Walker Ranch: Mistletoe

December, in the beginning stages of winter, feels like a breath of fresh air. Ignoring the onslaughts of the bad winter drivers, the crisp air is as refreshing as a glass of ice cold lemonade on a hot summer day. Absolutely breath taking.

I wouldn't give up the world to live anywhere else, even if Winston had gotten down on both knees and begged me to move somewhere warmer with him. Houghton has always been my home, and always will be my home. In the twenty-six years that I have lived in Michigan, I have learned to love, more like tolerate, the awful things than come with Michigan winters, only because of what December brings. The joy and magic of Christmas.

With each passing day, my heart grows more elated about the holiday of giving. I honestly do believe it's the most magical time of the year. It's just one of those feelings that is so hard to describe, but you can feel it all the way down to your bones. Aside from the hell Jackson and my father had put me through, Christmas has remained one of my favorite holidays, and nobody can take that from me. I won't allow it, even if I do suck at gift giving.

Hunter, my twin, has gone rabid these last few days, trying to get the remaining Christmas decorations up, and any last minute gift shopping. He has always been more on top of the Christmas thing than I have, I may love the holiday, but I am a master at procrastination when it comes to gifts, making sure that everyone knew that we celebrate it with a passion, even after everything we go through.

My twin takes it so seriously that he pulls out his large rolling whiteboard and makes a section for each person on the property. He scores us on our participation and likeness on the holiday. He thinks it's a fucking game. But I do have to admit that I do peek into his room time and again to see where everyone is at. Hunter seems to always win, and our dad seems to always lose.

"You know what?" my gaze lands on Winton's still half asleep face. My head resting on his bare chiseled chest, my right arm draped across his fading abs, my right hand lightly holding onto his left side.

Winston looks down at me at a slightly awkward angle, giving him a not so appealing double chin. It's the faintest double chin, but it's still not very attractive. That's the only little thing that bothers me. He cocks his right brow in an upward motion. He tries to hide the fact that he's not feeling great by wiping his nose when I look back at my slider door.

"Even when Christmas does pass, winter will still be here." my answer is genuine and soft. Is it Christmas or winter that makes you feel this way? His words repeat in my head, realizing that my answer doesn't will tell him what he was looking for. I look past the glass door, searching through the snow covered earth for a better answer. "Both," I say more honestly.

He answers me with a congested hum.

My breasts press into his side as I situate myself closer to him, using my right arm as leverage. "I feel more joy with Christmas for the purpose of it being the holiday of giving. But winter in general feels magical."

There is a calmness in the falling snow. An unsettling, yet comforting, eerie silence that the snow bestows on the land, carrying every little sound for miles through the trees and the emptiness of the barren fields. A smell so fresh, and yet so cold.

Classic Christmas music plays softly on the speakers of the small craft store. Winter has completely settled in by now. Snow as high as my knee. The cold air nipping at your skin like a warning not to stay outside for too long. I didn't want to leave that bed this morning, not when it was so warm with Winston's naked body in it.

But, Christmas is in twelve days, and I still haven’t even gotten gifts for my mom and brother. I don’t even know what to get Winston. We’ve only been together for two months. We don’t even know each other very well. I had told him last week not to worry about getting me anything, but he shrugged it off like it didn’t bother him any. But I still can't help feel the pressure of needing to get him something.

My hands shuffle through the different spools of yarn, there are just so many different colors. My mother has been going on and on about needing a new blanket project for this winter since she finished her last one. She had taken up knitting after my grandparents passed. My mother says it’s a way to keep her mother’s memory living. They used to knit together before my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

Each ball of yarn my fingers brush over would rub me the wrong way. The softness of each thread makes me want to pull them off the shelf, but the colors are not as desirable. What if I choose the wrong color and my mom doesn’t like it?

Wrinkles form between my brows as they furrow. I am terrible at gift giving. With each passing minute, I grow more frustrated with Christmas shopping. I should have just stayed in that bed.

My eyes land on an Annie’s Kit Club pattern book. There's a calling to it, like that's the gift to give my mother. She might like this more instead of mix match yarn.

An owl hooting comes from my phone. I reach for the book, my fingers curling around one side, and quickly place it in the basket hanging from my arm. I pull my phone out from my back pocket and see it’s a text from Winston. My thumb lands on the fingerprint scan and unlocks my phone to our conversation.

Winston: When did you say you were going to be home? Your brother is terrorizing the guys with Christmas decorations.

