by Amanda Tru
Dear Beau, I’m sorry for yelling at you. Please forgive me. Shelby.
The note only took seconds to write but figuring out where to leave it on his desk, so he actually saw it was an entirely different matter. In the end, she left it hanging on the bottom of the computer monitor. He’d see it there at some point in the day.
She was tempted to clean his desk but controlled the urge. He had his own filing system, and she didn’t want to be the reason the managing of the ranch came to a grinding halt. She did grab all the dirty coffee cups, though, and take them to the kitchen for a good scrubbing.
A quick glance at her task list sent her into the attic looking for Christmas decorations. Beau had shown her where everything was, but this was the first time she’d actually go through everything. And, as she suspected, the Wright family decorations were quite the treasure trove. She was filthy and in desperate need of a good cup of coffee when she opened the last box. In it were large photo albums rather than ornaments or other decorations. She pulled the flap back to double check that the label was correct. It said Christmas. These hadn’t been in the stack she’d already looked through.
“Hmmm.” Her hand hovered over the album on top. “To look or not. That is the question.” Curiosity won the battle, and she pulled the heavy album out of the box and into her lap. On the first page was the date, making it the Christmas that Beau was five. She grinned at the thought of finding baby pictures of Beau.
The first few pages were of various photos of a happy family. Someone—she guessed his mother—had helpfully labeled each photo with the names of those smiling at the camera.
Shelby recognized a few of the faces without the labels. Stan, Ed, and Beau’s father all gazed out, caught in time. There was one of his mother, too. Agnes Wright. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the conventional sense, but had a great smile. Agnes’ acerbic comments made Shelby outright laugh.
She flipped to the back of the album and found the family Christmas day photos. It jumped right off the page at her. There was little Beau playing with a train set. It was set up so that it ran around the room, through the legs of the coffee table and side table and stopped at various “stations” along the way. Shelby read the small note his mother had made at the bottom of the page.
Beau loved this train so much that he had a temper tantrum when we packed it away. Only swearing an oath on the Bible that we would put it up again the next Christmas calmed him down.
“Huh.” Shelby set the current book aside and pulled the next out. The album year was stamped on the front in gold leaf. She flipped it open to the end and, sure enough, there was a six-year-old Beau, a huge grin splitting his face, sitting with the train track laid along the floor. One after another, the photo albums had photos of Beau with his train. She cracked open the last photo album in the box, but it was devoid of any photos or notes.
She closed her eyes. “Of course. This was the year that his mom died.” Sorrow for Beau and his family overwhelmed Shelby. She tapped her fingers on the cover. That silly little train was part of his happy memories. Maybe it could be used as part of the decorations if it was up here in one of these boxes. Or just put it in his office. Shelby grinned at the image that conjured up. Maybe between that and her apology, he’d forgive her.
The search for Beau’s train began. She hadn’t seen it during the first time through, but it had only been a cursory search. Halfway through the second search, there it was, at the bottom of a large box marked “yard ornaments.” Out came Santa signs and a couple of stiff reindeer that had seen better days. Under all that lay the train set in its original box. Shelby pulled it out and set it aside.
She opened the original photo album and studied the photos. It looked like they were taken in the living room, which was now his office. That worked perfectly. The smaller of the Christmas trees could be set up in there with the train tracks around the edges of his room.
“I bet I could run the tracks up around his desk too.” She packed the ornaments and other decorations back into their boxes but left the train out. Only thing left to do was set it all up without Beau suspecting a thing. Best hide it for now, so he doesn’t find it accidentally.
After putting the train behind the bigger boxes, Shelby grabbed a smaller one. She lugged it down to the big living room area and set it down by the window. It was as good a place as any for a staging area.
Someone cleared their throat behind her. “Uh, Shelby,” said Beau from behind her. She stilled, one hand deep in the box to pull out the Santa collection she wanted to put on the huge mantel. “Got your note.”
