Chapter Twenty-Four #2
She hurried toward the front door, Clara rising quickly behind her.
The moment Ruth stepped outside, chaos met her. Men were running across the yard, shouting over one another, while several horses thundered wildly across the open pasture beyond the corral. Dust kicked high into the air beneath pounding hooves.
George was sprinting toward the south field, rope already in hand.
“George!” Ruth called.
He glanced back briefly. “Gate got left open!”
Ruth’s stomach dropped as several horses scattered in different directions. “How many?” she asked breathlessly as she hurried after him.
“Too many,” George muttered grimly, “and we’re short handed as it is.”
“I can help,” Ruth offered.
“Probably best if you stay inside,” he said. “Especially given the last time you were around a horse.”
He didn’t say it cruelly, but the back of her neck warmed with the memory of that fateful day she’d tried to ride to church.
“I have to go,” George said.
Before Ruth could reply, he was gone, and she was left standing on the porch with Clara. For a moment, she was going to listen to George, staying inside and letting them handle it. Then, she changed her mind. They were shorthanded, and she was not just going to sit inside and be of no use.
Ruth turned to Clara. “Stay here,” she called firmly.
Her sister shook her head.
“Inside, Clara,” Ruth added more gently. “Please.”
After a moment, Clara nodded reluctantly and stepped back into the house.
Ruth gathered her skirts and hurried after the men.
The pasture was alive with motion. Horses darted nervously through the tall grass, spooked by the shouting and confusion. Ranch hands spread wide to cut them off.
The animals looked enormous up close, powerful and unpredictable. Every instinct from Ruth’s city upbringing told her to stay far away from the large creatures.
But this was Henry’s livelihood, his work, everything he’d fought for, and she could not simply stand by while it unraveled.
“Over there!” one of the men shouted as a chestnut mare veered sharply toward the creek while another horse wheeled back toward the barn.
George managed to rope one cleanly, swearing under his breath as he fought to calm the frightened animal.
Then, Ruth spotted movement near the far edge of the pasture. One of the early springtime foals had become separated in the panic, its long legs awkward and uncertain as it stumbled away from the others, clearly frightened and confused.
“No,” Ruth whispered. She glanced around quickly, but the men were occupied with the larger horses. No one else had seen him.
If the foal ran too far …
Before she could think better of it, Ruth snatched up a nearby coil of rope and started running. The grass tugged at her skirts as she hurried across the field, her boots slipping over uneven patches of earth.
The foal tossed its head nervously at her approach.
“Easy,” Ruth called softly, trying to steady her own breathing. “Easy, now …”
The foal backed away uncertainly, and Ruth slowed immediately.
She remembered Henry’s voice: “They follow your lead. You’ve got to stay calm.”
Her heart pounded hard enough to shake her chest, but she forced herself to breathe slower.
“Come, now,” she murmured gently.
The foal snorted softly, ears flicking, as Ruth inched closer.
“That’s it … You’re all right … No one’s going to hurt you …”
The foal shifted again and then, finally, stilled long enough for Ruth to catch hold of his mane and loop a rope loosely around his neck.
Relief nearly buckled her knees. “There, now,” she whispered.
The foal resisted at first as she carefully guided him back toward the others, but eventually fell in beside her with nervous little huffs.
By the time Ruth returned, the worst of the chaos had settled. The remaining horses had been rounded back into the corral, the men flushed and dusty from the effort.
George looked up sharply when he saw her approaching with the foal. “Well I’ll be,” he breathed.
Ruth managed a breathless smile despite her pounding heart. “He ran off.”
“I can see that.” George stepped forward, taking the rope carefully before looking at her with open surprise.
“You catch him yourself?”
Ruth nodded faintly.
George let out a low whistle. “Well, Mrs. Collins, you’re full of surprises.”
Ruth brushed loose hair back from her face, suddenly aware of how disheveled she must look. “I only did what needed doing.”
George barked a short laugh. “That’s about as rancher-like an answer as I’ve ever heard.”
Eli, the oldest ranch hand, grinned. “She’s braver’n half the greenhands we’ve hired!”
Ruth felt heat creep into her cheeks.
George shook his head with clear amusement. “You’re turning into a real rancher’s wife.”
Rancher’s wife—not an outsider or unwanted burden, but a part of this place.
The words settled unexpectedly deep inside her, and in that moment something in Ruth steadied … strengthened.
She looked out across the pasture. The horses were settling again, the men returning to work, and the ranch carried on despite the disruption.
This life hadn’t come easily; she’d crossed half the country for it. Fought fear for it. Risked everything for Clara’s safety and future, and she wouldn’t surrender it to doubt or fear, nor to Beatrice.
Ruth drew in a slow breath, lifting her face toward the bright Kansas sky.
Lord, she prayed silently, give me wisdom. Give me strength. Help me trust what You have set before me.
The breeze stirred softly across the field, and for the first time all day, her heart felt steady.