by Amber Kelly
“Uh-huh,” I say as I take a sip from my tea glass.
He shakes his head at the scrutiny. “Just help me with Mom, will you? Pretty please, sis?”
“All right. I’ll handle her. She likes Charlotte even if she does think she’s a tad kooky. She’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.”
Myer comes back with Faith in his arms and Cowboy, Beau’s dog, on his heels.
“Well, hello, sleeping beauty. I was wondering if you planned on joining us this evening.” I reach for her. “Let me have her. I’ll feed her while you finish eating.”
He passes our daughter off to me, and I walk to the living room to feed her.
I started back to work at the bakery I own with my mother last week, and it has killed me to leave her with my mother-in-law every morning. I know she’s in good hands, but I miss her. Dealing with those emotions is probably contributing to me being so fragile about Beau growing up. I don’t want to miss a single thing. Time really is like sands through the hourglass.
The boys finish their meal, and after he sees Payne off, Myer joins us on the couch.
I hand the baby off to her daddy, and then I pull my feet up and curl into his side.
“It’s starting to snow out,” he informs me.
“That’s good. Beau will be happy if it sticks. He’s been dying to go sledding.”
“What about you? I seem to remember you getting awfully excited about sledding yourself.”
“Not this year. Faith is too little, and the last thing we need is for one of us to hurt ourselves right now. The only sledding I’d be up for is a ride on Santa’s sleigh,” I manage before a huge yawn escapes me.
“Ready for bed?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I just want to lie here in front of the fire and watch the tree twinkle a little while longer.”
He pulls me in closer, and I lay my head in his lap as he holds a sleeping Faith tucked into the opposite side.
Cowboy hops up and settles on my feet.
I drift off to sleep five minutes later.
Myer
“I’m sorry I’m running late. I overslept, and Faith just finished feeding. I’ll be there in fifteen,” Dallas says into the phone.
I get Faith fastened safely into her car seat as she grabs her coat and keys.
We walk out together, and I secure the car seat to the base in my truck. Dallas stands behind me to give the baby one last kiss before I shut her in.
I turn and wrap her in my arms.
“It’ll get easier,” I assure her as she stands there, about to cry.
“Will it?” she asks.
“I promise. She’s only four months old, and you’ve been back to work for less than a month.”
“I miss her when I’m there,” she says. “When Beau was this little, we lived with my parents, and I was home with him until he started preschool. It feels wrong.”
It is the same conversation we have every morning.
“Dal, baby, if you want to stay home until she’s in school or just until you are ready, you can. You don’t have to work. We’ll make it. You know that, right?”
She nods.
“It’s my bakery. I kind of have to be there,” she says.
“I’m sure your mom could handle it a few more months.”
“No, that’s not fair. Faith is perfectly happy and well cared for by your momma. I’m just being a girl,” she declares as she wipes her eyes and finds her resolve.
“Okay, then get your ass in your truck and go get your shop open before your morning customers looking for their coffee and muffin fix revolt,” I say as I release her and give her a little push.
She turns and mopes all the way to the driver’s door, and I open it for her.
“I’ll bring you lunch when I come by during my break,” she offers.
“Sounds good. Be careful driving with the snow coming in,” I remind her before I lean into the door and kiss her.
I wait for her to pull out, and then I get in my truck, so Faith and I can head to Stoney Ridge.
I walk into Mom and Pop’s house, holding Faith’s car seat in one hand and the diaper bag Dallas packed in the other.
Pop comes down the hall. “Is that my granddaughter?” he asks.
It’s the same thing every morning.
“It is,” I say as I unfasten her and pick her up.
I hand her off, and Pop walks over to the rocking recliner and sits with her. He clicks on the television to his morning news program and rocks Faith while he watches.
I unpack the bag and put the bottles in the fridge.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom says as she walks in, still in her housecoat.
“Morning.”
“I see your father is already hogging the baby again,” she grumbles.
“He’s teaching her current affairs.”
She starts the coffeepot and turns to me. “Would you like me to scramble you some eggs or something before you guys get to work?”
“Dallas fed me before we left. I could use your help with something though.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Do you still have that old carriage stored somewhere?”
“The one your uncle used to use as a prop when he ran the Christmas tree lot?”
“Yeah, what happened to it?”
“I think it’s still in the old storage building out on his property. What in the world made you think of that thing?”
“I want to fix it up. Sand it, paint it, and fit it with a hitch, so a couple of our horses could pull it in the snow. Maybe add some sleigh bells.”
“What for?”
“Dallas mentioned that she would like to take a ride in Santa’s sleigh. I thought I could do the next best thing as a surprise for her and Beau.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. That old thing is just sitting there, rotting,” she says.
“I’ll help you, son. Foster and Truett can haul it out to the barn, and we can put it in the back. I bet with the four of us, it won’t take long,” Pop offers.
“I’d appreciate that. I’d like to surprise them before we come to have Christmas Eve dinner here.”
“Then, I guess you should hand over that baby, so you fellas can get a move on,” Momma says as she hurries over to Pop with her hands out.
