11. A Horse
A Horse
Helena
Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer;
Last night, when I saw Silas pull Shadow around and head back to the stables, a wave of relief swept through me.
In the weeks I’ve been here, he’s ridden out into the night six times.
Two of those times, he returned carrying the stench of death.
Blood on his boots, his jeans, and that cursed rope he always takes with him.
He told me he hunts wolves, but I know deep down he rides off for something else.
While I do believe there are wolves out on the pastures, I’ve never seen a rancher who uses a rope to take care of the problem.
He thinks I don’t notice. He’s caught me watching him leave, his silhouette framed in the glow of the lights on the barn.
But he doesn’t know I watch him come back, the burden of whatever he’s done bowing his shoulders.
It’s as if the darkness out there clings to him, following him home like a shadow too stubborn to fade .
Last night, I prayed harder than I ever have. Not aloud, but in the quiet recesses of my mind, where the words rang out like a church bell.
Turn back, Silas.
Let it go, Silas.
Whatever you’re hunting, could be hunting you too, Silas.
And it worked for the very first time last night. When I heard him climb the stairs and his door shut, I finally let sleep claim me.
I woke up early this morning with a clear mind and made breakfast. The kitchen was filled with the smell of coffee and pancakes, the kind of meal that lifts the men’s spirits after long nights. They file in, piling their plates high.
Kiran shuffles down last, his little boots heavy on the stairs. His hair stuck up in wild tufts, his eyes still clouded with sleep.
“Morning, Ms. Helena,” he mumbles, rubbing his face.
I smile, smoothing a hand over his head, trying to calm the mess. “Good morning, Kiran. Did you sleep well?”
“Okay, I guess.” He hesitates, his small hand gripping the edge of the counter. “I woke up, though. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”
I crouch down, peering into his eyes. “Why, sweetheart? Did you have a bad dream?”
He shakes his head, his brow furrowing. “No…I heard a voice.”
The room seems to tilt, the clatter of plates fading into the background. “A voice?” I keep my tone light, though my pulse quickens. “What kind of voice?”
His eyes peer into mine, earnest and unblinking. “Someone was saying pa’s name. Over and over.”
My stomach twists. The echo of my prayers from the night before seemed to ripple in the morning air. I had directed it to Silas, but the boy heard it as well. I force a calm smile, though my thoughts spin wildly. “Have you heard it before?”
“Only once,” he whispers, glancing toward the stairs.
I reach out, gently taking his chin in my hand. “Listen to me, Kiran. You don’t need to be afraid of that voice, okay? But if you ever feel like you need me, no matter what, you come knock on my door. Day or night.”
His frown softens, a tentative smile forming. “Okay, Ms. Helena.”
I stand, patting his back. “Good. Now, go make yourself a plate. And remember, easy on the syrup this time.”
He grins, hurrying toward the spread, while heat spreads through my chest. Kiran heard me.
After clearing the breakfast dishes and setting a pot of soup to simmer on the stove, I decided to hunt down Kiran.
The spring warmth had finally settled in, so I grabbed my flannel and headed for the barn.
I rarely venture to the outbuildings; my world usually revolves around the house.
But today, something about the crisp air and the quiet pull of nostalgia drew me out.
The barn door stands ajar, so I step inside, breathing deeply.
The rich, earthy scent of hay, feed, and dust fill my lungs, stirring a bittersweet longing.
It reminds me of another life. Early mornings spent riding out to check the herd, stolen twilight moments under a canopy of stars, bodies entwined in the shadows.
A simpler, sweeter time, now distant and half-forgotten.
“Kiran?” I call, shaking off the memories.
“Up here, Ms. Helena!” His voice echoes from the loft, cheerful as ever. I glance up and spot him waving, his face peeking out from behind a stack of hay bales. Marcel stands beside him, leaning casually against the railing.
“Hello, Ms. Helena,” Marcel greets me, his voice smooth, his smile easy.
“Hello, Marcel.” My tone is polite but distant. “I’m here to fetch Kiran for his lessons.”
Marcel nudges the boy lightly. “Time to go, little man.”
With a reluctant sigh, Kiran scurries down the ladder. As soon as he reaches the ground, I pluck a few stray bits of hay from his hair. He grins up at me, unbothered .
“What’s for lunch today, Ms. Helena?” Marcel’s voice draws my attention again. He leans forward slightly, his hands gripping the railing, muscles flexing just enough to catch my eye.
“Beef and barley soup, with soda bread,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “It’ll be ready in about an hour.”
Marcel gives a slow nod, his grin widening. “Sounds good. I’ll see you at lunch, then.”
I don’t trust myself to respond, so I simply nod. Turning to Kiran, I ask, “Ready?”
His face lights up with a sudden idea. “Can we go see Eli first? Just for a minute?”
I sigh, already softening under his wide, pleading eyes. “We really should get started?—”
“Please?” he begs, his voice dripping with innocent charm.
I shake my head with a small smile. “Alright, but only for a quick hello.”
“Yes, ma’am!” He darts off before I can change my mind, disappearing through the barn door. I glance back at Marcel, who is still watching me.
“Have a good morning, Marcel,” I say, turning to leave.
He tips his hat. “You too, Ms. Helena.”
I follow Kiran’s trail to the stables. The creak of wood and the soft rustle of hay greet me as I step inside.
Sure enough, Kiran is already chatting away with Eli, who stands by the bench, wiping his hands on a rag.
With fluid, precise movements, the tall, broad-shouldered Silas guides his horse into its nearby stall.
I approach Eli and Kiran, my boots echoing softly on the stable floor. “Busy morning, Eli?”
He nods. “Always. But busy is good. What brings you out here?”
“Kiran wanted to say hello before his lessons,” I reply, casting a fond glance at the boy.
Eli chuckles. “You just saw me at breakfast, kid.”
Kiran shrugs, grinning. “I know. Just wanted to visit.”
Before Eli could respond, Silas’s deep voice cuts through the air behind me. “Kiran, if it’s time for your lessons, you’d best head in.” He brushes past me. His voice softens as he adds, “Helena.”
The way he says my name, low and gravelly, gives me goosebumps.
“Morning, Silas,” I manage, my voice steadier than I felt.
He doesn’t respond, only giving a slight nod as he busies himself at the workbench. Kiran says goodbye to Eli, walking to Silas to hug him.
“Before we head in, I have a question.” As I speak, both men give me their attention. “Not sure which one of you to ask, but would it be possible for me to take a horse out this weekend? I miss riding and I could use some time outside.”
Sila’s brow pinches. “You know how to ride?”
“I told you I’ve lived on a ranch before, of course I know how to ride.”
Eli glances up at Silas. “Your call boss.” He turns back to the workbench.
Silas looks at me. “There’s a mare you could take out.”
“Think I can’t handle a stallion?” I arch my eyebrow.
“Didn’t say that.” His eyes bore through me.
“So I can take her out for a ride? Is Saturday okay?”
He nods. “That’s fine. Just make sure Eli helps you greet her and I’ll give you a gun to take with you.”
I shake my head as heat rises up in me. “No gun needed.”
“Not everything is friendly out on those trails, Helena. No gun, no horse,” he states firmly.
“I’ll take my knife and my pepper spray. Thank you for the offer though.” Silas opens his mouth to speak again, but I cut him off. “Eli, I’ll see you Saturday morning?”
Eli’s eyes move between Silas and me. “I’ll be here.”
I don’t look at Silas, but I can feel the frustration rolling off of him. “Good. Come on, Kiran.”
The boy joins me, and we walk to the house.