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"Morning, Heather!" called out Luis, one of the senior hands, as he saddled one of the draft horses. His smile was genuine, a warm welcome in the cool morning.
"Morning, Luis. What's on the schedule for today?" I asked, pulling on a pair of gloves.
"We've got a group coming in around noon for a riding session, and Pinto needs some work with her cantering," he explained, nodding towards a dappled mare who had been giving us trouble lately.
"Let me work with Pinto. I think she just needs a bit of extra attention," I suggested, heading towards the mare's stall.
Luis gave an approving nod. "I'd appreciate that. You have a way with her."
I approached Pinto slowly, speaking softly to reassure her as I entered her stall. The mare's eyes met mine, large and somewhat wary, but as I gently stroked her mane, I felt her tension begin to ease. We had been working together for the past week, and each session had ended with progress, no matter how slight.
I spent the next hour with Pinto in the paddock, focusing on her cantering. I used a combination of voice commands and light touches, guiding her through the motions. The other ranch hands occasionally stopped to watch, and I could feel their eyes on me, assessing, judging. But as Pinto began to respond, her strides becoming more confident and fluid, the silent nods I received from the onlookers spoke volumes.
After finishing with Pinto, I joined two of the hands, Tom and Mariah, in the training ring where we were breaking in a young gelding named Tucker. His coat was a shiny black, and he had a spirited fire in his eyes that I admired.
"Alright, Tucker, let's see what you've got today," I said as I took the lead, feeling the rope tug slightly in my hands.
Training Tucker was a challenge, his spirited nature making him a handful, but it was a challenge I relished. Under my guidance, we worked on basic commands, Tucker's resistance gradually waning as he began to trust my lead. Mariah watched, her experienced eyes missing nothing.
"He's coming along," Mariah commented during a lull, her arms crossed as she leaned against the fence.
"He is. He's got spirit, but he's learning who's boss," I replied, giving Tucker a gentle pat on the neck as he settled down from another round.
As I gathered my things, ready to call it a day, the low murmur of conversation caught my ear. I paused, the voices of two of the ranch hands, Jim and Eric, drifting from the other side of the tack room. Normally, I wouldn't think to eavesdrop, but a familiar anxiety tugged at my heart as I caught snippets of their conversation.
"Yeah, it’s tough for her, you know?" Jim's voice was sympathetic, tinged with concern. "People in town, they’re still whispering. It’s like they’ve got nothing better to do."
"Shit, man, it's all that damn detective's fault. Stirred up a hornet's nest with his poking around and half-assed accusations,” Eric said.
Feeling a sudden tightness in my chest, I leaned against the cool wood of the stable wall, my fingers curling into fists. This was exactly what I'd feared when I confronted Danny—rumors spiraling beyond control, painting me as some sort of pariah before I'd even had a chance to prove myself.
"I heard folks at Rosie's talking like she's part of some big cover-up or something. Can you believe that?" Jim continued, his voice low but carrying clearly in the still evening air.
Eric snorted, a harsh sound that spoke volumes about his feelings on the matter. "Cover-up my ass. She's out here busting her ass every day, same as us. Doesn't add up."
My heart sank further, a mix of gratitude for their defense and a profound weariness at the situation. It was clear that even among my own crew, the rumors were a source of consternation.
Needing to address this head-on, I stepped around the corner, my approach quiet but firm. Jim and Eric stopped talking immediately, their bodies tensing as they noticed me.
"Evening, guys," I said, keeping my tone light despite the turmoil inside. "Seems like you’ve heard some of the town chatter."
The two men exchanged a look, discomfort evident in their posture. Jim, ever the more outspoken, cleared his throat. "Sorry you had to hear that, Heather. We were just saying how out of line all this gossip is."
I nodded, appreciating his candor. "Thanks, Jim. It’s been... challenging, dealing with all this. If you hear anything specific—any details about what’s being said—I need to know."
Eric kicked at the dirt, his gaze troubled. "Will do, Heather. We've got your back. This is all bullshit, pardon my French."
Their loyalty was a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty that was becoming my daily life. "Thanks, both of you. Let's try to keep our focus on the ranch, though. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and I can’t do it without you guys."
They nodded, their expressions serious. "You got it, boss," Eric replied, a renewed sense of purpose in his voice.
As we disbanded, heading towards our respective tasks to close up for the day, my mind raced with the implications of what I'd just heard. The damage was done; now it was up to me to control the narrative as best I could. Walking back to the ranch house, I made a mental note to visit town tomorrow to face the rumors head-on rather than let them fester in whispers behind my back.
The next morning, I woke with a resolve as crisp as the air outside. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, I glanced in the mirror. The woman staring back looked ready, determined.
Driving into Silver Creek felt different this time. Each familiar landmark seemed overshadowed by the weight of whispered words and wary glances. I parked outside the local grocery store, a quaint building with a red-brick facade and old-fashioned wooden signs advertising fresh produce.
As I walked through the automatic doors, the chime announcing my entrance seemed louder than necessary. Inside, the store was busier than I expected for a midweek morning. I grabbed a basket and began navigating the aisles, picking up essentials while trying to appear nonchalant. But I could feel eyes on me, hear the hush that fell over conversations as I passed.
