Page 45 of Christmas at the Ranch
Samantha said goodbye and hung up.
Charlie was right, she should be proud of herself. It was obvious Drew didn’t have feelings for Samantha. But at least she was helping people; that’s what Christmas was about. Earlier that morning Beatrix practically floated from one shop to the next, and even Drew seemed content. The wedding décor was going to be stunning. Silver tablecloths and gold filigree chairs tied with gold and silver balloons. At midnight, the balloons would be released, and Drew and Beatrix would have their first dance.
Then why did Samantha wish she was spending New Year’s Eve at home? Curled up with Socks, the only living being she needed in the world, and watching the ball drop on television.
Chapter Eleven
It was two hours until dinner, and Samantha had planned on returning the diary to Arthur’s library. But if she went downstairs, she’d be drawn into a discussion with Beatrix about whether the place settings should have mistletoe or baby’s breath. Being the maid of honor was exhausting, and Samantha needed a small break.
Instead, she flipped open the diary. It wouldn’t hurt to read a little more and see if there were any clues on how it ended up in Arthur’s library. Nancy Drew never solved a mystery on the first try. Like inThe Thirteenth Pearl.Nancy’s friend, Bess, went to the closet to borrow a scarf and the necklace fell out of Nancy’s father’s racoon coat pocket. The police accused Nancy’s father of stealing the necklace. It turned out the real thief had gone around the neighborhood posing as the milkman. Her father was afraid he would catch cold and lent him the coat. Nancy proved her father was innocent by demonstrating that the racoon coat didn’t fit him anymore, he’d outgrown it since college.
The next diary entry was dated July 1991.
Dear Diary,
Oh, diary, it’s all over. The wonderful, glorious, magical time with Dutch is over. I can hear my twelfth-grade English teacher, Miss Stevens, saying adjectives are like exclamation marks. A sentence only needs one. She’s probably never been properly in love. That feeling when the mountains seem more majestic, my morning coffee tastes better, and even the guests at the dude ranch are the most interesting, kindest people in the world.
Dutch said he has a surprise for me tonight. I asked for a clue and he gave me that smile—his incredible smile that can still melt me—and said I’d find out. We’ve already done so many fun things in the evenings. Last week, I took him to a covered wagon cookout. Everyone wears cowboy hats and sings western songs around a campfire.
I was afraid Dutch would think it was cheesy, but he loved it.
This morning, I overheard Dutch asking Alice whether someone could fill in for me on breakfast cleanup duty tomorrow. At first, I was furious that he changed my schedule without consulting me. Then I realized why he asked.
Dutch plans on spending the night together.
Oh, diary, I can’t sleep with him, I just can’t.
We’ve never talked about sex. I’m not a virgin, of course. But I refuse to let what we have become a typical summer romance, spending our nights making out in some truck Dutch borrowed from anotherranch hand. Now we actually talk to each other. Last night, we sat for hours on the porch, gazing up at the stars and talking about everything: why I want to be a vet, what he hopes to do with his business degree. When he kisses me good night, he kisses with his whole body. It’s not a quick brushing of lips before he tries to unsnap my bra, like the other girls complain about.
And there’s more. Dutch still doesn’t know I’m only eighteen. I haven’t lied, it just hasn’t come up. When he finds out I just graduated from high school, he’ll turn his attentions to Leila, the brunette cheerleader from Dallas. Or Mallory, who’s twenty-seven and from Seattle. Mallory is an older woman and in law school. How could Dutch resist?
He’s picking me up at 8:00 p.m. I’ll go to dinner with him and then I’ll tell him. At least we’ll have one more meal together. Because after tonight, diary, I won’t be able to eat for a week.
The next entry was dated a few days later.
Dear Diary,
The night started as I expected. Dutch took me to Handle Bar at the Four Seasons Hotel. All the other guests were so sophisticated. The women wore cocktail dresses and the men smelled of fancy cologne. They probably couldn’t wait to get up to their rooms and feed each other chocolate-covered strawberries while they sat in their Jacuzzi bathtubs.
“Why are you smiling?” Dutch asked after the bartender brought our cocktails.
I’ve learned to drink a proper cocktail. Instead of wine in a box, or peach brandy straight from the bottle.
“This place.” I waved at the plush carpeting, pinpoint lighting, and oak fireplace. “It’s so predictable.”
“What do you mean?” Dutch demanded. “The Four Seasons is the only five-star resort in Jackson Hole. The bartender came from the St. Regis in New York.”
“How do you know where the bartender worked?” I asked sharply. “Have you brought other women here?”
I regretted it the minute I said it. We never talked about seeing other people. But it would have been almost impossible. We both worked from dawn until dinnertime. And we spent all our days off together.
Dutch didn’t seem to mind. He’s probably used to his date being jealous of other women.
“Of course I haven’t.” He leaned back in his chair. “I stopped in this afternoon. I wanted to make sure we got the best table.”
We were seated next to the window. It was sunset and the sky seemed to be showing off: pinks and purples in giant brushstrokes against a milky white canvas.
“It’s a perfect setting but it won’t do any good,” I said, sipping my Cosmopolitan.
