Page 10 of Whispers of Helena
I setmy Bible on the porch swing, the company of its pages a grounding comfort, and pull the blanket tighter around me. The last threads of daylight stretch across the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft purples fading into deep oranges, each shade bleeding into the next, like watercolor on canvas. This land surprises me every day, offering something new—a unique bird’s call, a scent in the air that whispers of spring, or the endless expanse of sky that makes the world feel both infinite and impossibly close.
The swing creaks lightly beneath me as I settle in, the rhythm lulling, steady. Across the yard, the barn doors groan shut, and Silas steps into view. He moves with that hushed, calculated pace of his, as if the land itself bends to him. His shoulders are broad, his steps sure, and the long shadows of dusk cling to him like a second skin.
I expect him to head toward the back door, but halfway there, his gaze shifts, catching on me. He hesitates briefly before changing direction, making his way up to the front porch.
“It’s cold out here, Ms. Toth,” he says, his voice rough. He pulls off his leather gloves, tucking them into his pocket, then removes his hat, his hair pressed to the shape of his Stetson. It’s only then that I see his eyes, clear and cutting, the color of a summer sky after a storm.
“I’ve got my blanket,” I reply, managing a small smile. “I’ll be fine until the sun goes down.”
His gaze holds mine for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, glancing toward the swing. “That chain’s old. Don’t think anyone’s used it in years. Remind me tomorrow, and I’ll check it.”
“Seems fine,” I say softly, “but okay.”
He steps to the railing on the far side of the porch, leaning forward and resting his forearms against it. Though the wood groans faintly under his weight, he doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on the tree line.
“Do you like it here so far?” His voice is friendly, but the question feels heavier somehow, like there’s more riding on it than he’ll admit.
“I do,” I answer, shifting slightly in the swing. “I think I’ll like it even more when summer gets here.”
He lets out a low chuckle; the sound rumbling in his chest. “Not what you’re used to, I bet.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I’ve lived in Wyoming my whole life, Mr. Hayes. The weather’s nothing new to me.”
“The weather might not be,” he says, his lips curving faintly, “but dealing with a bunch of ranchers might be.”
That draws a laugh from me, soft but real. “The men have been kind so far. The work keeps me busy. I don’t mind it.”
He bobs his head absently, not replying right away. Instead, he pushes up from the railing, standing tall, his hands resting on his hips. My eyes are drawn to the movement, but I quickly look away, shifting my focus to the fading light.
“What did you do before you got into this line of work?” he asks finally, his voice quieter now.
The question hits harder than I expect, and I hesitate. The names I used to carry—wife, mother—sit heavy on my tongue, bitter and unspoken. I force the words out, anyway. “I was just a wife. And a mother.”
The air between us shifts, subtle but unmistakable. When I glance back at him, I see it. The way his features soften, the rough edges smoothing for just a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply.
I blink, startled by the sincerity in his tone. There’s no pity in his eyes, just understanding, deep and steady.
I pull the blanket tighter around me, more for comfort than warmth. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he says. We both know the agony of loss, we both feel it every day.
A charged silence stretches between us, yet it’s not uncomfortable. The swing creaks softly beneath me; the sound filling the space.
“Do you ever think about leaving?” I ask suddenly, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Leaving?”
“This place. The ranch. The responsibility of it all.”
He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting back to the tree line. “Don’t think I have,” he admits finally. “This land...it’s in my blood. Leaving it would be like cutting out a part of myself.”
I nod, understanding more than I want to.
When he turns back to me, his eyes catch mine again, and the weight of his gaze holds me in place. There’s something more there. It feels like standing on the edge of something vast, something I don’t quite understand but can’t look away from.
“You should head inside,” he breathes, his voice low enough that it almost feels like an afterthought.
