Something to keep you warm,the caption read.
I looked at Harlan, who was definitely hiding a smile behind his work.
"You know what's going on, don't you?" I asked.
"I might." He dusted flour from his hands. "But I've been sworn to secrecy. Better keep following the trail."
I grabbed my coffee and hurried back upstairs, excitement bubbling in my chest. In my room, I went straight to the reading chair. The star blanket was draped over it as always, but tucked into the folds was another Polaroid.
This photo showed the barn—specifically, Ginger's stall. My breath caught. Was that where this was leading?
She's been waiting for you,the caption said.
But there was one more item with this photo—a small note that read:One more stop before the final destination.
One more? I studied the photo more carefully and noticed something in the background—the tack room door, slightly ajar.
I dressed quickly, pulling on jeans and one of Simon's flannels that I'd claimed as my own. I wrapped my scarf around my neck and headed outside.
The morning was cold but beautiful, the sun glinting off the snow and making everything sparkle. My breath fogged in the air as I made my way to the barn, clutching my coffee mug.
Inside, the barn was warmer, heated by the animals. I could hear Ginger moving in her stall, and Bobby Allen's voice drifting from somewhere deeper in the building.
I went to the tack room first, pushing open the door. The space smelled of leather and oil, familiar and comforting. On the workbench sat another Polaroid.
This one showed an empty stall—not Ginger's, but one of the smaller ones at the end of the barn that we used for storage. Fresh hay was visible in the photo, like someone had prepared it recently.
Your gift is waiting, the caption read simply.
My hands trembled slightly as I set down my coffee mug and picked up the photo. This was it. The last clue. Whatever my Secret Santa had left for me was in that stall.
I walked slowly down the barn aisle, my heart pounding with anticipation. Ginger nickered softly as I passed, and I gave her a quick pat but didn't stop.
The stall door was closed but not latched. I pulled it open and stepped inside.
There, nestled in a bed of fresh hay, was a plush elephant.
But not just any elephant—this one was bigger than my rabbit, made of the softest gray fabric I'd ever felt. It had kind eyes and a gentle smile and floppy ears that looked perfect for holding. Around its neck was a small tag that read:Microwaveable - Lavender scented.
I picked it up with shaking hands. It was heavier than I expected, filled with something that shifted and settled. When I held it close, I could smell the faint scent of lavender.
A heating pad. A comfort item. A friend.
There was a note pinned to its ear:
For when you need extra comfort. Heat him up and let him chase away the cold—inside and out. You deserve soft things, warm things, things that make you feel safe.
Keep letting yourself be small. Keep trusting. You're doing so beautifully.
I sank down into the hay, clutching the elephant to my chest as the tears came. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears. Grateful tears.
This person—my Secret Santa—they knew me. Really knew me. Every gift had been so perfectly chosen, so thoughtfully given. The weighted blanket for when I felt overwhelmed. The journal for my thoughts. The art supplies for creativity. The snacks for permission. The pajamas and sippy cup that let me embrace being little.
And now this. This perfect, soft, warm companion that I could heat up when I needed comfort.
I hugged the elephant tighter, burying my face in its soft fur. It smelled like lavender and something that reminded me of the ranch, of home, of safety.
I thought about Simon. About how he'd been taking care of me since the moment I arrived. How he'd given me his clothes and made me breakfast and held me when I cried. How he'd taught me to ride and built a snowman with me and read me bedtime stories.
