7

Brodie doused the fire while I tussied up the kitchenette.

“You can put your Finnish survival skills to work,” I joked, hoping our serious talk had born a little bit of consideration. He seemed pensive, but I knew Ilka’s situation was breaking his own heart. He himself, who had professed his own hope to marry for love, didn’t have her same concerns. I wondered if Prince Sebestyen was a good guy.

Mounting up, Brodie and I started our descent back to the ranch. The day had warmed, and the snowy trail turned to slush beneath our horses’ barefoot hooves. As a native California girl, I’d been amazed to learn horses’ lower legs and hooves don’t freeze easily, and a metal horseshoe can freeze and form harmful ice and snowballs inside the curve. Sometimes, bare feet in winter is better.

A squirrel chittered at us as it jumped from one pine tree to another, eyeing us with suspicion. And the bare white branches of the aspen trees reached so high they could grab clouds.

“You know,” Brodie said over the swish of melting snow. Around us, clumps of snow slipped to the ground from branches high and low. “I like what you said.”

My heart thrilled. “About what?” I asked carefully.

Across from me in our saddles, his smile was as bright as a slice of moonlight. “About reaching the end of your rope. And God would catch you if you fell. It…it reminds me of the rope we tied from a branch, so we could swing out over the lake and drop ourselves in the water. Raz and me. We were ten or so, and it was a windy day. A very windy day. Neither of us was very buff then.” He laughed out loud at the memory. “In fact, we were downright skinny. A gust caught Raz while he was dangling. I mean, really caught him. Spinning him every which way across the shallows. Nobody around us to call for help. But Raz wouldn’t let go. He held on until he knew he could safely let go over the deeper water.”

“Did you…” I hesitated. “Did you pray?”

“Yes, out loud. As loud as I could.” He gave me a sweet grin, and the breeze blessed us like a soft blanket. “I know what you mean now. God told us yes, that day. But Addie, living life without Raz has been so hard. As living without Olwer will be hard for Ilka.”

I said a bunch of my own quick prayers right then, inside my heart of hearts. Would God say yes? No? Or not yet? I hoped He’d say yes to choosing Brodie again, and to lead him firmly back into the truth.

A sudden mortification swamped me. Had I spoken out of turn? Gotten too personal? That could turn him away for sure.

“Brodie, you OK? I sure didn’t mean to, to preach, you know. To intrude on your private feelings.”

His smile lit up the clouds overhead. “Addie, you did well. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. Stuff I needed to hear again.” His intense gaze assured me he meant it.

“Then we better hustle back to the ranch. It’ll be lunchtime soon. And I think we’ve had enough heart-to-heart for today, don’t you?” I wanted to keep things true, but lighter. I wasn’t a preacher or theologian. Just a child of God who didn’t want to hide her light under a bushel.

Although in my heart…maybe God had brought Brodie to Hearts Crossing, here and now, not for me, but so he could see our living faith, our trust in our Maker. Maybe it all would make a difference. Like it had with my family when I was twelve. We’d been fraught with problems, and the Lord had healed us here.

Ahead of us and downhill, Hearts Crossing spread around the curve of mountains like a fairytale, the peaks as sparkling and tall as those of a castle. Cows munched on hay the hands had unrolled from round mounds. And the huge pine tree near the parking area that had been planted decades ago blinked at us with big red and gold ornaments, hung like jewels among the batches of white snow. I heard Brodie catch his breath.

“It’s good to be here. So good.” He turned in his saddle to meet my gaze.

“I’m glad you’re here, too.” I said, meaning it with my whole heart and then some. But he was a prince, and he wouldn’t be here long. I decided to enjoy every smidge of my temporary Christmas fairytale, and then dream about it every night for at least a while.

Or maybe even forever.

We cantered up the long drive to the ranch house. And a peace I couldn’t describe in words settled over us. Brodie pointed at the entry gate, hung with a wrought iron symbol of the ranch.

“I understand your brand now,” he said.

Two hearts intersecting, with a cross where they joined, sort of like a Venn diagram, hung from the horizontal post.

I nodded. “Love and faith. That’s what my family is all about.”

“I’m starting to realize my family needs to work harder at both.”

I smiled. “I get it. I always feel better after a trail ride when life is getting to me. There’s something…tender, something healing about being in nature with a horse. Somehow, a horse knows how to heal us, too. And I don’t just mean the hippotherapy..” Brodie nodded in perfect understanding. But I had to keep it real, to remind him.

As we approached the ranch house, I noticed about a dozen cars in the parking area by two tall trees, away from the huge decorated tree probably to keep it free for photo ops.

