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Now they’re hanging up.
It only takes a moment to realize who put them there. I turn my head, seeing Kaleb throw a saddle over his shoulder and lead Shawnee back into the stable. I smile to myself.
“They’re good,” Jake says. “Can’t wait to see the finished product.”
I’m not sure how much I’ll get done with one arm, but I’m excited to get back in the shop. Jake takes his mug and starts to leave the kitchen, but then he turns and looks at me, suddenly serious.
“I don’t want you venturing off the property,” he tells me. “And don’t go outside at night, okay?”
“Why?” He’s trained me how to deal with wild animals.
But he tells me, “The fire started in the loft. There’s nothing there that would’ve caused it.”
I stare at him. So… It wasn’t electrical or something the boys did? What…
And then it hits me. The fire was set on purpose?
“I thought you said no one could get up here,” I say
“No.” He shakes his head. “I said the roads were closed.”
He leaves the room, and I gape after him. He’s not serious. Someone else could’ve been here last night?
I adjust the spray gun, turning the dial on the gun to a lower setting, and stand back, spraying a light dusting of gold paint over the most pronounced parts of the blue, violet, and green dresser. I graze the perimeter of the top, as well as the legs and the four corners.
Turning the gun off, I set it down and pull off my mask and eyewear. The blue and violet melt into each other, and I love how the blue drips into the green. The gold gives it a sheen, and once the handles are back on, I think it’ll look amazing.
I smile. I like it.
Removing the sling Jake had me put my arm in, I look down at the bandage, not seeing any blood seeping through. I don’t really need the sling, especially since it was my left arm injured, and I’ve been doing fine with just my right hand today, but Jake was right. Keeping it immobile helped with the pain.
I pop two aspirin with a drink of water and pass Noah and Jake as I walk back into the house.
Washing my hands, I look out the window, seeing the snow-drenched branches and needles, a light wind kicking up the powder on the rock cliffs around the barn and stable. From this view, the barn looks fine. I can’t see the other side and the whole corner burnt out. Thank goodness most of it is still useable. The boys spent the morning cleaning out the rubble and patching up what they could with the supplies we had on hand before laying down fresh hay.
The red light on my phone lights up as I dry my hands, and I turn it on to see a missed call from Mirai. I let out a sigh.
If I talk to her, what should I lead with? How I was injured by falling debris in a barn fire or how we were in a police chase or how I’ll be lucky to make it out of here next summer not pregnant?
No. I’m not ready to let the world in.
I ignore the call.
But I catch sight of the date on my phone and do a double take. It’s almost December. Christmas.
All of a sudden, I glance outside and see the trees that surround us. They look just like Christmas trees. I lean over the sink to check them out. I doubt Jake ever did much decorating when the boys were kids, but I’m sure he put a tree up. He’s not a Grinch.
And I’m sure he shopped for a tree right in his own backyard.
Pushing off the counter, I almost leap to the closet, grabbing my coat, hat, and gloves. I slip everything on quickly and then kick off my sneakers and slip my feet into my boots. Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I race through the kitchen and into the shop, grabbing a pair of cutters off the tool rack and stepping outside before Jake or Noah can pull their heads out of the bikes to ask me questions.
The cold nips at my cheeks and nose, but the clouds are rolling in, promising more snow, and something can’t keep the smile off my face. I step through the snow, knee deep as I climb the small incline between the stable and the shop toward the most perfect tree laying ahead. I noticed it months ago, but with the snow on it, it’s even more beautiful. It’s fifteen feet tall and full around the bottom as it grows into a sharp point at the top, perfect shape for a topper.
But I’m not cutting it down. And I won’t ask Jake to. No, it would be a shame.
I do need some fringe off it, though. It has plenty.
Walking up, I curl my toes in the boots against the cold snow that slipped in and bat at the branches, dusting off the snow.