Shit! I still have to find things for him and my brother. I quickly type; I’m heading home now. My feet carry me to the register, and I pay for the book and head out.

I come to a stop when there is more than a dusting of snow on my truck. Well, this is unfortunate, I left my gloves in the truck. With my bare hand, I brush the snow off my passenger door. My hand turns red in a heartbeat from the snow and the negative temps of the early morning air. Hunter is dead when I get home.

A lot of people have a very strong dislike to winter, but I think it is one of the most beautiful times of year. Watching the kids, as I drive by houses, frolicking in the snow. Building little snow forts and snowmen. Having snowball fights. Seeing the lights twinkle on each house and the trees as I pass by. Watch as the inflatables dance with relentless wind. Squinting my eyes as the snow falls harder.

Actually, that’s my least favorite part of winter. When the falling snow is so thick that even squinting your eyes can’t even help you see better. I strongly dislike whiteouts when I’m driving. I do admit, it can be very thrilling when there’s a jump scare in a whiteout, but it can be very dangerous.

The worst part about freshly plowed roads and whiteouts is playing the staying in between the mailboxes game. I have seen a couple of head-on crashes because of it. Besides, the only time that really works is if I’m in town where the population is more dense. Instead of the far and few mailboxes where Walker Ranch is located.

My freshly plowed driveway now has a couple of inches of snow. A perfect job for Hunter.

I bring my cavalry blue tundra to a stop at the railing by the house. I don’t even have to get out of my truck to hear the shouting coming from the loft. Well, this is annoying. They’re acting like a bunch of children. I wonder what childish act Hunter is going to pull now.

My mom steps out onto the porch, wearing her tan house slippers, a pair of black leggings, a black low-cut top, and an extra thick tan cardigan. I quickly grab her present and throw it in the center console of my truck so she doesn’t see it.

I open my door, letting the cold air hit me in one fell swoop. It’s the kind of cold that I can only see my breath if I breathe in through my nose, and that only lasts for a couple of minutes. “Get inside, or you’re going to catch a cold.” the words come from my mouth in a mocking tone. I swear I am the adult around here sometimes!

My mom just shoots me a glare, not finding my tone very amusing. “Do you need help bringing the ornaments in?”

Everything inside me falls. Suddenly, I remember why I had gone to the craft store in the first place. I mutter a curse under my breath. How could I have let myself get so sidetracked?

“There you are!” Winston shouts from the barn.

My mom lets out an audible sigh. “Go deal with your brother.” she presses a finger to her temple. She looks worried. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

Oh boy, it sounds like she needs to talk. I hope it is nothing too serious. But judging the look on her face, it might be. The last time she had that look on her face, she told my dad to get out of the house.

My feet bring me over to Winston and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I love you, but you kind of made me forget to grab what I had gone to get in the first place.”

His Fiji blue eyes glimmer down at me with a cloud of sickly exhaustion. “I’ll make it up to you.” he says with a dirty grin on his lips. Some how, that doesn't make me feel any better.

Crashing comes from the loft. What the actual hell? I hurry to the loft with Winston right behind me. When I open the door, I am met with a disaster of living space. Hunter and Dusty are fighting over a garland my grandmother and I had made before she passed. It was one of her last lucid moments. We all were so grateful for the memory, even if it was only for that day.

“Stop!” I shout, but it doesn’t seem to their attention. Panic rises in me, my brown eyes watch as they pull on the garland. Pieces of evergreen from the ranch fall to the floor. Pinecones fall, hitting and bouncing off the floor. Just like that, my grandmother’s master piece is now in two with a bunch of smaller pieces on the floor.

Hunter’s face is shock ridden as he turns to look at me. It is in that moment, my brother realized he fucked up. His childish acts did not do him an favors this time.

“Hunter, what is the matter with you?” my words are accusing and unforgiving.

Hunter just points a finger at Dusty. “He started it!” like that is going to make things any better.

Mom might already be having a bad day. The last thing she needs is to find out that my immature brother had to ruin something that her mother made.

“I don’t fucking care who started it, you’re not two anymore.” I take the piece Dusty is holding onto, shoot him a deathly glare, and hand it to my twin. “Mom is not going to find out about this because you are going to fix it.” Dusty lets out a chuckle as I put my brother in his place. I turn around to face him, “And you," pointing and angry finger, and jabbing it right into his chest. "You’re going to help him. You are both grown men, so start acting like it!”