She put the Santa back in the box with exaggerated care and straightened from her crouch. Beau was standing in the doorway, the yellow sticky note in his hand. “I see that.”
“I just want to say…”
“I didn’t mean to…”
His wry grin made her heart flutter. “You first. If you want to.”
Shelby rubbed her hands together, suddenly cold. “I should have let you know that your dad was here. I just got so wrapped up in my own drama that I forgot to give you a heads-up.” She stopped to gather her thoughts. “I needed to let you know about events that may affect you and the ranch and,” she looked down at her shoes for a second, “I don’t know. Maybe share it so it didn’t feel so overwhelming.”
She couldn’t bear to look up and see any kind of rejection on his face. It didn’t stop him from walking across the room and stopping in front of her to lift her chin up to meet his eyes. “Forgive me?” whispered Shelby.
“I forgave you about five minutes after I walked out of the room. I tried to get back to tell you that, but I had to deal with Dad.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. But I’m even sorrier I didn’t stop to understand why you were so upset.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Forgive me, too?”
Shelby stared into his eyes and smiled. “Yeah.” His eyes went smoky, and he kissed her forehead. Then the tip of her nose.
“For goodness sakes, son, just kiss her where it matters.” Ollie leaned against the door jamb, a bowl of grapes in one hand. “It’s not popcorn, but if you’re going to put on a show, it’ll have to do.”
“Dad,” growled Beau. “I thought you were helping Stan today.”
“I was.” He popped a grape in his mouth. He chewed it and swallowed. “But then I got a call from a damsel in distress. I dropped everything to go help. By the way, I got a postcard from Elizabeth today. Said she wouldn’t be back for a few weeks yet.”
Beau squeezed Shelby’s hands once and winked at her before turning back to his father. Shelby moved to the window, trying to give them some privacy for what sounded like a heated, if quiet, debate. She shivered. The temperature had dropped significantly since she’d arrived earlier. Soft gray clouds filled the sky, casting the afternoon into a shadow.
Shelby blinked and then pressed her nose against the window glass. A little white fluff danced on the increasing wind. As she watched more joined it. “Uh, guys. You may want to look at this.” Even in that short amount of time, the snow flurry began to pick up speed.
Beau joined her at the window and laughed. “So much for the weatherman down in LA. He couldn’t forecast his way out of a bag. If we get enough, we’ll be able to make snow angels.”
“I’ve never done that,” replied Shelby, placing her fingertips on the freezing pane of glass. She glanced up at him. “Didn’t grow up where there was snow.
“May want to look after the animals and such, son,” broke in Ollie. “Wouldn’t want to lose anything,” he gave Shelby a sideways glance, “or anyone in the first snow of the season.”
Beau took the bowl from his dad and popped one of the green grapes into his mouth. “You’re right,” said Beau as he chewed. “And since you’ve conveniently shown up early for the holidays, you can help.” He handed the bowl to Shelby. “Won’t take long with all of us working.”
“I may need to get home.” Shelby clutched the bowl.
“Anne shouldn’t be left at the cottage by herself. Not if this gets bad.”
“Nah, it’ll be inconvenient, but it won’t be a bad one.” Beau jerked his head toward the hallway. “Go on, Dad, and help Stan. I’ll wait for Shelby to call home and see if she needs to go.”
Ollie smirked but did as he was told. Shelby patted her pants pocket and, when she didn’t find her phone, searched the room for it. Beau chuckled and handed her his phone.
“You need to put on a leash or something, Shelby. That way your phone doesn’t go on a walkabout by itself.”
“Ha ha.” She overly dramatically rolled her eyes at him. “You are ever so funny.” She found Anne’s number in her contacts list, tapped it, and waited for it to ring. Shelby was about to hang up when she heard Anne breathlessly say hello.
“Anne, it’s Shelby. I wanted to check in with you and make sure everything is okay at the cottage.”
“Why it’s fine, dear,” said Anne, her voice slightly breathless. “I don’t think this is going to be a huge snowfall. But Ed and Arthur are visiting, and we’re playing cut-throat pinochle.”
