set for herself echoes through the barn. Frigid air has me creating billowing vapour when I bark out a surly greeting.

“Did you put any more thought into my proposition?” Holly asks immediately.

“No.”

“No, you didn’t put more thought into it? Or no, you don’t want to do it?”

I take a swig of coffee. It was hot when I took a lunch break four hours ago. Now it’s disgustingly cold, but I need any jolt of caffeine I can get, so I throw my head back and chug it.

“No to both.” Switching the call to speakerphone, I balance the cell precariously on a sawhorse and grab my tools. The sooner I get this horse done, the sooner I can have a hot shower and collapse into bed. The sooner I get up and do this again tomorrow.

“Luke, you came to me bitching about the ranch’s finances—”

“ Wrong ,” I interrupt. “I talked to your fiancé, because he works in finance, and you decided to involve yourself.”

“Same thing. Can you just try it? I already have somebody lined up to stay there over Christmas.”

Of course she does.

I groan, giving a nail in the horse’s shoe a firm tug. Despite the cold, sweat prickles my back and dots my hairline.

Holly seems to be giddy on the other end of the phone. “Please do this test run before you decide. Having some extra income is going to make a huge difference.”

“I’m not dealing with this person at all. I don’t want to see them or hear them or anything.”

“I’ve got it all handled. You installed a digital keypad on the door, right?”

“Reluctantly.”

“Then you won’t even know they’re there.”

Better fucking not.

“Fine.” The horseshoe tugs free, falling to the cement barn floor with a vibrating clang amidst the late-afternoon stillness. “Remind me to never talk to Daniel about anything again.”

“You could always sell it, like Mom keeps suggesting. Walk away with a loaded wallet and buy yourself a house in town.”

Adjusting the positioning of the mare’s pastern on my thigh, I reply, “Hanging up now.”

“Love you. Promise this rental plan is going to be great.”

Finally pulling up to my own barn, I breathe a small sigh of relief. This place is my solace, and just breathing in the smell of hay, horses, and old wood is enough to remind me why I’m working so fucking hard.

This is all I have.

“What’re you still doing here?” I shout to Cora, wherever she is.

She manages my horses, and my bookkeeping, in exchange for free rent in the studio suite above the barn. Despite being just twenty-three, Cora works harder and bitches less than the two grizzled men who oversee the cattle operation. It’s especially impressive considering how much extra weight she’s been pulling the last few months with my long hours, while also working full time as a kindergarten teacher in town.

“Popcorn cut up his leg on the fence again,” she calls back from deeper in the barn.

Shaking my head, I stride down the alley toward her. The barn lights hum in the crisp night air overhead. Sure enough, Cora’s knelt down on the cement floor, wrapping his wound in a hot-pink bandage. Her gelding has about as much self-protection instincts as the five-year-olds who named him.

“He’s an idiot.” I lean back against the cold metal fence rail.

“Or smart enough to know a little cut means he gets to stay in the warm barn.”

“ Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” I snort, rapping my knuckles against the fence. “You going home for Christmas?”

“Wow, I knew you were an ass, but considering I poured my heart out about my family issues when we were unloading all that hay last week, I’d expect you to remember.”

Shit. Okay, so maybe it’s not just that the town thinks I’m an asshole.

Maybe I am an asshole.

“No, I fucking remember,” I lie. “Thought you might’ve resolved things.”

She pauses, turning to give me a look that calls me out on my bullshit. After tucking the bandage end, she stands and swipes her hands across her thighs, knocking dust into the air. “I didn’t. I’m spending Christmas Day with a teacher friend of mine, but I’ll still be around to do chores.”

With a single nod, I head back toward the large barn door, stopping only for a split second to fork over a mint to my senior mare—the horse who filled my head with dreams about owning property, working with horses, and riding off into sunsets. Her muzzle tickles my palm, and I whisper a good night to her.

Save for the porch light, the house is dark when I pull up shortly after eight o’clock, and I use the side of my boot to brush snow off each step on my way to the front door. The heavy flapping of an owl’s wings briefly fills the night, and it’s cold— fuck me, is it cold . So cold my frozen fingertips fumble to open the unlocked door handle.

After slipping my boots off next to the wood stove, I turn on a single lamp and make my way to the kitchen for dinner.

“Shit, I need to grab groceries before everything shuts down for Christmas,” I mutter to myself, reaching for a box of KD macaroni and cheese on the pantry shelf. When I’m not so exhausted all the time, I do my best to cook healthy meals from scratch. Nothing beats a grain-finished cut of beef on the barbecue, served alongside garden-fresh, roasted vegetables. In fact, my favourite way to decompress is sitting out on the porch with dinner and an ice-cold beer, revelling in the quiet of my ranch.

But lately, it’s takeout, Kraft Dinner, or cereal eaten in the wood stove’s golden glow while I fight to keep my eyelids propped up long enough to finish.

As I’m lazily standing with my hip propped against the counter, stirring the simmering macaroni, a light in the cabin out back catches my eye. I shift on my feet, angling for a better view. Sure enough, a small black car’s parked outside the well-lit cabin.

Fucking Holly.

When she said she had somebody lined up to stay here, she didn’t tell me they were coming today . She knew all too well I wouldn’t be able to say no.

Frankly, having somebody in my empty cabin for two hundred bucks per night will definitely put a dent in the financial crisis I’m in. After a handful of rented nights, I’ll be able to buy enough hay for the animals to get through until spring, without the need for a hefty bank loan from Holly’s fiancé. If my sister’s right, I won’t have to see whatever city-slickers stay here, and in theory, the person staying there for the next few days might just be the resolution to all my problems.

I’m only a little annoyed that all the lights are on— mental note: change bulbs out for the power-saving kind. And after I vetoed paying for an electric baseboard heater, Holly said she’d leave instructions for the wood stove, so I wouldn’t need to babysit their heat source. But whoever’s in the cabin better not burn through firewood like it’s free.

With a huff, I scoop overcooked, neon-orange noodles into a bowl and shut the kitchen blinds for the first time since moving in. I peruse the local paper to keep me awake as I eat, and then my legs struggle to stumble upstairs to shower. The hot water massages my weary muscles and warms my frigid bones. And the last thing I notice before my still-wet head hits the pillow is the bathroom light on in the cabin across the way.