I groaned. Just what Brodie and I needed. Not that I didn’t love my relatives, whether step, half, or whole. Good people. It’s just—-those hours on that tender healing trail, the cozy cocoa in the little cabin, had woven a sweet web around us that I didn’t want anybody to break just yet. Whatever. We trotted toward the corral, fully intending to unsaddle and groom our mounts ourselves, when a couple of the ranch hands dashed up.

“We got this,” Topeka said. “You best get inside for your grammaw’s chili beans before that big pot’s empty. A herd of your kinfolk about the length of the Chisholm trail arrived hungry and ornery not long ago. Good fixin’s you don’t neither of you want to miss.”

“OK, boss.” Brodie laughed out loud, and the sound warmed me through. Even more than the noontime sun that welcomed every inch of life around me. Brodie dismounted while I stayed put. I had gotten myself out of a saddle for years, but really wanted him to help me today.

Brodie didn’t disappoint. “All right, cowgirl.” He came to me. “Let’s get you down from there.”

He stood close to the horse’s side to guide and guard me, his warm hand on my back as I slid down, touching him as I did so. My heart thrummed, and the blood in my veins turned hotter than normal on this cold day.

“Maybe we ought to sneak in the back door and eat in the kitchen,” I said, doubt in my words. “There’s so many people.”

“Hey.” He stopped us along the snowy gravel path, hand on my arm. “I am not afraid to meet your ‘herd of kinfolk.’ Truly. If they’re anything like you.” His voice turned soft, tender. “And everybody else has been so kind.”

I flushed, heating my blood even more. “I know but…”

Then his hand tightened. “I get it. You don’t want our time to end quite yet.”

“Yes.” I murmured so soft he might not hear.

“There’ll be more times.”

“But you’re leaving soon.”

“And you’ll be in England. Not so very far away.”

Hope smacked my ribs so hard I think I heard one crack. “I hadn’t thought of that.” True, it was such a far-off wish it had never entered my mind.

Brodie’s eyelids lowered. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else.”

Ruining everything, Gram-Elaine burst through the back door. She had on a quasi-elegant but mostly comfy hunter-green pantsuit with a silver pinecone brooch on her left shoulder. And an amazingly stylish messy bun. “Here you are, kids. Come on in. Hope you had a good ride.” She pushed us inside, peered close at our faces, Brodie’s pinked, too. “Ah, I can sense you did. Hurry now. I saved you heaping bowls. That husband of mine,”—she grinned over her fake grumpy voice while she dished up from a big Dutch oven steaming on the professional stove— “and those sons of his eat more than a whole wagon train of tourists after a long day. And there’s jalapeño cornbread and pear-apple pie. Partridge in a pear tree, you understand.”

“Got it,” Brodie chuckled. We sank into kitchen chairs where the heaping bowls of legendary chili beans lowered in front of us like landing spaceships. Gram-Elaine was already busy doing something else.

Brodie dug in, and grinned. “It’s magnificent, Mrs. Calhoun. Perfection.” He clanked at her with a flirt in his eyes. “I’ve heard I dare not ask you for your recipes so I can give them to the royal cook.”

She paused whatever she was doing and stared straight at him. “That’s right, young man. These are all top secret. For family only. Now, no more Mrs. Anything. Call me Gram-Elaine, or plain Grams. I never took either of my husbands’ names to begin with.”

He, raised in inflexible tradition, looked almost startled, and he managed just an inelegant “um” with his empty spoon raised over his bowl.

“That’s right.” Gram-Elaine next set down chunks of steaming cornbread. “Got jalapeños, but I suspect you like a little spice. Yes? Anyway, I am the last of the Martins. The Martin clan’s been here so long, and although the ranch was down and out back when I inherited, I knew I could keep it alive. Even being a girl.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, I never said or believed such a sentiment. Always hated it, like girls aren’t as good. Anyway, my first love Alex willingly took my surname as his own when we wed. And down the line, we gave his last name as our second son’s first name. Christened him Kennedy.”

Brodie’s face lit up, about ten smiles-worth. “I’m impressed. Bucking tradition. I love it.”

“More than once,” Gram-Elaine laughed out loud. “I’m still Elaine Martin even with marrying my second man.”

We all joined her good humor. Then she frowned and peered at my bowl. “You best eat. You hurt my feelings somewhat last night.”