“Okay, that sounds like fun, I guess.”
“It’s a hoot, dear. Hold on.” Shelby heard Anne’s hand cover the receiver and the indistinct conversation she had with someone with a much deeper voice. “You still there?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ed says not to worry about me. He’s got everything under control. Oh my. One second dear.” Anne covered the phone up again, but this time she seemed to be having a conversation with Arthur. She was giggling when she came back on. “Arthur says the only danger here at the cottage is them losing all their money to me.”
“I guess it’s too late to warn you of the dangers of gambling.” She shook her head at Beau, who’s shoulders convulsed with mirth.
“Most definitely. Don’t worry about the boys and me. We’ve got plenty of firewood and snacks to last us until Armageddon.”
“Good to know, Anne. Have fun and, for heaven’s sake, don’t take everything from them.” Anne murmured her agreement and then hung up.
Beau pressed a hand to his side. “Ow. I think that’s the first time I’ve actually hurt myself laughing.” Shelby handed his phone to him, and he slid it into his shirt pocket. “She’s fine, I take it?”
“Yes, she’s in her element so to speak. She’s got two men, one of which I know adores her, wrapped around her finger. To top that off, she’s convinced them to play cards with her. They probably bought into her “I’m a little old lady slash retired missionary, and I don’t know nothin’ about card games.” She snorted at the image that conjured up. “Poor guys will be lucky to walk away with the shirts on their backs.”
Shelby kept herself busy throughout the rest of the day, bringing down boxes from the attic and figuring out where they went in the house by checking the photo albums. Ollie wandered in at one point and picked up a photo album she’d used as a reference. He flipped through the pages and, without a word, wandered from the room with it. She’d calmly pulled another from the box and found something similar to work from. After all. The decorations didn’t change much from year to year.
What she did find was that the flimsier ornaments and decorations needed repairing or replacing. That meant another trip into town. She groaned. There wasn’t much wiggle room in the budget for new decorations.
“That bad, huh?”
Shelby looked up from where she knelt on the floor as she’d rummaged through the box. Beau prowled in, his footfalls muffled by the heavy wool socks he wore, and handed her the cup he’d been holding. She took it hesitantly and sniffed it. “Mmmm hot chocolate.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t believe I found the recipe.” Beau settled himself on the ground next to her, sitting cross-legged. “Of course, Dad had to put in his two cents. Just to make sure it tasted like it’s supposed to.” His sardonic look told Shelby all she needed to know about Ollie’s help. “I think it turned out okay.”
She took a small test sip, just to make sure it wouldn’t burn her tongue. “Mmm, this is good.” She took a longer sip and then put it on the table next to her. “So, did you get all the prep done?”
“Truthfully there wasn’t much to do. But Ollie didn’t need to be in here bothering you either.” He shrugged and shifted from one hip to the other. “Have you been in here all day?”
“Yeah,” admitted Shelby. “I do take breaks though and looked at the snow. I can’t believe how much of it has fallen so far.”
“It does that.” Shelby chuckled at his dry tone. Beau leaned forward on his knees. “I think you need a break. A long one.”
“What do you mean? I have been taking breaks. If I take a longer one, I won’t be able to get all the decorations sorted into usable and non-usable piles.” Beau pushed himself off the ground and held his hand to her. “Seriously? Even after what I just told you?”
“Yep. You need some play time, Shelby. All business makes Jack a dull boy and all that.” She rolled her neck around and felt it crack. “It can’t hurt. Think of it as a way to refresh your brain to make room for new ideas.”
Shelby mulled it over and finally let him pull her up to her feet. “Get your coat. I’ll meet you in the foyer in five minutes.” He prowled out of the huge living room just as silently as he’d come into it. She stretched before taking a second to look out the window. There was no way that much snow could have accumulated so quickly. She pressed her nose against the window and saw Stan, Ollie, and George shoveling snow from the back of Beau’s truck onto the ground in front of the window.