I storm out of the loft, tears threatening to fall from my eyes with the pent up rage my brother inflicted. I really don’t want them to see me cry over a Christmas decoration. Most importantly, I don’t want Winston to see me cry. Sure he has seen me cry before, held me when my heart broke in two. But, I try to avoid showing any sign of weakness when I can. I am as strong as an old oak tree.

“That was hot,” Winston says from right behind me, nearly making me jump out of my skin. I turn to look at him, everything about his posture suggests that he’s turned on right now. His aroused smile turns to a frown. “Oh, I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” his southern drawl consumed in worry.

I shake my head free of my brother’s stupidity. “No,” my feet take a few steps closer to my tall, handsome cowboy, and my right pointer finger curls around the opening hem of his flannel near the collar and pull him closer. Winston’s arms wrap themselves around my waist, making the gap between us even smaller. “My brother can just be an idiot sometimes.” I’m not lying, but I don’t really feel like telling him about the garland.

Winston raises a hand and places a finger under my chin, tilting it up towards him and placing his lips gently to mine. “You wanna go out for a ride?” his question is genuine.

My brows furrow in an upward motion. “You sure it ain’t going to be to cold out for you?” he was complaining about how cold it was at breakfast. He nods his head hesitantly.

I can see it now, Winston Wyatt, a born and raised Oklahoma cowboy, freezing his ass off on a trail just to please his girlfriend. How sweet. He’ll complain about the cold. I guarantee it.

The quiet and calmness of the gently falling snow carry the sound of Winston’s teeth chattering to my ears. It’s almost louder than the crunching of the horses hooves on the snow.

We have been keeping the trails cleared. River and Dusty have been occasionally been coming out and sprinkling sand where it gets a little slick for more traction. In doing that, the paths have become mostly crunchy snow now.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” my voice is full of concern. His teeth started chattering before we even made it out to the far pasture. I think he said he’s got like three layers on. Personally, I think that is a bit over kill.

Winston lets out a little grunt. “I’ll get used to it.” that sounds like he’s going to complain. “I haven’t been in winters this cold since I lived in Montana.”

“Oh?” I didn’t know he lived in Montana. They can get some pretty nasty winters.

“Yeah, I was working a job there.” his tone is drawn back, almost like the memory is painful for him the think about.

We’ve only been together for a couple months, but I still don’t know much about him. He kind of keeps his past mysterious. “For a cowboy who’s lived most his life in Oklahoma, you’re a fairly weathered Oklahoman.” I tease, hoping that maybe it will get Winston to open up some more.

What kind of relationship would we have if he hid everything from me? I can see a forever with him. A love so full of devotion and passion that the world would stop if it came crashing down. A sparkling new ring to show that I cannot be taken by another heart. An intimate wedding in our favorite place, wisteria in full bloom in colors of purples, yellows, and white. Our own little house on the east side of the property, overlooking the pastures as the sun sets. Kids playing in the yard of green lush grass, chasing the dogs around. I can see all of that with him.

“Do you remember when I told you how I’ve never been in a relationship like you were in?” wait, what? How does this have anything to do with him and Montana?

My head turns slightly to the left where Winston sits on Whiskey next to me, my eyes shooting him a concerned glare. Is he about to tell me that he actually has been engaged to be married and walked in on his cheater fiancée fucking his best friend in his bed? He doesn’t even act like he’s been cheated on.

He tilts his head the slightest, catching on to my glare. A smirk grows in the right corner of his mouth, revealing that all too familiar dimple in his right cheek I love so much. “I was fresh out of high school, in a serious relationship with a girl named Heather. We were together for three years. Anyways, come fall, I had received a letter in the mail from a bigshot rancher in Yellowstone wanting to sponsor me for the next rodeo season, because they were really impressed with my performance and said I had a lot of potential. Also for the fact hat they had a spot open up.” oh, this was like a while ago.

A small part of me wants to stop listening and carry on with our ride. But the most part of me wants to learn more about the cowboy, I ended up so lucky to be with, who wound up stealing my heart right under my nose. No matter how hard I tried to deny the truth and try not to listen to my brother, the flame had been lit and caught like a wild fire in an overly dry forest, fast and raging.

“I begged her to come with me even though I knew she wasn’t willing to switch schools. We both were pursuing dreams in opposite corners of the country.” he starts to ramble on about the ex-girlfriend, I don’t really care much about, saying she went to New York for theater. “I loaded up Whiskey, and headed to Montana the November to start working for my sponsor. There was already snow when I got there.” he pauses and stares ahead of us, to the trees of the woods we are now approaching.

