HELEN’S PALMS WERE SWEATY. Her fingers shook. She was next.
They’d open the gates and let her and Beanie in just as soon as the previous competitor’s score was announced.
“You’ve got this, Helen,” Levi said from her right.
“Trust Beanie,” Wyatt said to her left.
“You can do anything for two and a half minutes,” Ryder said from her left flank.
“Cut deep and sing a Christmas carol,” Nash said from her right flank.
A score was announced. The gates were opened.
Beanie pranced forward proudly, like the veteran he was.
Helen raised her shoulders and smiled, knowing she was being judged on her confidence and knowing Beanie deserved a good performance from her just as much as the rest of Eagle Springs.
They entered the arena on a big round of applause.
Helen hadn’t been inside until now. She was surprised at her reception. The audience clapped hard and long.
Beanie pranced out to a location beyond the herd of young cattle. Herefords, their white faces looked gentle and kind. The Blackwell crew positioned themselves at the virtual four corners of the herd. Helen moved the reins, signaling to Beanie to turn and face the herd. His ears perked up and he fidgeted a little.
“This is Helen Blackwell riding Beanie. Her time starts now.”
“Dashing through the snow.” Someone up in the stands started to sing. “In a one-horse open sleigh.”
“O’er the fields we go,” Helen sang under her breath as she guided Beanie into a deep cut of the herd, looking for a cow nervous enough to make eye contact.
A small cow stared at Helen and then turned, nervously hurrying to try and disappear into the herd.
Helen cued Beanie with leg pressure and lowered the reins, her signal to him to go for it. And then it was just a matter of dancing with the cow following Beanie’s lead, singing under her breath. The gelding made some nice deep sweeps to keep the cow from returning to the herd. And Helen did her best to hold on and not do her impression of a rag doll. And after what seemed like a lifetime, the cow stopped and stared at them, giving up.
Time for another cow.
While Nash encouraged the first cow to rejoin the main herd, Helen and Beanie made a second foray into the group. That’s when Helen noticed that practically the entire arena was singing “Jingle Bells.”
She had no time to wonder at it because a cow lifted its head and stared at them.
Almost before she knew what was happening, Beanie was giving chase.
It was all Helen could do to stay on this time.
The cuts Beanie made were deep and sweeping. He stopped on a dime and nearly threw her.
The crowd gasped.
“...in a one-horse open sleigh,” Helen murmured, hanging on.
Beanie wore the cow down. It stopped and made eye contact.
“Good work,” Nash told her, their signal for the competition to be over, even if she had more time, which she did.
She and her crew rode toward the gates with fifteen seconds to spare. The crowd was applauding and hollering and...
Helen glanced up.
They were giving her a standing ovation.
She held up a hand, waving, acknowledging her hometown crowd’s support.
And then they were through the gates, dismounting. Hugs. So many hugs, including from Nash, who spun her around before depositing her on the ground.
“I’m sorry. I lost balance that one time.”
“Who cares? I’m so proud of you,” he told her. And then he draped his arm over her shoulders and turned them toward the arena. “Now for your score.”
Helen didn’t want to hear it. “No matter what, we won.”
“Right,” Nash said, but she knew he hoped for more.
She glanced at the others. Her crew. Her family. She could see they hoped for it, too.
“A score of seventy for Helen Blackwell. Seven-zero.”
Nash’s arm fell away. He’d told her she needed at least a seventy-four to have any hope of placing. He led his horse out.
The crowd booed.
“You were robbed,” Wyatt told her before turning and taking his horse and Beanie out.
The others followed him, until it was just Helen, standing alone, trying to catch her breath and swallow back the overwhelming feeling of loss.
“Helen.” Phil appeared next to her, a literal thorn in her side. “What a ride. I’m so proud of you.”
“Which means nothing to me, Phil.” She spun on her boot heel and marched off to find the Blackwells.
“Excuse me.” A middle-aged woman shepherded a teenage girl forward, blocking Helen’s path. “I’m Madeline and this is Sylvie.”
