Page 20 of Whispers of Helena
“Six?” The number lands like a stone in my chest. “Who?”
“What would you like for breakfast?” she asks, avoiding my question.
“Ruth,” I insist. “Who?Isthe whole county in danger?”
She hesitates, her usual composure cracking. “I don’t think so. All the deaths happened on the Everly property.”
My heart stumbles over the name. “Everly?”
“They keep to themselves, out on their ranch.” She pauses, her eyes darkening. “Their land borders Devil’s Ridge.”
I work through her words. I’ve never heard mention of the neighboring property from Eli or Silas. Images flash through my mind chaotically. Silas riding out under the cover of night, his boots caked with blood, the wolves' mournful howls cuttingthrough the darkness. My hand instinctively grips my Bible, as if its presence could ward off the creeping dread.
“Ruth—” My voice falters.
“What’ll you have, dear?” Her smile is steady, but there’s something behind it, something that makes my pulse quicken.
“Eggs, no salt, and toast,” I manage. “Over easy. Wheat.”
She nods, satisfied. “I’ll have Jason get it started.” With that, she disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I can’t shake the tension pressing in around me. Grabbing my Bible, I quietly move toward the entryway of the back room. Staying just out of sight, I peer in, listening as a man in a sheriff’s uniform addresses the gathered townsfolk.
“We don’t have any leads,” he says firmly, but there’s a weariness to his voice. “We’re working closely with the Everly family. Bennett sent Carrie and the children to an undisclosed location. He and his men are armed, and we’ll have patrols out there day and night. For now, keep your doors locked and carry when you’re on your land.”
The room chitters with unease as the sheriff steps away from the table, walking toward the front. I lean back against the wall, holding my breath as he passes. He doesn’t glance my way, only the sound of the bell above the door ringing out as he leaves.
When I return to my stool, Ruth is setting my plate down. “Don’t mind the commotion,” she says, her voice low. “Just keep your Bible close and take care of the boy.”
Her words echo in my mind, unsettling in their familiarity. I nod slowly, my voice barely a whisper. “I will.”
Forgotten
Silas
Normally on Saturday mornings,it’s just me, Shadow, and the open pastures, where the silence stretches as far as the horizon. But this morning, Helena’s plans have thrown a wrench in that peace. Instead of sitting down to breakfast with the rest of the men, I grabbed a quick bacon sandwich and my coffee, then headed out to the stables.
Helena doesn’t know it yet, but she’s not going out on the trails alone. When I told her she wouldn’t be riding out unarmed, she’d dismissed it outright, stubborn as ever. But I’ve got a different plan. Out here, we guard our herds from predators. I’ll do the same for the people under my roof, even if they don’t ask for it.
“Mr. Hayes?” Helena’s voice cuts through the stillness, soft and almost hesitant. I look up from where I’m saddling Merriweather, the mare I’ve chosen for her.
“Ms. Toth,” I reply, tipping my hat slightly. “Good morning.”
She’s dressed in her usual jeans and flannel, but today, it’s not buttoned all the way up. The faintest glimpse of her undershirt peeks through, dipping lower than I’m used to seeing. My eyes linger a second too long, catching on the pale curve of skin before I force myself to look away.
“Is this the mare?” she wonders with a gentle curiosity, stepping closer.
I nod, patting the horse’s neck. “This is Merriweather.”
Her eyes soften as she takes in the mare’s features. “Can I meet her?”
The way she asks is as if she’s seeking permission from both me and the animal, pulls at something in my chest. Merriweather was Caroline’s horse. I know she was Helena’s best option for an easy ride; the mare is hands down the most even-tempered horse we have, but it still makes my chest ache.
I step aside, motioning toward the horse. “Go ahead.”
Helena approaches with slow, calm movements and a soft murmur as she speaks to Merriweather. I can’t make out the words, but the sound alone seems to settle the mare. Merriweather’s ears twitch toward her, cautious but curious. Helena keeps talking, her tone steady. She patiently allows the horse to smell her hand, then she reaches up, her hand hovering for a moment before resting gently on the mare’s neck.
The change is immediate. The tension in Merriweather’s muscles melts away. Her nostrils flare once, then relax. Even her lip twitches, a sure sign of trust.
