Rugged Hearts by Amanda McIntyre Page A

out on the moonlit snow-covered backyard. The sky, clear and sprinkled with stars, stretched beyond the forest of pine. The brilliance of the moon made it possible to see the rise of the mountains on the horizon. The vast beauty of the plains and mountains never ceased to fascinate him. Many things used to hold a similar magic for him. Despite his issues with the holidays personally, he used to watch Jed in rapt interest, wishing, wondering how a man his age could possess such a childlike enthusiasm about Christmas. To Wyatt, Jed was the true measure of the holiday spirit, a persona that Wyatt could neither match nor understand. When he’d died, it was as though he’d taken the joy of the holidays with him.
    Possibility gives us a future of precious moments .
    He looked at his reflection in the window. Behind him, the glow of the fireplace flickered in the dimly lit room. It reminded him of days past, not just Christmas, but several occasions when Jed gathered his ranch hands and their families into his home for some type of celebration. It didn’t take much. Just about any reason was good enough an excuse to invite people into their home, but the Christmas season had been his Jed’s favorite. They’d have a potluck at the ranch on Christmas Eve. The aroma of sizzling steaks hot off the grill and fresh-baked rolls from Betty’s would make his mouth water. The dining room table became a banquet feast, laden with pies, casseroles, and salads of every sort. And without fail later in the afternoon, Santa, dressed as a cowboy, would stop by. He’d with thanks of appreciation, hand out the bonus checks to the ranch hands, and visit with the children, calling each of them by name. Wyatt knew, of course, it was Jed dressed as the jolly old man, but he’d make a point of asking Wyatt to keep it their secret, so as not to disappoint the younger children.
    Tonight Wyatt’s heart felt cold, as if he carried a lump of coal in his chest. He blamed the class for spawning the sentimental memories, but remembering them had never made him feel so damn lonely before.
     
    ***
     
    Aimee pulled out the earplugs attached to her iPod. She found the music helped to free her mind during the online creative writing class. She mused how Sally was going to ride her about taking on the strangely morose and seemingly combative student going by Montana. His insistence to see the glass half empty intrigued her, and she’d hoped only to generate discussion among class members; instead however, it brought the class to a complete standstill. She assumed that their online verbal fencing match must have intimidated the other students. She sent Sally a private e-mail to apologize for the banter. In response, she received a smiley face and a note of “no worries, talk tomorrow.” Just the same, the incident left her wondering what type of life experiences could leave a person with virtually no hope.
    She pressed the button to print off the next assignment and received a pop up indicating she was out of paper. Certain she had extra paper in some unpacked boxes in her walk-in closet; she clicked on the light in the room nearly the size of her kitchen and began to search for the box. In the process, she discovered a few other treasures she’d forgotten about and sat down, leaning against the wall to sift through them.
    A loud thump against the closet wall startled her and sent shoes raining down on her from the shelf she’d recently installed. Throwing her arms over her head, she guarded herself from injury, and prepared to beat her fist against the wall in retaliation. Her neighbors, she’d discovered, were newlyweds and already Aimee had had to listen to their antics through the shared wall of her bedroom. A low moan caught her attention and she paused, listening intently with a shred of guilt that perhaps someone had hurt themselves. Another thump caused another shoe to topple off the shelf, but she caught it with one hand, giving silent thanks for