Page 64 of Christmas at the Ranch
Samantha wanted to say he couldn’t mean it. Her cheeks were pale and she hadn’t brushed her hair. But she didn’t have the strength to argue.
She waited until Drew closed the door. Then she pulled the covers over her cheeks and closed her eyes. Tomorrow she’d wake up and worry about the future. Right now, it felt like a Christmas miracle.
Chapter Fifteen
Samantha sat against the headboard and sipped a glass of orange juice. She was so tired of drinking liquids: hot tea, and warm milk with honey, and soup that was nothing more than broth with a few vegetables. But Dr. Parr gave her a lecture on getting adequate nutrition. So, she dutifully nibbled everything on her tray this morning: toast and fruit, and a soft-boiled egg that reminded her of being sick when she was a child.
Drew had already stopped by twice. The first time she was barely awake; she saw him peering through the door. The warmth of his expression brought back everything from the day before: Beatrix’s surprise announcement and Drew telling her his feelings and then her fainting in the lodge.
It was such an unlikely series of events she wanted to use it for a future Sloane Parker book: Sloane is relaxing at a ski chalet in Vaud, Switzerland, when she spies a familiar-looking man at the bar. It’s Oliver Stanton, the handsome race car driver she gave up to protect her friend, the French agent Claire de Salle. Oliver offers to buy her a drink. Sloane declines, she would never go behind Claire’s back. But the bartender sets down her favorite après-skicocktail: Frangelico and Grand Marnier drizzled with chocolate. Oliver sits beside her and tells his story.
He and Claire spent a month in Nice, France, while Oliver prepared to race in the Grand Prix. At first it was magical: they sailed in the bay and took long drives into the hills. Then they started having fights. Claire hated his superstitions before a race, and they didn’t enjoy the same movies. One night, there was a note on Oliver’s pillow. Claire had accepted an assignment in New York and would be gone for six months. It was better they end things now; long-distance relationships never worked.
After Sloane finishes her cocktail, Sloane and Oliver move to the outdoor hot tub. They stay up all night talking and it’s the best night of Sloane’s life. She turns her phone off; it’s Christmas and she’s on holiday. Phineas at British Intelligence can wait until tomorrow to contact her.
The second time Drew appeared, Samantha gently told him to come back later. She wanted to take a bath and put on makeup. It was fine to see each other in pajamas and with a runny nose after six months of dating. But she was hardly going to discuss their future in the robe and faded slippers she usually wore to take Socks on his morning walk.
Even if Samantha and Drew shared the same feelings, how could Samantha know it would last? Samantha thought she had loved Roger. And Drew and Beatrix had been engaged. What if it was a rebound relationship for both of them? Then she recalled how being with Drew made her feel excited and secure at the same time. And Drew seemed to light up around her. As if he’d unwrapped the most wonderful Christmas present.
Then there was Arthur. Samantha knew that Arthur adored Beatrix; he might blame Samantha for the breakup. Samantha wouldn’t be able to write Sloane Parker books anymore, and Charlie could lose his job without her on his list.
Samantha remembered something Arthur said after the fire: he praised Samantha for saving the barn, and said once he moved too slowly and lost something terribly important. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about Diana.
Drew was helping the electrician in the barn; he’d be gone for ages. Samantha had time to read a few pages of Diana’s diary before she took a bath.
She took out the diary and flipped to the next entry.
September 1991
Dear Diary,
You’ll never guess where I am. Every morning, I have to open the curtains to make sure it’s all still there: taxicabs idling on the pavement instead of cows trudging across a field, young people riding skateboards and blaring their boom boxes. A tattoo parlor next to a pet store with puppies in the window. And the smells! Greek food and spicy noodles and incense from a shop that sells enamel jewelry.
I’m sure you figured it out, I’m in New York!
I’ll tell you how it happened.
It was late August and Arthur was leaving the following week. Yes, I call him Arthur, though it took some getting used to. Anyway, we’d been having the best time. Arthur is a wonderful horseback rider. Weexplored Teton Valley: up Kodak Hill and over Little Pulpit and through Whetstone Trail. I’ll never forget seeing it through Arthur’s eyes: creeks flanked by seagrass, wildflowers prettier than any painting, and miles of fields that reached the horizon.
We ate so many picnics, and we camped at every campground between Jackson Hole and Yellowstone Park. The camping was really a way to have privacy when we made love. It was wonderful going to bed with the owls and waking to the smell of Arthur brewing coffee and cooking sausage on the little camp stove.
Yes, diary, after the hot-air balloon ride, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I can’t believe how good sex is. The first time didn’t go exactly as planned. I decided to cook dinner. It was Alice’s night off and we had the kitchen to ourselves.
I cut my finger slicing cucumber for the salad. By the time I rinsed it and found a bandage, the baked chicken was overdone and the mashed potatoes were burnt. Arthur disappeared and I thought he wasn’t coming back. Then he appeared with a shopping bag. He had gone to the market and bought makings for pizza: meatballs and cherry tomatoes and ricotta cheese. There’s a restaurant in New York called Lombardi’s that uses the same ingredients on their pizza. It’s Arthur’s favorite food.
After we ate, we sat on the porch for ages. By the time we went to his cabin, his roommate was there. We couldn’t have any privacy so we went to my cabin instead. My bed is so narrow, it was like makinglove on a child’s cot. It’s hard to be passionate when Arthur’s legs were sticking off the bed and we practically had to lie on our sides. But he was slow and gentle and we made it work.
After that, we found all sorts of places to make love. Beside streams when we went fishing. In the loft above the barn. Then one night, Arthur handed me an envelope. I couldn’t imagine what was inside.
It was an acceptance letter from NYU’s pre-veterinarian program.
My eyes widened and I gasped.
“I don’t understand.” I frowned. “I never applied to NYU.”
Arthur toyed with his coffee cup. We were sitting at the kitchen table.
“I applied for you,” he answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
