When all the guests had disembarked, their tour guide led them to the nearby paddock, where they would be illuminated by the lampposts that lined the path to the barns.
Daphne hovered in the shadows, observing. The guests had lanyards with name tags around their necks, identifying them as members of the group.
“Welcome to Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary, a registered charity animal rescue that helps farm and companion animals through rescue, adoption and education. It is, for all of the animals that live here now, a happy home—but it wasn’t always so.
“Just before Thanksgiving, sixty years ago, a terrible fire ravaged the property known back then as Whispering Willows Ranch. The fire started while Henry and Thelma Milton, the owners of the property, were in town for dinner. They returned to find the barn fully engulfed and the local fire department valiantly battling the flames to keep the fire from spreading to their home—the same home that you see standing right there,” Evan said, gesturing toward Daphne’s house.
“Obviously they were successful in that effort, but the barns were completely destroyed. Henry and Thelma were devastated by the destruction of the buildings that had stood for nearly fifty years after being erected by Henry’s own grandfather, the loss of all the equipment and supplies that had been stored within, but mostly by the tragic deaths of three valued and valuable horses.”
There were some sympathetic murmurs in the small crowd as the visitors found themselves caught up in the story told by their tour guide with just the right amount of dramatic flair.
“They stood helplessly by, the rancher holding his wife close, watching as the fire fighters continued to douse the smoldering remnants of the once proud and strong buildings. Friends and neighbors, drawn by the sound of the wailing sirens or the sight of the crimson flames or the acrid scent of the smoke that hung heavy in the air, milled around, asking questions and offering sympathy. And then, as Thelma’s mind began to clear and focus on the familiar faces around them, she turned to clutch the lapels of her husband’s jacket and asked, ‘Where’s Alice?’”
The tour group was silent, hanging on his every word, waiting, wondering... And though Daphne knew that he’d likely made up at least half the details he was using to tell the tale, he was definitely giving them their money’s worth.
“Alice was their twenty-two-year-old daughter and a teacher at the elementary school in town. Maybe she wasn’t invited to join her parents for dinner or maybe she’d declined the invitation—” he shrugged “—who knows? But as Thelma’s eyes, burning from the smoke and streaming with tears, moved desperately around the gathering, she knew that her daughter wasn’t there. And though it was far too early to believe that Alice might have already gone to bed and somehow not been awakened by the sound of the fire trucks less than a hundred feet from her bedroom window, Thelma raced into the house to look for her, methodically going from room to room to room, screaming for her daughter...but there was no response.
“She ran back outside, asking everyone, ‘Have you seen Alice?’ and ‘Where’s Alice?’
“It was a question that would remain unanswered until the following day, when the fire marshal found her charred remains.”
Daphne saw one woman discreetly dab at the corner of her eye with a tissue while another tried to blink away her tears as she sniffled.
“After the tragedy of that long-ago night, there were whispers and rumors that horses could be heard whinnying in the night—even when there were no longer any horses in residence here. And some people even claim to have smelled wood smoke when there was no fire burning anywhere in the vicinity.”
“Okay, that’s creepy.” The speaker, whose name tag identified her as Sandra, added a shiver for good measure.
“Isn’t it?” her friend agreed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
“And though it’s believed that the spirits of the three horses remain to this day,” Evan continued, wrapping up his story, “local residents claim that the ghost horses have been more settled since the property became an animal sanctuary, and that they no longer haunt the ranch but watch over the animals who now call it home.”
His guests all put their hands together, their applause muffled by the mittens or gloves they wore in deference to the frigid temperatures.
“Does anyone have any questions?” he asked, his gaze skimming over the group, looking at each of his guests in turn. Then his eyes landed on Daphne, and his lips curved.
“You folks are lucky tonight,” he said. “We have a special guest in our midst.”
“A ghost?” the weepy woman asked, half hopefully, half fearfully.
“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” Evan told her, as he gestured for Daphne to come forward. “But I was referring to a real live person in the form of Daphne Taylor, the owner of Happy Hearts and caregiver to all the animals who live here.”
Daphne lifted a mittened hand to wave to his guests. “Welcome to Happy Hearts.”
And that was how she found herself answering questions about not just the animal sanctuary but the farm’s history.
“Do you know anything else about Alice—the rancher’s daughter who died in the fire?” The question came from a middle-aged woman wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a bright orange hat on her head.
Daphne shook her head. “In fact, Mr. Cruise filled in some details that, before tonight, I didn’t know. But there is a marker in the field over there—” she lifted her arm to point the way “—under the peachleaf willow, where Alice Milton is buried.”
“Can we go see it?” one of the guests asked hopefully.
She looked at Evan, not wanting to hijack his tour.
He shrugged. “It’s your property.”
“Then please feel free,” Daphne said. “But be careful—the ground is uneven and there might be icy patches in the snow.”
