“Already done,” I hear Noah tell his father as I descend the stairs. “I’m raking out the stalls now. Oh, and Henderson emailed about his order, so just go deal with the new specs, and I’ll take care of the barn.”
I enter the kitchen, seeing Noah pull a small plate out of the microwave as I circle the island toward the sink for some water.
He sets the plate down on the counter, his eyes falling to my arm. “Is it okay?”
I fill up a glass and nod, tossing him a half smile. “It’s okay.”
A little better after my shower and the ibuprofen, actually. The heat cured most of my body aches.
He stares down at me, a slight smile playing on his lips, and flutters fill my stomach, making me lose my breath. He did exactly what he said he was going to do last night. He made love to me. He kissed me so much.
He kissed me so much last night. My cheeks warm, remembering.
He pushes the plate toward me, smirking like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Your muffin’s warmed.”
I cock an eyebrow and grab the muffin off the plate, taking my glass and walking away. I hear his snort behind me.
Setting my plate on the island, I take a bite as Noah leaves. The sweet taste makes my mouth water. I ate at dinner last night, but I’m starving like I haven’t eaten in days.
I look up, seeing Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the door that Noah just left through.
“What’s wrong?”
Jake blinks, shaking his head. “He’s helping,” he replies. “Willingly.”
He walks to the coffee pot and pours a cup as I drop my head, so he can’t see my smile.
“And the coffee’s already made,” he adds, staring at the pot with a puzzled look.
I take another bite. Happy people are more agreeable. I know that much. Noah is responsible today, because he’s happy today.
“Aren’t you cold?” I hear Jake ask.
I look over, seeing him stare at my bare arm, because I’m wearing a tank top with only one arm inside my sweater. The other side is tucked over my shoulder.
“The sleeve chafes me.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and take another bite.
He approaches. “You should stay in bed. You shouldn’t be up walking around. We can handle everything.”
“I don’t want to stay in bed.”
I thought about it. If for no other reason than to catch up on some sleep, but…
I don’t want to be in my room. I don’t want to be where they’re not.
I slow my chewing. It’s going to hurt to leave when the snow melts, isn’t it? I miss them when I’m not around them. What’s it going to be like being in a different state when I don’t even want to be in another room without them?
“Did you draw these?”
Huh? I come back to reality and turn, following his gaze. Both doors of the refrigerator are plastered with my sketches for the re-designs I’m doing on the furniture. I straighten my spine and walk toward the fridge, confused. I thought I threw these away.
Wrinkles cover one of the pieces of the butcher paper, because it was thrown in the trash and dug out. The other sketches I slid under the couch when I finished working the other day in the living room and wanted them out of the way.
Now they’re hanging up.
It only takes a moment to realize who put them there. I turn my head, seeing Kaleb throw a saddle over his shoulder and lead Shawnee back into the stable. I smile to myself.
“They’re good,” Jake says. “Can’t wait to see the finished product.”
I’m not sure how much I’ll get done with one arm, but I’m excited to get back in the shop. Jake takes his mug and starts to leave the kitchen, but then he turns and looks at me, suddenly serious.
“I don’t want you venturing off the property,” he tells me. “And don’t go outside at night, okay?”
“Why?” He’s trained me how to deal with wild animals.
But he tells me, “The fire started in the loft. There’s nothing there that would’ve caused it.”
I stare at him. So… It wasn’t electrical or something the boys did? What…
And then it hits me. The fire was set on purpose?
“I thought you said no one could get up here,” I say
“No.” He shakes his head. “I said the roads were closed.”
He leaves the room, and I gape after him. He’s not serious. Someone else could’ve been here last night?
I adjust the spray gun, turning the dial on the gun to a lower setting, and stand back, spraying a light dusting of gold paint over the most pronounced parts of the blue, violet, and green dresser. I graze the perimeter of the top, as well as the legs and the four corners.