The trees all have a few inches of snow blanketing the bare branches, providing our trail with a snowy canopy in place of summer leaves. The tall evergreen pines looking more like Christmas trees.

Winston pulls Whiskey to a stop, turning his head to lock eyes with me. “To make a long story short, I went to New York to see her that December for a play she was in. I took her out to dinner after her play, and she said told me she didn’t love me anymore and that she wanted to break up.” the look on his face is flat and expressionless. The tone in his voices suggests that he was not amused with her sudden change in feelings. “I was going to propose to her and she shot me down because she was developing feelings for another guy.”

Honestly, I was not expecting that. That is almost equivalent to being cheated on. “Wow,” is all I can say.

Winston shrugs his shoulders like it doesn’t even matter anymore. “I didn’t think that I’d ever learn to love like that again.” there’s a small twinkle in his pools of Fiji colored eyes, giving off the slightest bit that he was wrong now that he is here with me.

I lean over to my left of my saddle, "Well, I love you and only you." a smile grows on my face just before his left hand reaches for the back of my neck and pulling me closer to him, his chapped lips landing on my not so chapped lips.

If Winston wasn't at risk of getting really sick, I'd stay here with him until the sun goes down. But he is, and I think he might actually have a cold. No matter how many times he swears he is fine, he really isn't. Winston looks worse today than he did yesterday.

I walk to the living room with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a cup of hot cocoa for Winston. He's lounging on the love seat with his right arm hanging over his forehead. It's about five in the evening and it is dark out already. My mom sitting in a single seater with a cup of coffee in her hand, starring down at her open laptop.

My mom looks up at me with the same wrinkles by her eyes. She is worried about something.

"What is it?" I ask her, my stomach sinking with each passing second she doesn't tell me what is worried about.

She shifts in her seat. "Uncle Henry called this morning." I haven't seen him in a couple of years. He pretty much shut us out after his wife died. Henry Walker, the eldest son of Eugene and Clarissa Walker, my great grandparents. He loves the family and the farm, but he always says he needed to get out of Michigan. "He apparently has been having some heart problems the last few weeks." that same sinking feeling hits my gut. My grandfather had heart problems.

"Is it a genetic condition?" the words come out of my mouth before I have the time to stop myself. I know it's not a genetic condition. We all had been test when my grandfather started having problems with his.

My mom ignores my question and raises her brows. "He asked if you and Hunter could go out there in a few days to help him with his drift. He had a last minute shipment scheduled just before Christmas and he's too weak right now to move them." ew, pigs. They are so messy and noisy. I completely forgot that he had pigs.

Placing the bowl of soup and cup of cocoa on the coffee table, I look my mom right in the eyes. "Hunter can't go." the words come out my mouth irritated.

Winston sits up, "I can help. Believe it or not, I have some experience with corralling a drift of pigs. I'd like to think I'm quite good at it." a cocky smirk tugs at his lips.

Oh lord. "If you think Michigan winter's are bad, you ain't seen nothing yet. Uncle Henry lives in Tioga, North Dakota." he gives me a look that suggests that makes any difference. I let out a sigh. "North Dakota has more open prairies, which means less trees to shield from the brutal wind." I turn to my mother who is sipping on her coffee and starring at her laptop again. "I'm surprised he even keeps pigs. He has had so many die to exposure over the years."

My mom shrugs he shoulders. "He's managed to have great turnouts. And he usually loses not more than three pigs a winter. That is significantly less than all the other farmers around that keep pigs out there. He usually keeps them in a heated barn." her newly manicured nails taping on her mug. "He's one of the top pig farmers out there. Sells his meat locally in the winter."

I run my right hand through my loose hair in complete disbelief. "Doesn't he have anyone else to help him move the pigs in the barn?"

My mom shakes her head. "You know how he is. He has to do everything himself. It's a miracle he even called asking for help."

Dread falls over me. "That's at least a thirteen hour drive, given we don't run into traffic and the roads are good." Winston just blinks at me like he doesn't really care. The last thing I want is for him to get even more sick while we are in a different state.

I'm not going to win this argument. My mom's eyes show she is not going to let me get out of this, considering Hunter already can't go, for reasons I am not willing to tell her.

I sigh, hanging my head in defeat. "Fine, tell him Winston and I will be there in a few days then."

I really hate pigs.