Page 21 of Whispers of Helena
I watch, rooted to the spot. Helena moves like she’s done this a thousand times, her hand trailing gently along the mare’s neck, her voice a quiet melody. It’s mesmerizing how easily she connects with the animal, as if speaking a language only they understand.
For a moment, it feels like I’m intruding on something intimate, something sacred. The way she draws Merriweather in, without force or expectation, it's the same way she was the first time I saw her with Kiran, the way she managed to break through his walls without even trying.
Something sour flickers in my stomach. Merriweather was Caroline’s horse and the sight of the two of them almost makes me regret selecting her. Seeing them bond so quickly makes me feel uneasy.
“You’ve got a way with her,” I say quietly, still watching her.
Helena glances back at me, her eyes lighting up with a quiet pride. “She’s beautiful. You can tell she’s strong, but gentle.”
“She is. If you’re good here, I’m going to get Shadow set.”
Helena’s eyes snap to mine, her braid whipping to her back. “Why are you getting Shadow ready?”
“You refused to carry on your ride, so you’re not going alone,” I tell her, my voice flat as I walk out of Merriweather’s stall.
She follows behind me. “I can fair just fine on my own, Mr. Hayes. No need for an escort.”
“I’m sure you can, Ms. Toth. But you don’t know the trails like I do. You aren’t going out alone.”
“You’re act–”
“Quiet.”The word leaves my mouth as a command. Her eyes flare, but I hold my ground. I exhale slowly, my voice lowering. “While you’re here, your safety is my responsibility. Either you carry, I go with you, or you stay put in the house. Your choice, Helena.”
I step into Shadow’s stall and begin my work, letting her stew over her choices. After a moment, she appears at the entrance, arms crossed, with a bitter look on her face.
Her chin lifts, defiant even in defeat. "Merriweather is ready. I’m going to get us water from the house. When I get back, we leave."
She turns sharply; her boots an unyielding rhythm against the ground as she leaves. I watch her go, the fire in her step lighting something dormant in me. Once she’s far enough out of earshot, I mutter under my breath, “Yes ma’am.”
I tack up Shadow, walk to Merriweather’s stall, and guide her out. Grabbing Shadow’s rein, I lead the two horses out of the stables. Just as we step into the sun, Helena strides toward me, her Stetson casting a shadow over her glinting eyes, a loose braid swaying like a rope across her shoulder. She’s carrying two thermoses, shoving one toward me when she approaches.
“Thanks.” I tuck it into my saddlebag, but before I can ask, she’s already reaching for Merriweather’s reins.
“May I?” Her voice softens a bit, but there’s still a command in it.
I nod, handing her the reins. She murmurs to the mare again, and the spell she’s weaving works. In one smooth motion, Helena swings up into the saddle, her every move fluid, as if born to ride. Merriweather doesn’t so much as flick an ear.
“You ready, Mr. Hayes?” Helena’s voice carries a teasing tone as she glances back, eyes sparkling.
I mount Shadow, settling into the saddle. “Lead the way, Ms. Toth.”
She clicks her tongue and taps Merriweather’s flank, setting a relaxed pace down the winding trail to the pastures. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the steady beat of hooves. I keep my distance, letting the silence stretch between us.
Past the treeline, rolling pastures appear, their hills vibrant with the green and gold of spring. Helena pulls Merriweather to a stop, her gaze sweeping across the land.
“It’s beautiful,” she says.
“Pretty much all of what you see belongs to the ranch,” I reply, my tone carrying the significance of four generations. “It’s been in my family on my mother’s side for over a hundred years.”
Her eyes linger on me now, curious. “You love this land, don’t you?”
I shift, resting an arm on the saddle horn. “Hard not to. It’s everything to me. It’s home, work, life. It’s provided for me and Kiran. Kept food on the table for men who’ve had nowhere else to go.”
She hesitates, then asks, “Did your wife love it too?”
The question hits like a stray bullet, piercing through the air between us. I let out a slow breath. “She did. Almost as much as I do.”
Helena watches me. “How did she die?” she asks quietly.