“Hi.” Helen glanced past them but couldn’t see any of the Blackwells. Other groups with horses were coming in.
“I mean... I guess you don’t know...” Madeline smiled harder. “Nash has been training Beanie for us. For Sylvie.”
The air left Helen’s lungs in a rush because here was another loss. Beanie wasn’t hers. She’d known it all along, but still...
The teenage girl smiled, revealing braces. She had dark brown pigtails hanging over each shoulder and was wearing a brown button-down shirt embroidered with yellow daisies. She seemed cute and bright and perfect for Beanie.
If Helen hadn’t loved the gelding head-to-toe, she’d have been ecstatic for her.
Madeline and Sylvie’s smiles fell.
Helen realized it was her turn to say something. Her turn to be gracious and giving. “He’s a wonderful horse. Patient and... Well, he goes at his rider’s pace. At least, until you get him to cutting cows. Then it’s like he’s a frisky, young colt.”
“He’s fabulous,” Sylvie gushed, awkward silence apparently forgotten. “He was supposed to be a surprise for Christmas.”
“But Nash called yesterday morning to ask if we’d mind him competing today.”
Nash.
He hadn’t decided to put her on Beanie at the last second. Helen’s heart ripped a little further.
“I was leery about having Sylvie compete in cutting—”
“She thinks I’ll get hurt.” Sylvie rolled her eyes.
“—but hearing you praise him...knowing what you’ve overcome...” Madeline gave her daughter a significant stare. “I’m sorry if this is getting too personal. You just reassure me.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes again. “I lost part of my leg in an accident. And Mom thinks I should live my life in a bubble. But that would be boring.” She softened her words by taking her mother’s hand and swinging her arm. “My new motto is: If Helen Blackwell can do it, I can do it.”
Blinking back tears, Helen spread her arms and enveloped the pair in a hug. “I couldn’t think of a better rider for Beanie.” It hurt to let him go, but it was true.
Just like it probably hurt for Nash to let Helen go. But he didn’t have to. They made each other stronger when they were together. Or they could if Nash would be honest about moments when things became hard for him. He could reach out. He could speak out.
“Okay...” Sylvie laughed self-consciously.
“Oh. Hey. Sorry.” Helen stepped back, having held on to them too long. “I’m a hugger.” She waved and moved toward the stock exit.
“Helen.” A woman stepped out of the shadowy hallway. Her hair was blond and a little tired, and her face was gauntly hopeful. “Dove.”
Big E stood behind Helen’s mother, nodding encouragingly.
“Mom?” Helen nearly collapsed. And before she could process how she felt about seeing her mother again, they were hugging.
“I’m so sorry,” her mom said, sobbing. “And so proud.” She held her at arm’s length. “You’re beautiful, capable, and so strong. But you always were.”
Helen tried to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear and realized she still wore the riding helmet. She took it off.
“I found her.” Big E came forward. “She’s been living in Idaho.”
“Working on a ranch.” Her mother sniffed. “Seventeen years sober.”
Seventeen years. “You stopped drinking that year...”
She nodded, her movements jerky and self-conscious. “Checked into rehab once I’d realized my mistake.”
“There’s a lot to unpack here,” Helen said diplomatically, gaze seeking Big E’s. She had so many conflicting feelings. And right now, her priority was Nash. “Can we talk tomorrow?”
“I’d like that.” Her mom started to cry again.
Big E drew her away, assuring Helen that he’d bring her to the Christmas feast.
Helen marched on alone.
The Blackwells had the horses haltered, unsaddled and loaded in the trailers.
Helen glanced around, a bad feeling knotting between her shoulder blades. “Where’s Nash?”
No one would look at her.
No one except his grandmother. Denny grabbed hold of Helen’s hand. “We told him it didn’t matter. We told him we didn’t blame him.”