She and Evan remained where they were while the tourists made their way across the field.
There was a gasp, then one of the women grabbed the arm of the man beside her. “Did you hear that?” she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. “It sounded like a horse snorting. Do you think maybe it was one of those ghost horses?”
“I think it was more likely one of the live horses in the paddock over there,” her companion suggested wryly.
She huffed out a breath. “Honestly, Darrell, you have no imagination.”
“That’s not true,” Darrell denied. “In fact, right now I’m imagining—” He dipped his head then to whisper the rest of the details in the woman’s ear, making her giggle.
“An interesting group,” Daphne remarked.
“An interesting revelation about the marker,” Evan noted. “Why didn’t you tell me about it when you gave me the tour of the farm?”
“I guess because I want Alice to be able to rest in peace,” she said. “But your guests seemed sincerely interested and respectful.”
“Most of them, anyway,” he agreed. And then, after checking to ensure that they were all out of earshot, he asked, “Was it Alice that we heard the other day?”
Daphne shifted her gaze to the peachleaf willow tree in the field. “How am I supposed to know what you think you heard?”
“Did you know that you look away when you’re being evasive?” he asked, sounding more amused than disappointed by her response.
She forced herself to meet and hold his gaze. “How am I supposed to know what you think you heard?” she asked again.
His lips curved. “That was a pretty good effort, but I still don’t believe that you didn’t hear it, too.”
“This is a farm with a lot of different animals—it’s rarely ever quiet,” she said. And then, “So this is your last stop on the tour tonight?”
“It is,” he agreed. “And that wasn’t at all a subtle change of topic.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” she said. “I was try
ing to be quick because your guests are starting to head back this way and I wanted to know if you have any tours tomorrow.”
“No. Saturdays are a day off throughout the winter.”
“Work-life balance is important,” she noted approvingly.
“That’s what my employees say,” he acknowledged. “And anyway, winters are a slow season in the ghost tour business.”
“Well, if you don’t have any other plans, we’re having an open house here—our fourth annual Christmas at the Farm.”
“I appreciate the invitation, but—” he gave a slight shake of his head “—I don’t really get into the holidays much.”
“Says the guide of the Yuletide Ghost Tour,” she remarked in a dry tone.
“That’s different,” he said. “That’s business.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said, but she couldn’t deny that she was more than a little bit disappointed.
Because even if he didn’t “really get into the holidays much,” the fact that he’d turned down her invitation suggested, more importantly, that he wasn’t really into her.
“Well, then.” She forced a smile. “I guess I’ll probably see you next Friday.”
But then, after another brief hesitation, Evan surprised her by asking, “What time is this open house thing?”
“Noon till five.”
“If I showed up toward the end, do you think your animals would let me take you out for dinner when it was done?”
She had to concentrate on keeping her feet flat on the ground as her heart did a happy dance inside her chest.
“I can’t imagine that they’d have any objections,” she told him.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said.
She nodded, already looking forward to seeing him again—and to their first date.
Chapter Four
Christmas at the Farm combined two of Daphne’s favorite things right in the title. It was an opportunity to not just celebrate the season but shine a spotlight on the many wonderful creatures who were home at Happy Hearts. It was also a pretty big event, which translated into a lot of work in the weeks leading up to it. Every fence and gate and building that was accessible to the public needed to be checked for any potential safety hazards, the walkways needed to be cleared of ice and snow—and thank you, Mother Nature, for deciding to drop another four inches of fluffy white flakes even while Rudy and Samantha, two of her co-op students, were shoveling.
Still, she wasn’t really unhappy about the snow, because it covered everything in a pretty white blanket, making the farm look even more picturesque. Add a few miles of twinkling white lights, a similar length of evergreen boughs and dozens of red velvet bows and it was pretty darn close to perfect—at least until Barkley was let loose to race across the fields.
But she wanted the Lab to have a good run before she shut him up inside again. Though he was usually allowed to come and go as he pleased and got along well with all the other animals, she wasn’t comfortable letting him run around with visitors on the property. Because he was still a pup, his excitement often eclipsed his training, and she couldn’t risk him knocking someone over and causing a lawsuit she could not afford.
There was no admission charge for the open house, but there were plenty of opportunities for visitors to make donations to support the care and rehabilitation of animals at Happy Hearts. In addition to the donation boxes wrapped up like Christmas gifts and placed at strategic points around the farm, there was a tent set up beside the barn where visitors were encouraged to make a donation—into a box wrapped in smiling Santa paper and topped with a shiny white bow—before helping themselves to a cup of hot mulled apple cider and an assortment of holiday treats.
Under another tent, raffle tickets were being sold for a chance to win various prizes ranging from animal care baskets to children’s toys to gift certificates for a local spa to an exquisitely detailed gingerbread village—all of them donated by local residents or businesses. And of course, all of the boxes for deposit of the tickets were done up like Christmas presents, too.