“Okay, that makes more sense,” said Shelby, amused and touched all at the same. “I guess.” She shook her head before grabbing her coat and beanie.
Beau was wrapping a red check scarf around his neck as he joined her in the foyer. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Beau opened the door for her, and she stepped out onto the front porch. The icy air bit at her nose and she felt the tips of her ears go numb. She adjusted her beanie, so the ear tips were covered. The guys scraped the last bit of snow onto the front lawn. Ollie threw his shovel into the back of the truck, sent Shelby a wink, and hopped into the driver seat. It didn’t bother her as much as it had. Maybe it’s the good mood?
“What do you think?”
She raised her eyebrows. “It’s a lot of snow. But I don’t understand why they moved all of it from the rest of the property to the front lawn.”
“I’m so glad you asked.” He tugged on her hand and wandered to the snow pile. It came halfway up his calf but engulfed her to the knee. “Watch and learn.”
He turned around to face her and then, like a silent forest giant at the end of its life cycle, fell backward. When he hit the powder, plumes of soft snow puffed up. Shelby covered her mouth with one mittened hand, trying to stop the giggle that tried to break through. She failed miserably. He waved his arms and legs a few times and then scrambled out of the indentation he made in the new snow.
“Did you just make a snow angel?”
“Yep and now it’s your turn.” Snow creaked along his back as he put one foot on the lower step and motioned for her to come on down. Shelby had her doubts about throwing her whole body into the snow but let him put her in position. “Okay hold your arms out straight,” he leveled her arms, “and now make like a tree.”
“What? And leaf?” She waggled her eyebrows up and down at him. His response, other than a raised eyebrow, was to push her off balance. She shrieked as she fell backward and fell into a soft pile of snow. She took a few breaths to gain control over the shock of the cold.
“Now wave your arms up and down,” encouraged Beau from the edge of the snow pile. “There you go. You’re doing great.”
“I think my angel is going to lopsided.” After a few passes, Shelby carefully rolled out of the indentation she made and joined Beau. “Oh, hey. Look at that. A snow angel. Kind of.” One side was larger than the other.
“You know what will fix tha
t?” Beau looked down at her, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
He laughed and then pulled her down into the snow. “Another snow angel.” Shelby giggled and rolled onto her back to make another.
They trooped into the kitchen, hands numb with cold from playing in the snow. He’d not had that much fun in a long time. Beau admired how Shelby took to everything without complaining. She’d insisted that they’d all go into the kitchen for hot chocolate and sandwiches.
Dad swung into the room, dressed in a flannel check shirt and blue jeans, and Beau wished he’d taken the time to change into something less wet. Then he realized that Shelby was still wearing her cold, wet clothes too.
“Shelby, I’ve got a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt you can borrow,” said Ollie, as he leaned against the counter where she worked, putting sandwiches together to fry up in the dark cast iron pan. “You shouldn’t stay in those wet things, or you might come down sick. And where would we be without you then?”
Beau shot his dad a dirty look. Ollie just raised one eyebrow and turned back to Shelby.
“Come on, Pansy, let Beau do that.”
She hesitated momentarily but finally gave him a small nod. “It would be nice to have something dry on. I can toss my clothes in the dryer too.” She handed Beau the spatula. “Here. When I get back, we can switch spots, okay?”
“Not a problem.” He stood up from the chair, his stiff wet jeans making it harder to straighten his legs. He took her spot at the stove and flipped a sandwich. It didn’t take long, and Shelby was back in the kitchen, bundled up in a set of sweatpants that were five sizes too big for her. She’d done her best to roll the bottoms up but only managed to look like she was playing dress up.
“Need my help?” He tucked a piece of her hair behind the curve of her ear. She gave him a small smile but shook her head. “No, I can do this in my sleep. Why don’t you sit down and enjoy your coffee?”
“That’s woman-speak for ‘get out of my kitchen,’ son, just in case you missed the translation.”