“She doesn’t want you. She wants her grandpoppy,” Pop snaps as he holds Faith out of her reach.
“Winston Wilson, you hand her over this instant,” Momma huffs.
He looks down at Faith, who is blowing bubbles as she coos at them.
“I’m going to give your grammy a turn, so she doesn’t start crying, but Grandpoppy will be back soon, and we’ll watch the evening news together.”
Momma looks to me and rolls her eyes.
We spend the morning and afternoon moving the cattle to the winter pasture. Most of our part-time staff are on leave the months of December through March, so it’s just Pop, Foster, Truett, and me. We lose sunlight pretty early this time of year, so our workdays are much shorter.
After we finish, Foster and I drive out to my uncle’s property; he left it to Mom. We load the old carriage onto one of our trailers.
“This thing sure has seen better days,” Foster muses.
It is in bad disrepair. This might have been a bad idea.
“Maybe I overshot my expectation. It was just an old prop, not a working carriage,” I admit.
“Nah, it’s got the bones. We can do an addition. Add some seating and the hitch. A little sanding, some quality paint, and we can make it a beauty. Might need a few more hands if you want it by Christmas Eve though.”
“Let’s get it back to the ranch and get a better look at it. If we think it’s possible, I’ll talk to some of the other guys and see if they have time to lend a hand. It can’t hurt to ask,” I agree.
When we make it back, Pop and Truett are waiting. They help us unload it and get it in the back of the barn.
“What a hunk of junk,” Truet
t proclaims.
“You have to see its potential, son,” Pop counters.
Truett lets out a slow whistle. “We’d be better off starting from scratch and building one ourselves.”
“Nah, this one has history, and it just needs some TLC,” Foster declares.
“All right, if you say so. Let’s give it a go.” Truett gives in.
I explain how I’d like to add two facing benches with cushioned seats, so they will be comfortable. A driver’s seat with a sturdy hitch to hold at least a couple of horses.
“I want to paint it a Christmas red and trim it in gold or silver. Dallas and Beau will love it,” I tell them.
“Okay, okay, I can see it. We’ll have to cut it in two and extend it to get the seats in. Foster and I should be able to put a hitch together for you. We have a welder down at Gramps’s, and he has a pile of scrap metal. I’m sure he won’t mind if we use some of it,” Truett says as he walks around the carriage and looks under the front end.
We hear a vehicle pulling down the drive, and Pop looks out.
“That’s your bride now.”
I look down at my watch. It’s past seven.
“Dammit, I lost track of time. I was supposed to be home by now,” I confess as I grab a rag and wipe my hands.
“Go on, before she comes looking for you. We’ll get this thing covered, and we’ll start working on it tomorrow,” Pop insists.
“We’ll start on the welding tonight,” Foster says.
“Thanks, guys. I truly appreciate it.”
I jog out to greet Dallas and Beau, and they head to the house.
“I’m sorry, Dal. We started working on one of the tractors, and I lost track of time.”
“It’s fine. I called Beverly, and she was running low on bottles. I should probably start pumping more and freezing it.”
“Can I ride Bolt?” Beau asks.
“Not tonight, baby,” Dallas says.
“Please, Momma?”
“We have to get home and eat supper and do your homework before bath and bedtime,” she tells him.
“I’m not hungry,” he complains.
“Don’t back-talk your mother,” I correct him.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” he mumbles.
“Sorry, baby. I know we’ve been crazy busy the past few months, and I’ve been extra tired because of your sister.” She soothes him as she runs her fingers through his hair.
“It’s okay,” he tells her.
He loves his baby sister, and he has been very patient and a big help around the house.
“Tell you what, buddy. You get two weeks off for your Christmas break, and you can come to work with me if you want. You can help me and Pop out on the ranch, and you and I will get as much riding time in as possible. If Santa comes through with that new dirt bike you put on your list, we can even clear a corral, so you can practice riding it.”
“Really? Can Uncle Payne come?”
“Sure.”
“Cool. Thanks, Dad!” he exclaims before he runs up the porch.
“You were right,” I tell Dallas as I hook my arm around her neck and lead her into the house.
“About what?”
“I’ve gone from Daddy to Dad overnight, and it stings,” I admit.
“I know, right?!”
“At least we have Faith to count on to keep us feeling young and important,” I tell her, and she laughs.
“Are you saying I’m going to have to keep popping out babies, so we aren’t phased out?” she asks.
I curl her into me. “Now, that sounds like a good plan.”
She wraps her arms around my waist. “I bet it does to you. Your part in the deal is all fun and no swollen ankles or added stretch marks.”
“I can make it fun for you too,” I say before I kiss her neck.
She sighs. “And those stretch marks are sexy as hell.”
The door swings wide.
“Are y’all kissing again?” Beau asks.
“You know the rules, buddy,” I say.
He looks up.
“I don’t see no mistletoe,” he protests.
“I don’t see any mistletoe,” Dallas corrects.
I reach in my shirt pocket for the sprig of mistletoe I stashed there and hold it above Dallas’s head.
Beau huffs out an exasperated breath and walks out on the porch. He reaches his arms out, and I grab him up. He plants a kiss on his momma’s lips, and then he turns to me.
