Page 16 of Christmas at the Ranch
“They’re a big part of the American west,” Marigold agreed. “When I started working at the gift shop, I learned everything I could so I was well informed for the tourists. I ended up learningeven more important things for myself. I’ve become quite close with some of the Native American communities, I attend their yearly powwows and sometimes go to their public dances. They have a lot to teach people who are open to listening.”
“I’d love to borrow the pendant,” Samantha decided. “Thank you for offering it to me.”
Marigold nodded and smiled.
“The people here take care of each other,” she said. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with Jackson Hole and not want to leave at all.”
Outside, the sidewalk teemed with tourists. Couples posed for photos under the famous elk antlers, and families sipped hot chocolate and ate gingerbread cookies. Santa Claus handed out presents from his sleigh, and carolers wearing cowboy hats sang Christmas carols in front of the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.
Samantha couldn’t remember the last time she’d strolled down the street on Christmas Eve. By this time last year, she had been safely in her apartment with the fireplace poker wedged under the door. The front door of the building was left open to receive last-minute packages and Samantha was afraid of who might enter the building.
She realized she was starving. She hadn’t eaten any breakfast.
First, she stepped inside a restaurant called the Cowboy Steakhouse whose menu promised it served Old Western food in a new, healthy way.
After she read the descriptions—burgers so thick you couldn’t cut them with a knife, mashed potatoes swimming in butter, and mince pies topped with extra-thick whipped cream that would take a week of running to work off—she hastily put back the menu and left.
Then she entered a restaurant named the Gun Barrel that served grilled rainbow trout and a selection of salads. Samantha took one look at the animal heads mounted on the wall and knew she couldn’t eat with a stuffed moose staring down at her.
Finally, she entered a café named the Bunnery that had been a local favorite for decades. Samantha could see why. The smell wafting from the kitchen—golden-brown waffles with maple syrup and some kind of cinnamon pastry—was heavenly. And the décor was so cheerful. Poinsettias were scattered around the room and the tables were covered with blue-and-white-checkered tablecloths. A Christmas tree was decorated with horse-hoof-shaped ornaments and the fireplace was hung with stockings.
Samantha approached the hostess desk. “A table for one please.”
“I’m sorry,” the girl said, glancing up. “We’re completely full.”
Samantha’s stomach rumbled. She didn’t want to go back onto the street. And she didn’t want to eat at one of the other restaurants with names like Snake River Grill and Snake River Brewing Company. Just seeing the word “snake” took away her appetite.
“How long will it be for a table?” she asked hopefully.
The girl tapped on her computer screen. “We’re fully booked all afternoon. Like every restaurant in town.” She frowned as if Samantha should know better. “It is two days before Christmas, all the hotels are booked all week.”
Samantha opened her mouth to make some snappy reply: “Jackson Hole is a holiday destination. The restaurants should be able to handle all the tourists.” But those were the kind of comments that made New Yorkers unpopular. And she refused to be unkind to anyone, especially at Christmas.
A man crossed the floor. It was Drew. He was holding a coffee mug and smiling.
“She’s with me,” he said to the hostess. “I’m sitting over there, next to the fireplace.”
The hostess glanced at Drew. She shrugged and picked up a menu.
“Follow me,” she said grudgingly to Samantha. “You’re lucky. The kitchen is still serving bunny waffles with organic butter for the next hour.”
Samantha waited until the hostess left. She turned to Drew.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said stiffly. “I could have grabbed a sandwich at a deli.”
“I didn’t have to. But I wanted to,” Drew remarked, sipping his coffee. “I couldn’t let you be chastised like a child who came down too early on Christmas morning.”
Samantha laughed. “The hostess was a bit mean. I was only asking for a table, not a ride on Santa’s sleigh.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t very nice to you earlier. I apologize.”
“You mean when the elk charged our sleigh?” Drew said, with a twinkle in his eye. “You were a bit rough on me. Apology accepted.”
“I’ve never been so frightened,” she said honestly. “You were so calm and self-assured. I suppose it’s different when you’ve spent time out here.”
“You get used to it. The first summer I was in Jackson Hole, I couldn’t believe that bears practically share the road with cars,” Drew said. “But they’re quite content to leave you alone.” He grinned. “Unless you leave out the garbage, then the bears think you’re inviting them to join you for dinner.”
Samantha imagined bears peering through the windows at Arthur’s ranch while they were seated at the dining table and her stomach dropped.
“Don’t worry, my father keeps the ranch perfectly safe.” Drew noticed her expression. “He walks around the property every evening checking for bears, and he’s a stickler for always sealing the trash.”