“Sorry, Grams.” Feeling like a picky toddler, I wasn’t much afraid of spilling today, considering my sweater was red. And after just a bit of lettuce and bread last night, and a touch of cinnamon roll for breakfast, I was starving. Brodie was already heartily digging in. But I loved the chili beans drenched in ground pepper. There was a pepper grinder permanently set in the center of the table, but I knew Gram-Elaine would blow a fuse if I dared touch up her food in any way. I took a bite, and it was great anyway.

“So good.” Again like a kid, I licked my lips.

Just then, the ancient wall phone on the kitchen wall belched out old-fashioned rings. “Well, get it, girl.” Grams ordered because she’d just sat in the chair next to Brodie.

I knew better than to do anything else. “Hearts Crossing, Addie Metcalf speaking.”

“Where is your cell phone? I’ve been calling for hours.”

It was Jessica Henderson, our choir director at Mountainview Church in town.

“I’ve been on a trail ride, and there’s no service.” I said, defensively. Jess sounded frazzled, and it couldn’t possibly be my fault. “Besides, sometimes I like being left alone.” I spoke the last few words rather pointedly.

Jess’s breath rushed down the wires like a harsh wind. “Sorry, but Addie, I’m in a terrible predicament. Erika Barton can’t make it to Vespers this afternoon at Woodside Chapel. Can you step in? Take over her handbell position. It’s your C5.”

For years, before college, I’d played C5, the middle C tone, its sharp and the two bells next to it on both sides. Their sharps and flats, too. I’d loved it then, but— “Um, Jess, I’m a bit out of practice.”

“Nonsense. It’s an easy piece. No mallets, no plucking. Bells are like riding a bike. You don’t forget. Plus we’re doing a run-through at three-thirty. I’ll see you then.”

Although of course I’d feel compelled to step in, Jess hung up before I could say another word. And I was irritated. Not even a please or thank you. Or even reveal what the “easy piece” was. One “easy” piece in high school had been the Hornpipe from Handel’s Water Music, and I hadn’t found it easy at all.

“What’s that?” Gram-Elaine was always all-ears, but she hadn’t heard the whole conversation. She was now serving Brodie and me big slices of pie.

“Looks like I’m playing in the handbell choir at Vespers later.”

Grams nodded her vigorous nod. “Eat hearty then.”

“What’s going on?” Brodie asked over a mouthful of chili, looking more masculine than ever and unafraid of spilling.

“Um, the assistant pastor at our church in town has a short Advent Vespers service on Saturdays at the chapel in the condo development at the crossroads a couple miles from here. A few songs, a short homily. Folks can worship before going out, or if they’re traveling on Sunday morning. One of the handbell players can’t make it, and the director wants me to step in.”

“Handbells are brilliant,” Brodie said with enthusiasm. “I’ve gone to performances by the Stuerling Concert Handbell Choir in Vienna several times. Just brilliant.”

“Uh, don’t get your hopes up.” I rolled my eyes. “Last time I played, we had so few ringers Nate had to take a bass bell. I warned him, oh, I warned him not to mess up.” My nerves rattled. My bells were smack in the middle and played almost constantly. The danger of me messing up was big and real, being so out of practice. In a voice choir, if you miss a note or bar, nobody can really tell. But handbells, oh, they can hear your mistake all the way to heaven. Then again, Nate had had to ring only twice, but pay strict attention to counting the whole time. I remembered it’s actually easier keeping busy every note than counting and waiting for just an occasional ring. I could do this.

“I look forward to it,” Brodie smiled at me.

Oh, no. He was going? Tension clawed at my fingers. But how could I dissuade him, me who had just yammered on about faith and trust? But my appetite had fled. Gram-Elaine got up to stand over me, flapping her apron, changing the subject.

“Eat up,” she ordered. “I’m not wasting any more of my food on you.”

I dug into the pie, and while her crust was lighter than clouds, today it sank like a chunk of concrete in my belly. Handbells. With Brodie listening. I had to trust and pray, for sure, but wished God would have sent me a not now and I’d had the courage to refuse.

Brodie finished his pie, eagerly yet not piggishly, and I realized the cinamonny apples and gingery pears actually treated my tongue. “I’ll find Fred. Then you can go practice your handbells. Get back in shape.”

“You’re so cute,” I said and realized I meant it and hadn’t said it without thinking. “I can’t practice alone with the bells. They’re kept safe in big flat trunks at church. And Jess didn’t get me the sheet music. Or at least tell me the title. At least I could pretend, with wooden spoons.”

“Jessica is a reasonable woman. You just call her back and ask her to attach it to you in an email,” ordered Gram-Elaine like a true businesswoman of the twenty-first century.

I wasn’t really listening to her because Brodie was gazing at me in a way I’d think about for the next million years.