her window shattered in such a shocking manner and then coming face-to-face with a big, dangerous-looking man.
But as she approached the Star N and especially The Christmas Ranch—her family’s holiday-themed attraction that covered fifteen acres of the cattle ranch—she couldn’t seem to shake the edgy, unsettled feeling.
Where was everyone? As she approached, she could see the parking lot in front of the charming and rustic St. Nicholas Lodge and it was completely empty, which made absolutely no sense.
There should at least be a maintenance crew getting ready for the season. It usually took several weeks before opening day—which traditionally happened with a grand lighting ceremony at dusk on the Friday after Thanksgiving—to spruce things up, touch up the paint, repair any damage done throughout the summer.
Instead, the place looked like a ghost town. All it needed were a few tumbleweeds blowing through to complete the picture.
Maybe everybody had simply gone home for the day, but she suddenly realized the reindeer enclosure was missing slats and reindeer, nor did it look like any of the colored lights had been hung on the fence or in the shrubs lining the road.
She drove farther down the road with cold air whistling in from the shattered window. As she approached the parking lot entrance, her stomach suddenly dropped and she hit the brakes.
A banner obscured the sign that usually read Welcome to The Christmas Ranch, where your holiday dreams come true.
In huge red letters on a white background, it read simply, Closed Indefinitely.
Closed. Indefinitely.
Shock rocketed through her faster than a speeding sleigh. Impossible! She couldn’t believe it. Surely her sisters wouldn’t have closed down The Christmas Ranch without telling her! This was a tradition, a gift from the Nichols family to the rest of Pine Gulch and this entire area of southeastern Idaho.
Families came from miles around to partake of the holiday spirit. All of it. The horse-drawn sleigh rides. The sledding hill. Visits with Santa Claus. The reindeer herd in the petting zoo and the gift shop filled with local handicrafts and the huge collection of Nativities, many which had been sent from around the world by her parents as they traveled around as missionaries.
Even the cheesy little animatronic Christmas village was a family favorite.
It was a place of magic and wonder, a little piece of holiday spirit for the entire community to enjoy.
How could her sisters and Auntie Mary close it, indefinitely or otherwise?
And how many shocks in the space of an hour could one woman endure? Her hands shook on the steering wheel as she drove the remaining three hundred feet to the driveway leading to the ranch house.
She drove up the winding road with her heart pounding. At the house—a rambling white two-story farmhouse with a wide front porch—she parked and stomped up the steps.
Though she was tempted to dramatically storm inside—she had spent all her teen years in this house, after all, and still considered it her own—she forced herself to stop at the front door and knock.
Though Aunt Mary still lived here with Faith, it was really her sister’s house now and Hope didn’t feel she had the right to just barge in. Living in other cultures most of her life, barring the years she spent here, had given her a healthy respect for others’ personal space.
Nobody answered for a few moments. She was about to pound harder when the door suddenly opened. Instead of Faith or Auntie Mary, her nephew, Barrett, stood on the other side of the door.
At the sight of her, his darling face lit up with a joy that seemed to soothe all the ragged, battered edges of her spirit and made the whole long journey worthwhile.
“Aunt Hope! What are you doing here? I didn’t even know you were coming!”
“I’m sure it will be a big surprise to everybody,” she answered, a little grimly.
“The best, best, best kind,” her sweetly loyal nephew claimed as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She hugged him, feeling better already—even as she thought of the last little boy she had encountered, who hadn’t been nearly so enthusiastic about her presence.
“Oh, I missed you,” he exclaimed.
“I missed you, too, potato bug.”
Barrett was seven and most of their relationship had developed via email and the occasional video chat when the vast time zone conflicts could be worked out.
She hadn’t received nearly enough of these hugs in her lifetime, she suddenly decided, with an almost painful aching for family and home.
“Who’s at the door, Barrett?” she heard her sister call from the kitchen.
“Don’t tell her,” Hope said, managing a grin even though some part of her was still annoyed with her sister.
“Um, nobody,” he answered back, obviously not good at coming up with fibs on the fly.
“How can it be nobody?” her older sister said, and Hope could almost hear the frown in her voice.
Holding a finger to her mouth for Barrett, she headed down the hall toward the kitchen where her sister’s voice originated.
In the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Faith at the work island in the center of what was really command central of the house. Her sister’s dark hair was held back in a messy ponytail and she looked tired, with deep circles under her eyes and lines of strain bracketing her mouth.
More of Hope’s half-formed displeasure at her sister slipped away. Her sister had lost so much—everything!—and Hope hadn’t been here for her.
“Seriously, Barrett. Who was at the door? Was it UPS again, delivering something for Auntie Mary?”
The boy giggled, a sweet, pure sound that drew Faith’s attention from the vegetables she was cutting at the island. She looked up and her jaw sagged.
“Hope! What in the world?”
Hope mustered a smile. “Surprise.”
Her sister wiped her hands on a dish towel and came toward her. Faith had lost weight. Hope was struck again by how fragile and slight she seemed, as if a sharp gust of wind from a December storm would blow her clear out to the barn.
Those lines around her mouth had been etched by pain, she suddenly realized. Her sister had lost the love her life, her childhood sweetheart, a mere four months earlier in a tragic accident and had barely had time to grieve. She would be reeling from the loss of her husband for a long time.
Travis Dustin had been killed after he had rolled an all-terrain vehicle while rounding up cattle in the mountains. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet and had been killed instantly, leaving behind Faith and their two children.
Hope still couldn’t believe he was gone. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture him the last time she saw him alive, nearly two years earlier when she had been able to come home briefly between assignments in time for New Year’s Eve. He had been a dear friend as well as a beloved brother-in-law and
