2. Amber
Amber
Silas
Years of boots treading the same path have worn the old wood of the back steps. As I stare at the weathered back door, resistance knots in my stomach, knowing I’ll have to deal with the woman on the other side.
Eli suggested hiring someone to handle Kiran and prepare proper meals.
He hounded me continuously for a week, swearing he’d quit if he had to make pot roast again for the third time in five days.
Knowing the land as well—or better than—I do, and having been here since my inheritance, I couldn’t afford to test his bluff.
Not a single woman has lived inside these walls since my Caroline passed away, and I curse the God that took her from me, from Kiran, from this earth. My hands clench as I try to summon some resolve, blowing out a ragged breath before I finally haul myself up the steps.
I push through the door, stepping into the warmth of the kitchen.
A faint aroma of something roasting in the oven hangs in the air.
Removing my hat, I hang it on the peg by the door, my gaze already fixed on her at the sink.
The water runs in a steady stream as she works, but her back straightens at the sound of my footsteps.
I watch her head tip up, staring out the window for a breath before she shuts the water off.
When she turns, her eyes immediately find mine.
“Mr. Hayes?” Her voice is soft.
“Ms. Toth.” My reply comes low, but I don’t correct it.
Slowly, she wipes her hands on her apron, her eyes fixed on mine. Her steps are light, careful as she walks across the room. She stops just short of me, offering a hand—fingers steady but delicate—the gesture hovering between us.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Her voice is tentative, almost apologetic, as if she already senses the walls I keep around myself. Her hand lingers, outstretched, and for a moment, I just stare at it. The thought of touching her, of feeling a woman’s skin after so long, feels wrong. Feels foreign .
I glance at her face, catching the slight tilt of her head, the faintest flicker of something raw in her expression when I don’t move. Hurt, maybe. She pulls her hand back slowly, smoothing it over the apron, her fingers curling into the fabric.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, her voice breaking the silence, though it does little to ease the heaviness of it. “I started lunch.”
“That’s fine.” The words come out clipped, but I can’t seem to soften them. Right now, she feels like an intruder. Her presence is too new, too sharp against the familiar emptiness of this house.
She shifts slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching in a way that’s more reaction than a smile.
I force myself to do the same, the attempt awkward, but it’s her eyes that catch me off guard.
Steady, unflinching amber eyes, like the stone Caroline used to wear around her neck, meet mine, holding the light.
The memory of my wife grips me hard and fast, unwelcome.
Caroline’s laughter echoing in the halls, the way she would rest her soft hand against my chest. I push the thought away with a blink, and focus back on Helena.
Her eyes are different, softer, more alive, but they linger, doing nothing to ease my discomfort.
She clears her throat. “I’ve met Eli…” she pauses as if waiting fo r a response. After a beat, she continues, “He showed me around and helped me settle in.”
“He gave you the key to your door?”
She reaches into her pocket, withdrawing the small brass key. “Yes, sir. Right here.”
“Keep it locked at night,” I tell her firmly. “Good men work this land, but they’re not used to a woman being here.”
She nods, slipping the key back into her pocket without a word.
“I haven’t met Kiran yet,” she says, watching me with a hint of hope. Her long braid falls over her shoulder, a rich chestnut brown. Plainly dressed in thick jeans and a flannel, she stands tall, boosted by her boots. She looks oddly at home here.
“Have you lived on a ranch before?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
“I have. Not far from here. Been a long time, though.”
I nod slowly. “Kiran’s out in the workshop with Marcel. He’ll be in for lunch with the rest of the men.”
She glances over her shoulder at the stove, then back to me. “Lunch should be ready in about thirty minutes. Is there a way to let your men know?”
“I’ll take care of it. They break at eleven most days; your timing’s just right.” Her gaze shifts, studying me. “When the men come in, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” I say, voice stern. “Let them eat and get back to work. You and I will sit down with Kiran once they’re gone.”
“Understood.”
Satisfied, I turn and grab my hat from its peg, stepping back into the cold. A heavy tension weighs on my chest as I walk away, letting the cold air wash over me. With a woman walking the halls of my house for the first time in years, all I can think about is my dead wife.
I walk past the barn and stop in the clearing.
Looking up at the sky, I speak to Caroline.
“She’s just here to help us. Kiran needs a woman around so he doesn’t become a heathen like the rest of us.
” I take her amber pendant from my pocket, rubbing the stone between my fingers.
Besides her wedding dress in our closet and a few pictures, it’s all I have left of her.
“I miss you. I feel like you’ve been so quiet lately. I used to hear you in the morning. I used to hear you singing to Kiran at bed time. It’s like you’ve left us for good now.”
The song of a Meadowlark cuts through the silence of the clearing. My eyes close as I remember her soft voice. The sound of her whispers at night, her laughter that filled our home.
“Are you singing for me, Caroline?”