Turning the gun off, I set it down and pull off my mask and eyewear. The blue and violet melt into each other, and I love how the blue drips into the green. The gold gives it a sheen, and once the handles are back on, I think it’ll look amazing.
I smile. I like it.
Removing the sling Jake had me put my arm in, I look down at the bandage, not seeing any blood seeping through. I don’t really need the sling, especially since it was my left arm injured, and I’ve been doing fine with just my right hand today, but Jake was right. Keeping it immobile helped with the pain.
I pop two aspirin with a drink of water and pass Noah and Jake as I walk back into the house.
Washing my hands, I look out the window, seeing the snow-drenched branches and needles, a light wind kicking up the powder on the rock cliffs around the barn and stable. From this view, the barn looks fine. I can’t see the other side and the whole corner burnt out. Thank goodness most of it is still useable. The boys spent the morning cleaning out the rubble and patching up what they could with the supplies we had on hand before laying down fresh hay.
The red light on my phone lights up as I dry my hands, and I turn it on to see a missed call from Mirai. I let out a sigh.
If I talk to her, what should I lead with? How I was injured by falling debris in a barn fire or how we were in a police chase or how I’ll be lucky to make it out of here next summer not pregnant?
No. I’m not ready to let the world in.
I ignore the call.
But I catch sight of the date on my phone and do a double take. It’s almost December. Christmas.
All of a sudden, I glance outside and see the trees that surround us. They look just like Christmas trees. I lean over the sink to check them out. I doubt Jake ever did much decorating when the boys were kids, but I’m sure he put a tree up. He’s not a Grinch.
And I’m sure he shopped for a tree right in his own backyard.
Pushing off the counter, I almost leap to the closet, grabbing my coat, hat, and gloves. I slip everything on quickly and then kick off my sneakers and slip my feet into my boots. Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I race through the kitchen and into the shop, grabbing a pair of cutters off the tool rack and stepping outside before Jake or Noah can pull their heads out of the bikes to ask me questions.
The cold nips at my cheeks and nose, but the clouds are rolling in, promising more snow, and something can’t keep the smile off my face. I step through the snow, knee deep as I climb the small incline between the stable and the shop toward the most perfect tree laying ahead. I noticed it months ago, but with the snow on it, it’s even more beautiful. It’s fifteen feet tall and full around the bottom as it grows into a sharp point at the top, perfect shape for a topper.
But I’m not cutting it down. And I won’t ask Jake to. No, it would be a shame.
I do need some fringe off it, though. It has plenty.
Walking up, I curl my toes in the boots against the cold snow that slipped in and bat at the branches, dusting off the snow.
I lean in, closing my eyes.
The scent of the pine and snow smells like Narnia and Christmas. I can almost smell the wrapping paper.
I reach out with my cutters and take one of the twigs attached to a bough. I squeeze the handle, prying the small branch left and right, but it’s frozen.
The crisp snow falls off a branch and lands on a sliver of my wrist, and I can almost taste the silvery flavor in the air. I pull at the twig, twisting it, but then suddenly someone reaches around me and slices the twig off in one swift motion.
I jerk my head, seeing Kaleb looking down at me. The hesitance that’s usually present in his eyes is gone, replaced with calm. He hands me the twig, and I take it.
“I wanted to make something for the house,” I say quietly.
But he doesn’t reply, of course. Kaleb doesn’t care what I’m doing or why.
Reaching out, he slices off another twig, the needles spreading their snow all over my boots as he holds the branch out to me.
I nod, taking it. I open my mouth to say thank you, but I stop myself. Instead, I meet his eyes and tell him with a small smile. Without waiting for him to walk away, I point to another one, and he reaches around me with both arms, cutting off the twig and laying it in my arms. I reach up, pointing to a higher branch, and he stretches above my head, working his blade again.
We move around the tree, picking nice, long twigs with dense needles, and I’m not sure how long our little truce will last, but I’m sure it will last longer the more I don’t talk.