Page 19 of Rebel Moon

“Tell us more about what you do,” I said. “You still live in Stonehaven, right?”

“That’s right,” Holly said. “They escaped but I’m still there. I run a nonprofit community development corporation. Think grassroots, funded by grants and donations. I’m at the mercy of others at all times. Right now I’m trying to get the Boys and Girls Club rebuilt. They had to tear the original one down last year, which means a lot of kids have no place to go after school or during school breaks. Families rely on it, but I can’t seem to get it funded. To be honest, I’m happy to be away for a while. I didn’t realize until I got here how tense I’d been.”

“Your work must be exhausting,” Madeleine said.

“It is. Especially when I don’t know if anything I do matters at all. The town’s been overrun with drugs—makers and dealers. Our schools are terrible. Retired people don’t want to fund education. The list goes on and on.”

“You ever think of doing something else?” I asked.

“Just every day of my life,” Holly said, laughing. “But my ties to the community are deep. My dad’s the high school principal. My mom serves on a hundred church committees. They pounded service into my brain from the time I was tiny.”

“Holly’s family was the respectable one of the three of us,” Rhett said. “My dear old dad’s one of the local drunks. Or was. He’s dead now.”

“Jack got his mom out, though,” Holly said. “I was happy to see that.”

“And Luci’s a doctor,” Madeleine said. “Clearly the town produced some impressive people.”

Holly glanced up at Rhett, eyes shining. “It sure did.”

The sleigh carried us out past the barn and up the northwest trail, into country I hadn’t seen yet. We went up through the timber with the light dimming behind the peaks, bells twinkling merrily.

“This is fun,” I said. “Even though I have no idea where we’re going.”

“Supposedly this is the original homestead,” Holly said. “It was just an old cabin but Finley told me Sammie had the idea to fix it up and make it another activity on the ranch. There’s going to be supper and dancing. Sounds festive.”

“Finley told me to be careful of whatever the signature cocktail is,” Rhett said. “So I’m sticking with beer.”

“Always a good idea,” I said.

We came around a stand of pines to see a cabin nestled in the woods. Log-built, with a stone chimney puffing woodsmoke and windows alight, with wreaths on the doors and lights strung along a porch that looked out at the whole mountain range going purple in the dusk. With snow covering the roof, it looked like something out of the front of an old-fashioned Christmas card.

“Lovely,” Madeleine said softly.

I looked over at her, and her whole face was lit up like a kid’s, just like at the tree lighting.

My chest kind of ached with … longing? No, that couldn’t be it. I was just seeing another side of her. Her vacation side. When we got home, she’d return to the hard-driving business woman who would do anything for success.

For now, I jumped out of the sleigh and offered her my hand to help her down. She took it.

Inside, The Homestead was one big warm room, low-beamed, a fire roaring in a stone hearth that was as big as my first apartment in Nashville. String lights crisscrossed the rafters. Long tables ran down the middle with plaid runners, Mason jars, lit candles, and sheepskins thrown over the benches. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasting meat and pine, which equaled up to a very merry Christmas scent.

When we came in, we were handed a signature cocktail and told to find a place at the table when we were ready. No place cards on the table. I felt a vague sense of disappointment about that, especially when I saw Madeleine sit next to Luci.

I hung my coat and hat on a hook near the door and then took a sip of the cocktail. It was made from cranberry and orange juices, combined with warm spices, served in a Mason jar with a sprig of rosemary. And it went down way too easy.

Our meal came out family-style, carried in on big platters and set down the length of the table for us to pass hand-to-hand. A young woman in an apron told us to help ourselves and holler if we ran low, then left us to it.

And lord, there was a lot of it. A pot roast that had clearly been going since morning, the beef falling apart at the touch of a serving fork, swimming in dark gravy with carrots and onions gone soft and sweet. A platter of short ribs, glazed and glistening, the meat sliding right off the bone. Bowls of mashed potatoes with butter melting into the tops of them. A cast-iron skillet of cornbread cut into wedges, still warm, with honey butter to go with. There were also roasted winter vegetables caramelized at the edges, and a big wooden bowl of greens.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” Jack said, helping himself to more ribs.

“Careful, baby, you’ve got to fit into your suit at the end of the month,” Ivy said, teasing.

“I maybe should have gotten a size bigger,” Jack said. “They know how to feed us here.”

“And these drinks are delicious,” Madeleine said, eyes sparkling. “They don’t even taste like alcohol. I’m having the most wonderful time.”

“Easy on the drinks, kid,” Rhett said. “They’re ball busters.”