Chapter 130

Iris

“You want me to ride… that?”

I stare up at Buttercup, who suddenly seems to be the size of a small building. The chestnut mare looks down at me with what I swear is amusement in her big brown eyes.

“Oh, come on,” Arthur laughs, still holding Miles. “She’s the gentlest horse on the ranch.”

“I don’t care if she’s the gentlest horse in the universe,” I say, backing away slowly. “She’s enormous. And she just looked at me like I was dinner.”

The ranch hand chuckles. “Most first-timers get nervous, ma’am. But I promise you, Buttercup here is practically a pony, and she would never hurt a fly.”

A pony the size of a truck, maybe. I shake my head firmly. “No, I think I’ll just watch you two go. I can take pictures from the ground.”

“But Mommy, you have to come!” Miles whines. “Come oooon!”

Arthur sets Miles down beside Thunder and approaches me with that damn determined look in his eyes. “Iris,” he says softly. “Trust me?”

Before I can answer, he’s scooping me up like I weigh nothing. I let out a yelp that’s embarrassingly close to a shriek as he carries me over to Buttercup.

“Arthur! Put me down right now!” I cry out as I hammer my fists against his back.

“I’m about to,” he says, grinning as he hoists me up and deposits me in the saddle.

I grab onto the saddle horn for dear life, my knuckles turning white with the effort. The ground suddenly seems miles below me, and the horse shifts beneath me, pawing the stable floor.

“Oh, Goddess,” I whisper. “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.”

Miles is doubled over with laughter at the sight of me frozen in terror on the horse’s back, which doesn’t help my dignity one bit.

“You’re not going to die,” Arthur assures me as he adjusts my stirrups. “Just relax. Buttercup knows what she’s doing, even if you don’t.”

“That’s not reassuring!” I hiss, still clinging to the saddle horn.

The ranch hand adjusts my posture, showing me how to hold the reins and where to put my feet. “Just sit up straight, relax your hips, and follow her movements,” he instructs. “It’s like dancing—you’ve got to move with your partner.”

Dancing. Right. Except my dance partner is a half-ton animal with a mind of its own.

Arthur mounts Thunder with impressive ease, like he’s done this a million times before, then the ranch hand lifts Miles up to sit in front of him. Our son looks absolutely tiny on the big horse, and every mothering instinct in me is telling me that he’s in grave danger, but his face is lit up with excitement as Arthur’s arms encircle him to hold the reins.

“Ready?” the ranch hand asks, mounting his own horse.

“No,” I mutter.

“Yes!” Miles cheers.

And with that, we’re off. The ranch hand leads the way down a well-worn trail into the forest, followed by Arthur and Miles on Thunder. I’m still rigid in the saddle, refusing to move. But Buttercup doesn’t appear to need my direction, and simply begins to lazily follow the other horses.

“Oh—Oh, she’s moving!” I cry out.

The ranch hand chuckles over his shoulder. “That is typically the point, yes.”

I feel like I’m going to vomit. But after about fifteen minutes, I actually do start to relax—just a fraction. Buttercup isn’t trying to buck me off or bolt. In fact, she’s plodding along steadily, seemingly unbothered by my very presence.

Slowly, very slowly, I loosen my death grip on the saddle horn and try to follow the ranch hand’s advice, moving with the horse rather than against her.

To my surprise, it actually helps. The ride becomes smoother, and Buttercup snorts as if with appreciation. I’m still not comfortable, exactly, but I’m no longer in a state of absolute terror.

Up ahead, Miles is chattering away to Arthur, pointing at everything he sees—a squirrel darting up a tree, a colorful bird taking flight, an interesting rock formation. Arthur listens with endless patience, answering each question and sharing Miles’ delight in the smallest discoveries.

The sight of them together makes my heart swell, and I momentarily forget about my fear. This is what I always wanted—to see Arthur being a father to our son. To have these moments together as a family, making memories that Miles will carry with him forever.

I thought we would never have this after the breakup. I thought Miles would never get to experience a relationship with his father.

And now… it’s happening.

“You’re smiling,” Arthur calls back to me. “Feeling better?”

I blush as I realize he’s right. Somewhere along the way, my grimace has transformed into a serene smile.

The trail winds deeper into the forest, following the curve of a small stream. The afternoon sun filters through the pine branches, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The air is fresh and clean, and I take a deep inhale, which calms me further.

“Look there,” the ranch hand suddenly says, drawing his horse to a stop and pointing to a rocky outcrop ahead.

My eyes widen as I come to a stop beside them. A gray wolf stands on the distant ridge, silhouetted against the clear blue sky. Even from this distance, I can see its thick fur ruffling in the breeze.

It’s looking right at us.

“It’s a she-wolf,” Arthur says quietly.

The ranch hand nods in agreement. “He’s right. That’s definitely a female. Probably has a den with pups nearby.” He looks at Miles. “You’re lucky, little man. Not many people get to see a wild wolf up close like this.”

Miles is awestruck, his eyes wide as he takes in the majestic creature. “Is she like you and Daddy and me?” he asks, looking back at me. “A werewolf?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur answers for me. “Wild wolves are our ancient cousins. Some believe they’re wiser than werewolves because they chose to remain pure and wild.”

“What do you mean?” Miles asks.

Arthur thinks for a moment. “Well, according to werewolf legends, a long time ago, wolves and humans made a deal. Some wolves chose to share their spirits with humans, creating the first werewolves. But others chose to stay as they were—free and wild.”

“Those who refused the merge retained their pure connection to nature,” the ranch hand adds. “That’s why many werewolves still respect wild wolves as sacred creatures. It’s also why some believe there are still humans in the world; not enough wolves to go around.”

I stare at the she-wolf as they chat, utterly rapt. The idea that somewhere inside of me might be a wolf spirit, similar to but different from this wild creature, is still hard to grasp.

The she-wolf turns her head, and suddenly, her golden eyes meet mine. A jolt runs through me, like static electricity. There’s an intelligence in those eyes, a depth that seems to look right through me.

Time seems to slow as we regard each other across the distance. I feel a strange sense of recognition, a connection I can’t explain. The wind ruffles her fur, blowing a strand of my own hair into my face at the same time.

She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Nothing can compare.

I’m not even sure if I want to paint this; as if painting her might strip her of her freedom, trap her somehow in a canvas, suck her into a world that’s not her own.

The she-wolf holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer, and I swear she tilts her head in recognition.

Then, she turns and disappears into the forest. I stare at the spot where she stood just a moment ago, and I can’t help but feel a profound sense of peace mingled with… loss. Like I’ve just witnessed something for the last time.

I don’t even notice that the others have continued their ride until Buttercup snorts softly and follows them.