“But he blames himself.” Helen spotted Levi headed back toward the facility. He was running the show and wouldn’t be leaving soon. “Levi, can I borrow your truck?”
He stopped, turning slowly. “What for?”
She marched over to him, moving like a general about to issue new orders. “To find Nash and stop him from doing something foolish.”
Like take a drink.
NASH SAT AT the bar of the Cranky Crow, head in his hands, staring at a shot of whiskey.
“Let me take that back.” Harriet reached for the shot glass.
Nash held out his hand. He deserved this drink for all he’d been through. He deserved to savor the taste of whiskey on his tongue for all he’d put Helen through. And his family. And Eagle Springs.
But he just couldn’t do it.
He washed a hand over his face, remembering how Helen had broken down just sitting on Beanie two weeks ago. How her hands trembled and her face turned green.
I did that to her.
The whiskey glass was whisked away by a familiar feminine hand.
“That’s enough of that.” Helen crowded into the space next to him, in between the bar stool he sat on and the empty one next to it. She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” He closed his eyes, wishing she’d hold him forever. “Thank you for what?”
“Thank you for coming to the first place I looked for you.” Helen wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat. She bumped his off his head.
“Hey.”
Before he could reach for it, she kissed him.
And before he could unwind all the tension inside him, she ended that kiss.
She grinned. “You owe me that for staying in the saddle tonight.”
He wanted to smile. He wanted to believe everything was all right. But the truth... The truth was so much worse. “Let’s not do this.”
“Nash Blackwell.” She cradled his face in both hands. “You honestly think that either one of us is ever going to find someone brave enough to love us the way I love you and you love me?”
On the other side of the bar, Harriet snorted.
Helen wasn’t having it, she snapped toward the woman. “Harriet, unless you want me to give you a piece of my mind for pouring Nash that drink, you need to head on over to the end of the bar and mind your own business.”
With her eyes flashing and her voice commanding, Helen was the most beautiful woman Nash had ever seen.
Suddenly, she turned all that passion and heart toward him. “You aren’t off the hook, not by a long shot. You took me for granted after the crash. You thought you could just hide away from me.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“And I thought I was to blame because you’d never told me you loved me, not without being prompted. So I tried to be someone else. Someone who didn’t make waves or dance in public. And tucking myself away, along with leaving you, nearly ended me.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s not fair. I want to be me.” She speared her fingers into his hair and took hold. “And I want you to be you.”
Nash didn’t know what to say to that, mostly because he didn’t know who she wanted him to be.
“You are all the Blackwells rolled into one. Stubborn like Denny. Kind like Adele. Driven like Levi. Clever like Wyatt. And bossy like Corliss.” She drew a breath because apparently, she wasn’t done. “You are predictable, until you aren’t. And lovable, until you clam up. You make me want to dance and sing and feel everything that makes life worth living.” She laughed. “You forced me to face my fears, openly for everyone to see. But you were there by my side. And now, I want to do the same for you.”
Nash shook his head. “I’m here. In a bar. Clearly, I was about to let you down.”
She huffed and waved to Harriet. “How long has he been sitting here staring at this shot of whiskey?”
“Twenty-eight minutes.”
Helen put her forehead to Nash’s. “You were waiting for me. You were waiting for me to come and talk about how we gave it our best shot but we lost. Tonight, we’ll be down in the dumps. But tomorrow, we’re going to begin making a new plan for the future. Together.”
He blinked at her. At green-eyed determination. She deserved...so much more.
“Just admit that you were waiting for me,” she said softly, pleadingly. “That’s all, Nash. Admit it. And we can try this crazy thing called love one more time.”
Nash opened his mouth. He should tell her he’d been waiting for her, all right. Waiting for her to bear witness when he took that drink. Then she’d go her own way. Then she’d find someone to love her how she should be loved. Except...
The truth was, he had been waiting for her, hoping that she’d come and tell him not to give in or give up hope. The way she just had.
“I was waiting for you,” he said on a weighty breath of air. “I will always wait for you.”