“You’d better hide that stuff before Christmas Eve. Mrs. Gaddis taught us a song today. Santa likes to kiss mommies if there is mistletoe hanging, and you have it all over the place. If he is in the house and Momma gets up to feed Faith, he’s going to lay one on her for sure.”
With that, he slides down and races back inside.
Dallas goes to follow him, and I whisper in her ear, “Oh, Santa plans on kissing every inch of Mommy on Christmas night.”
Elowyn
“Elle, this place is so freaking cool,” Bellamy says as she looks around.
Walker and the guys completed our home build last month. He and I have started furnishing it, and he is settling in. I’m still at Rustic Peak until our wedding this spring, much to his chagrin. He was ready for me to move in yesterday, but I want to wait. It just adds an extra layer of excitement to our wedding day.
Bellamy and Sonia are here today, helping me unpack some of the things Aunt Doreen and Aunt Ria gifted us for the kitchen. Then, we will rearrange the furniture that Walker and Braxton just haphazardly scattered around the ample, open living space.
“It is amazing. Better than I envisioned when we came up with the plans,” I agree.
“Not going to lie. I’m a little bit jealous,” Bellamy admits as she begins hanging the copper pots above the kitchen island.
“You? You are living in our dream house,” Sonia interjects.
Bellamy moved into the old Sugarman Homestead right outside of downtown with her fiancé, Dr. Brandt Haralson, Poplar Falls’ new vet. It is a historic old manor that he purchased and renovated. We had fantasized about living in the gigantic house since we were little girls. Brandt turned it into a sleek, modern dream home for her.
“If anyone should be jealous, it’s me. I’m the one still living in a seven-hundred-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment above my mother’s consignment shop,” Sonia adds.
“That apartment is super nice and fits your lifestyle perfectly. You’re on Main Street, just steps away from shopping, coffee, baked goods, and restaurants. Everything a girl needs,” I tell her.
“Yeah, it’s a real dream come true,” Sonia retorts as she rolls her eyes.
“Stop that right now. You were thrilled when your mother let you move into that apartment. We all were. We still lived at home, and you had your own space,” Bellamy says.
Sonia sighs. “I know. I guess I’m still bitter because Ricky and I were looking at houses, and I had my heart set on that charming log cabin near Stoney Ridge. It was perfect, and I got my hopes up,” she admits.
“Why don’t you try to buy it on your own? You have a great career and make your own money. It’s not like Ricky was financially contributing that much,” I suggest.
“I can’t do anything until the divorce is final. I don’t want to buy something, only to have to split it with him. I mean, I don’t think he’d sink that low, but I don’t want to assume anything anymore, and I doubt the place will still be available next summer,” she says, the disappointment rolling off her.
I hate that her marriage fell apart in under a year. She had been so happy on her wedding day, and even though none of us were Ricky’s biggest fan, we all hoped he was turning a corner for her.
“That just means that there is another home out there for you, and you’re going to love it even more,” Bellamy encourages.
“Yeah, maybe,” Sonia says as she turns and walks into the living space, where she starts to shuffle through another box.
I look at Bellamy, and she slightly nods he
r head. We don’t like seeing our perky, optimistic friend so down. She’s the best of us. A wonderful friend and a caregiver. Oh, how we wish she had someone in her life to care for her the way she cares for others.
“How is the party planning coming along?” I ask Bellamy.
“We’re almost done. The renovations are complete, thank goodness, and Momma and Pop are coming to help us decorate tomorrow night. So, barring anything major, we should be ready by Thursday.”
“Do you need any help?” I offer.
“Nope. I don’t want anyone lifting a finger. No cooking, no cleaning, and I don’t want you to bring a single thing. We have a stocked bar, and Dallas and her mother are catering. We hired a cleanup crew for the next morning. If you drink too much, we have three empty guest rooms that you are welcome to claim,” she says.
“Are you sure? I’d be more than happy to bring something.”
She shakes her head. “It’s our Christmas gift to all our friends. We just want everyone to get dressed up and enjoy the evening.”
“Okay, if you insist.” I give in.
“That goes for you too. I already claimed one of the rooms for you. You’re staying the night,” she calls to Sonia.
“Sounds good to me, especially if Dallas’s mom is making her famous eggnog. I’ll be happy not to have to drive.”
“Oh, there will be eggnog for sure.”
We continue to work, and once everything in the kitchen is put away, we move to the furniture.
“I’m thinking the L-shaped leather sofa should go here, facing the fireplace. I wanted to hang a piece of art above it, but Walker purchased that insanely large television, and there is nowhere else the thing will fit, except above the mantel. So, all the sitting spaces need to face it,” I instruct.
“Let’s get your cowhide rug down first and then move the couch. Are you going to put a coffee table in here?” Bellamy asks.
“Yes, Uncle Jefferson and Pop are making me one to match the farmhouse dining room table they are building as our wedding gift. So, that will be a while.”
We get the rug laid out, and we all grab an edge of the couch to start moving it.
Bellamy grunts as she tries to get a good handle on the leather and lifts.
