Echoes of Truth - Chapter 18

You never know how truths will be revealed - some devastating and others, unexpected.

Imagined by Marylee, created by ChatGPT

William arrived in Echo Canyon a full week before the Centennial Celebration, the air crisp with anticipation. He pulled his truck into Raven’s drive, Star shifting restlessly in the trailer behind him. The mare had grown stronger, her coat gleaming under the morning sun, but there was still something untamed in her eyes—a hesitation, a flicker of defiance that hadn’t yet settled into trust.

Raven met him at the barn, her dark hair twisted back, a quiet confidence in her stance. “You made good time,” she said, giving Star an appraising look.

“Figured it was better to get here early,” William replied. “Gives us time to see if Star’s ready for the demonstration.”

Raven nodded, stepping closer to the mare. “She’s come a long way. But she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

William let out a short laugh. “That’s what I keep hearing.”

They spent the next few days working together, putting Star through her paces. The Centennial Celebration wasn’t just an event—it was history coming full circle. And for Raven, it meant proving to the community that her methods, rooted in the wisdom of generations, belonged in the future just as much as the past.

But not everyone saw it that way.

By the time the sun dipped behind the canyon walls that evening, William felt like he’d earned a beer. The Saloon on Main wasn’t much more than a dimly lit watering hole, but it had been around longer than anyone could remember. Inside, ranchers and horsemen filled the space, the low hum of conversation blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

William took a seat at the bar, nodding to the bartender. “Whiskey.”

He wasn’t looking for company, but he found it anyway.

At a corner table, a familiar voice cut through the noise, laced with a sharp edge that made William’s gut tighten.

Whitman.

He leaned back, glass in hand, and listened.

The Confirmation: Whitman’s True Colors

Whitman’s voice carried across the room, a little louder than it should have been. He was relaxed, emboldened by the men around him, men who had always seen things the way he did.

“These women think they can change everything, like they own the place.” He scoffed, taking a long drink. “It’s one thing to have them running shops, talking about plants and herbs, but leading? Running training programs? Since when does tradition mean letting a woman take charge?”

Laughter rippled around the table. Another man chimed in, “She’s even got that ranch manager of hers answering to her, like she’s the boss of the whole damn operation.”

Whitman smirked. “People don’t want a bunch of old ladies telling them how to train their horses. They want real horsemen. Men who know what they’re doing. Not some woman who thinks she can rewrite the rules because she’s got a soft touch and a story to tell.”

William set his glass down carefully, his grip tightening.

There it was.

The words Whitman had been too careful to say outright before. The sneers, the jabs, the little undermining comments—none of it had been subtle, but now, here in this room, he had finally spoken his mind.

William had spent months wavering, listening to both sides, trying to find the middle ground. He had wanted to believe that Whitman was just another old-school cowboy, stuck in his ways but not malicious. But this wasn’t about tradition. It was about control. About keeping things exactly as they were, with the same men calling the shots, never letting the ground shift beneath their boots.

He didn’t move right away. He finished his drink, let the conversation roll on without giving himself away. There would be a time for confrontation, but not here, not now.

Instead, he let the truth settle in.

Whitman wasn’t just resistant to change—he was determined to stop it. And he’d do whatever it took to make sure Raven, and every woman like her, knew their place.

William stood, tossed some bills on the bar, and walked out into the night.

His loyalty had just shifted for good.

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Later that evening, Raven and Sam settled the horses for the night, the rhythmic sound of hoofbeats fading as the animals relaxed in their stalls. Sam carried two mugs of coffee out to the firepit, the flames casting flickering light over the canyon’s edge. The air smelled of mesquite smoke and desert sage, the night cool but not cold.

Raven accepted the mug with a nod. “Feels like we’re finally getting somewhere,” she said, stretching out her legs toward the fire.

Sam sat across from her, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah. Feels real now.” He took a sip of his coffee and let the silence sit between them before adding, “You ready for the next six months?”

Raven let out a slow breath. “We’ll see. We’ve got a full schedule—six horses, three coming from out of state. Owners who are willing to take a risk on this place before it’s even fully open. That’s a lot of trust.”

Sam gave a small, knowing smile. “They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t believe in what you’re doing.”

She studied him over the rim of her cup. “You sound sure of that.”

“Because I am.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Raven, I’ve watched you build this from nothing. The way you handle these horses, the way you teach—it’s not just skill. It’s something else. Something people recognize, even if they don’t have words for it.”

She glanced away, focusing on the fire. Compliments always felt heavier coming from Sam.

After a moment, he shifted gears. “What about Shikáni? How do you think she’s doing?”

Raven smiled softly. “She’s finding her way. It’s not easy being caught between two worlds, but she’s got a fire in her. She just needs to learn how to use it.”

Sam nodded, his gaze steady. “Kinda like someone else I know.”

Raven chuckled. “Is that your way of saying I’m stubborn?”

“That’s my way of saying you know exactly who you are. And you don’t let anyone shake that.”

The fire crackled between them, the weight of the day settling. Raven shifted slightly, stretching her legs out again. Sam did the same, their boots nearly touching in the space between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind whispered through the canyon, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild creosote.

Sam cleared his throat. “I should turn in soon. Early morning.”

“Yeah,” Raven said, though neither of them moved.

The flames danced between them, and in the quiet, something unspoken lingered. Something that had been there for a while now, just waiting.

Maybe it wasn’t time yet.

But maybe it was getting close.