lap, his face relaxed and happy, his laughter frequent.
She couldn’t taste snow coming, but somehow the taste of him, the way his lips had been on hers, was still with her, woven into the magic of the day.
Woven into who she was becoming, and who she would always be, now.
They moved up a hill, crested it, traveled along the ridge for a bit, and then he took the reins back from her as they headed down through a small copse of trees.
When they came out of the trees, they were partway down a valley, in rolling open pasture. Spread below them was a scene from a Christmas card: an old barn, wood grayed from weather, sagging from age and hard use.
And there was a house.
It was a two-story log house, the logs weathered as gray as the barn. A low porch wrapped around the entire place. Smoke curled out of a river rock chimney.
Amy could see bright curtains in the windows and cheerful light inside. Even from here she could see an immense wreath on the front door, and the porch railings decorated with festive red bows.
“Stop, Ty, please stop.”
He sent her a puzzled look, but did as she asked. She passed him the baby and climbed from the sled, stood in the snow, gazing down at the house below her.
The horses turned their heads to look at her, curious about the stop.
“Stand.”
Ty came with Jamey and stood beside her.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
She took in a deep breath, looked at him, this self-assured man holding her baby as if it was second nature to him.
She debated telling him. It made her feel as if she was showing him something that would make her so vulnerable.
But, she reminded herself, the new Amy was courageous.
And that didn’t just mean taking the reins.
It meant risking showing people your heart. It meant doing that, even though she was risking rejection—again. She felt compelled to tell him who she really was.
“Oh, Ty,” she breathed, “all my life I dreamed of home. All my life. And that is what I dreamed of.” She gestured to the scene below them.
He could have done anything. He could have been impatient. Or mocked her. But instead, she felt his hand on her shoulder, the gentle squeeze of fingers under his gloves.
He gave her his silence and let her drink her fill of the beautiful scene. And then he helped her back on the sleigh and they made the final descent to the house.
As they got closer, it got better. Ty pulled the big horses to a halt at the wide steps that went up to the front door. There was actually a hitching post there, and he got down from the sleigh, fastened the horses, and then came back and took Jamey before helping her down.
The wreath on the door was thick, lush with different types of boughs all woven together. It had a huge plaid bow on it, and country ornaments—rocking horses and snowmen with cowboy hats—peeked out from under the boughs. There was a little wooden word buried in the bows.
Wish.
As they went up the steps, she could smell the fragrance of the wreath. It reminded her of how close it was to Christmas. Despite the tree at Ty’s house, she had not been able to achieve any kind of Christmassy feeling there.
The door opened before they knocked, and Amy’s sense of somehow coming home was complete. A woman stood there, diminutive, white-haired, her face etched, not with surprise, but with kindness.
Behind her wood floors glowed with the patina of age, and a fireplace, hung with socks, crackled with bright welcome. Wish. This was exactly what Amy had always wished for.
“Ty!” the woman said, “what a nice surprise.”
“Beth.”
Amy turned to him, taken aback by something cold in his tone and in his eyes. This is what she should have known all along: Ty was not interested in being part of Amy’s picture of perfection.
“Oh, my word,” Beth said reverently, holding out her arms. If she had noticed Ty’s coldness, she did not acknowledge it. “You’ve brought us a baby.”
Ty handed off the baby into the eager arms, turned around and clattered back down the steps.
“Hunter, look! Ty’s come and he’s brought company. Come in. Come in.”
Amy stepped in the door. And saw Ty’s father. She would have known it was him instantly, not so much because they looked alike but because of the way he held himself. He was extraordinarily handsome even though his hair was white as snow and his features were weathered. He was in a wheelchair, but even so, he exuded power, his energy was like a brilliant light in the room.
His features were stern, and there was wariness in his dark eyes, but when he saw the baby it melted. Beth brought Jamey to him, and he held out his arms and took him. Amy had never seen a man so at ease with a baby. Certainly Edwin had never acquired this ease, and her father-in-law was like a stick man when he found Jamey in his arms.
But Ty’s father was obviously a man who knew a great deal about babies.
My mother left when I was about that age.
Ty came back in the door and set the box of supplies inside of it. “I thought you might be needing a few things.”
Their eyes locked, the young man and the old.
Hunter spoke, his tone proud. “We were just fine.”
The tension was raw in the room, and Amy suddenly understood why Ty had not phoned and had acquiesced so easily to her coming.
His offer to help would have been refused. And he had brought her because she would provide the distraction.
“I’m Amy Mitchell,” she said, kicking off her boots. Her hand was taken by Beth.
“Amy, I’m Beth, and this is Hunter.”
She went over to Ty’s dad. She loved how he was with the baby. He was already engrossed in removing the snowsuit, and Jamey was enthralled with him.
“Papa, papa, papa,” he crowed as if he had met a long-lost love.
She extended her hand, and it was swallowed in one that was rough textured and as strong as his son’s. His eyes searched her face, and then he let go of her hand, a small smile playing the stern line of his mouth.
“I’m Hunter Halliday.”
“Tea or coffee?” Beth called.
Ty was still standing at the door, holding the first box of supplies. He looked as if he planned to just drop it off and leave!
“Tea,” Amy said. She wasn’t leaving this place for as long as she could help it. The sensation of coming
