“I’ve got a sleigh. I’ll hook up a couple of the big horses to it, put a few supplies in, in case he needs them.”
“I’m coming.”
“I just said we need to cool off.”
“I’ll try to keep my hands off you. But, Ty, I am not missing a genuine sleigh ride for anything.”
Ty looked torn, but then he gave in. It was not like him to give in so easily, and she felt her heart warm as much as it had for the kiss. He wanted to share this experience with her and Jamey. Their worlds were not yet finished melting together.
“Now, what do you think your dad might need? We’ll bring him the last loaf of fresh bread and—”
“He doesn’t need the last loaf of fresh bread,” Ty said sourly.
“Ty! We can always make more.”
But he still looked sour as she found a box and with her good hand started loading a few basic supplies, including the fresh bread, into it. Jamey woke, and without being asked, Ty disappeared down the hall.
When he came out the baby had already been changed and was in a fresh Onesies.
An hour later, with Ty carrying Jamey in his little blue snowsuit, they made their way down to the barn. The snow was still coming. But did it seem a little lighter this morning?
Handing Jamey to her at the barn, Ty left them. He returned with two horses, one lead rope in each hand, and brought them through the open barn doors. The horses were absolutely huge, golden-colored with heavy white manes and tails, and white feathers around their feet.
“Their feet must be as big as pie plates!” she said.
Maybe her awareness had been heightened by that kiss, but every single thing seemed to shimmer this morning.
She was so aware: Ty in a sheepskin-lined jean jacket, dark cowboy hat, leather gloves, looking strong and rugged and calm and self-assured—the quintessential cowboy. And the horses: clouds of breath, the warm smell of them, the squeak and jingle of the leather harnesses as Ty got them ready.
“Can I breathe in their noses?” she said. “The way I did with Ben?”
He cast her a glance from under the shadowed brim of his cowboy hat. After that kiss she was aware of him trying frantically to rebuild walls. But she did not miss the quiet satisfaction that passed through his eyes that she was not afraid of these huge horses.
She went and stood at their shoulders, breathed in their wonderful scent, let Jamey pet and stroke and coo and call out in excitement.
But all the time, she was so aware of how Ty was with the horses. She had promised not to moon over him, but really, how could she stop herself?
Besides, he was very focused on what he was doing, ignoring her. This was second nature to him. Ty worked around the huge animals with confidence and unconscious grace, entirely certain of himself. He talked to them as he quickly brushed them out, his tone low and soothing, his voice sending shivers up and down her spine.
The harnesses seemed complicated, and yet Ty’s manner was easy. Putting a harness on a horse was no different for him than checking the air pressure on a tire or the dipstick on the oil was for most men.
And yet watching a man doing mundane vehicle maintenance could never have this kind of pull to it.
Watching Ty get the horses ready, his hands gliding along strong muscles, working buckles, untangling leather straps, was like watching something extraordinarily and breathtakingly beautiful. It was a symphony of motion and energy.
When he had the horses harnessed, he led them out into the snow. Bells jingled on the big leather collars and the snow kicked out in huge puffs from their feathered feet.
There was a lean-to attached to the barn, and in it was a huge lump under a blue tarp. He dropped the reins for the horses.
“Stand,” he commanded, and the huge horses stood quietly, while he went and removed the tarp.
Again, she felt as if she was in a state of heightened awareness, because the sleigh was so pretty it made her eyes smart with tears.
It was possibly the most Christmassy thing she had ever seen. It was painted bright red, with a black leather front seat and shiny runners.
Expertly, Ty backed the horses toward the hitch. Again, watching his confidence and efficiency of motion took her breath away. Once the horses were hitched, he took the baby, helped her up onto the seat and climbed up beside her.
He took up the reins. “Hang on.” He made a clicking noise. The sleigh lurched as it moved from the dry ground under the roof to the snow outside the lean-to. And then it was gliding along, the huge horses plowing effortlessly through the deep snow, tossing their heads, moving into a huge-gaited trot.
Ty directed them up the hill to the house, dropped the reins and told the horses to stand. He made several trips: the box of supplies, baby things, warm blankets which he stowed behind the seat. And then lastly he came out with several square items wrapped in towels.
“I threw a couple of bricks in the oven this morning after you said you were coming. Just tuck them around you and Jamey.”
She did and the sensation of warmth on this chilly day was incredible. The sensation of being cared about was even more incredible.
Though, she reminded herself, he would have denied it. If she questioned it, she was sure he would say it was something he would do for anyone.
Ty got back in the driver’s seat, took up the reins and moved the sleigh down the slope of his hill, where his driveway once had been. At the bottom of the hill, he turned along a wooden fence line.
“This is called a pioneer fence,” he said. “My great-grandfather built it.”
The snow falling was even lighter now, and the horses settled into the task at hand, bells jingling, their great strength breaking a path through the snow effortlessly. The runners on the sleigh made a hissing noise on the ground. The baby laughed and all those sounds became part of the magic of a world muffled by snow.
“I think,” Amy whispered, “this may be the most beautiful moment of my whole life.”
Ty shot her a look that clearly said sheltered, but it didn’t matter. The horse-drawn sleigh followed the fence for a while, and then Ty turned and they wove their way through open fields, then through a small forested stretch. When they came out the sun had burst through and was glinting off the pristine snow.
But it wasn’t white. It was like the earth was covered in sparkling diamonds with blue fire at their core.
“Don’t get your hopes up about the snow stopping,” Ty said.
But somewhere along the way, Amy realized, all that had shifted. She didn’t want it to stop. She wanted it to snow forever, to stay in this world of the two of them, and the baby, and Scrabble and baking bread together, and squeezing into the cab of his tractor and playing with horses.
“Why do you say that?”
“I can taste more snow on the air.”
She stared at him. “You can taste snow on the air?”
“Sure, try it.”
And so she stuck out her tongue, and tasted nothing. And then she breathed the air in through her mouth. Still nothing.
And then she noticed his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.
“You can’t taste it!” she said, thumping him firmly on the arm.
He rubbed his arm with pretend hurt. “Yes, I can. But I also heard it on the radio. Slight clearing today, more snow coming.”
And