“I’ve wrapped more boxes already this year than any other Christmas that I can remember, and I haven’t even started my shopping,” Hillary Beaudoin, one of Happy Hearts’ earliest and most dedicated volunteers, said to Daphne.
“I’m more grateful than I can tell you.”
“Well, it is for a good cause,” her friend acknowledged. “And it was more fun than scrubbing down dog kennels.”
“We both know that the real reason you don’t like to go into the adoption center is that you want to take all the dogs home with you.”
“It’s true,” Hillary admitted. “And when I went home with Roscoe, my husband said that was it, no more.”
“And then you got Toby.”
“And threatened with divorce.”
“Then Buddy.”
“Aaron came home with Buddy,” Hillary reminded her. “After he found him abandoned at a gas station on the outskirts of town.
“But yes, I think I’ve pushed my luck—and Aaron’s patience—far enough with the six dogs we’ve already got.”
“Six dogs, four kids, and you somehow still find time to help out here,” Daphne marveled.
“I don’t find time, I make time,” Hillary said. “Because what you’re doing here for these animals is important.”
Daphne hugged her friend, her eyes misty. “Thank you for saying that, but it’s what we’re doing—all of us.”
“And right now, I need to be selling tickets at the raffle tent so that Georgia can get off her feet for a while,” Hillary remembered.
“And I’m going to circulate among our visitors to answer questions and encourage them to fill those boxes you wrapped so nicely with lots of money.”
“Tell them we want bills—with big numbers on them—not jingly change and pocket lint.”
Daphne was smiling as she parted ways with her friend, and though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t spend the day staring at her watch, she couldn’t resist a quick glance as she moved toward the enclosure where Gretel, a sweet cow formerly resident at a local dairy farm, was calmly enduring the curious stares of passersby.
It was almost four o’clock, and still no sign of Evan. Of course, he’d said that he would show up toward the end, and she had no reason to suspect that he’d changed his mind, but she was eager and anxious nonetheless. Though she’d dressed carefully for the weather, with thermal underwear layered beneath her jeans and sweater, she’d also picked out a dress to change into later, for her dinner date with Evan.
She didn’t wear dresses very often—and even less so in the winter months—but she wanted to make an extra effort tonight. She was well aware of the adage “You don’t get a second chance to make a first impression,” but she was nevertheless hopeful that she might miraculously erase Evan’s memory of the coveralls she’d been wearing at their first meeting.
“But I wanna ride a cow!”
The plaintive request came from a little boy who Daphne guessed to be about seven years old, and she pushed all thoughts about the night ahead out of her mind to focus on the present.
“Cows aren’t for riding, Jace,” his mother admonished.
“They’re for milking,” a girl—likely the boy’s older sister—said.
“And eating,” his father added.
Maybe he was trying to be funny.
Or maybe he was just an ass.
Daphne tried not to judge, but she couldn’t let the remark pass without comment.
“No one eats our cows,” she interjected. “They’re former dairy cows that were saved from the slaughterhouse and brought here to live.”
“Whatsa slaughterhouse?” Jace wanted to know.
“It’s where they turn cows into hamburgers,” the boy’s dad chimed in again.
Jace looked troubled b
y this revelation. “I didn’t know hamburgers were from cows.”
“Duh,” his sister said. “Where’d you think they were from?”
“The supermarket.”
“We don’t say ‘duh,’ Mia,” the mother admonished her daughter.
The little boy tipped his head back to look at Daphne. “If you don’t milk ’em and you don’t eat ’em, what do you do with ’em?” he asked curiously.
“We take care of them, as a way of saying thank you for all the hard work they did on the dairy farm when they were younger.”
“So this is like a retirement home for cows?” Mia guessed.
“Something like that,” Daphne agreed.
“Our grandma’s in a retirement home,” Jace said.
His sister nodded. “And she always says, ‘this is the thanks I get for devoting myself to my family.’”
Daphne had to press her lips together to hold back a smile as the mother’s cheeks turned pink.
“It’s not the same thing,” the mom said.
“I know,” Jace said. “’Cuz we don’t have to pay for her food.”
“Oh, believe me, we pay,” the dad said. “And a lot more than a couple dollars.”
His wife sighed. “Can we go see the pigs now?”
“There’s just one pig,” Daphne said, not wanting the family to be disappointed. “Tiny Tim.”
“Is he really small?” Jace asked.
“No, but he was the runt of the litter when he was born and tiny compared to his brothers and sisters.”
“Whatsa runt?”
But his mother took point on that question as she steered her family away.
As Daphne watched them wander off, a deep male voice behind her said, “A day in the life.”
She whirled around, a happy smile spreading across her face when she saw Evan. “You came.”
“I told you I would.”
“You did,” she confirmed. “But I didn’t get the impression that this was where you wanted to spend your day off.”
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