Taken in Turns
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 4: The Gift
Nita had never cared much for birthdays.
In a place like that, days blurred together—marked more by weather and work than by calendars. But the brothers remembered. Not one of them said it outright, not at first, yet something in the air that morning felt different. Quieter, but expectant.
She noticed the way Elijah couldn’t quite hide his grin.
The way Samuel kept glancing toward the road.
The way Thomas had already been up before dawn.
“What did you do?” she asked at last, standing on the porch with her arms loosely crossed.
Elijah tipped his hat back. “Now that ain’t a proper way to greet a gift.”
“I didn’t ask for one.”
“Good thing,” Samuel muttered. “You’d have asked for somethin’ sensible.”
“And you didn’t get me something sensible?” she replied, arching a brow.
Thomas stepped aside.
And that was when she saw it.
The horse stood just beyond the fence line, reins looped loose over the post. A deep chestnut, coat shining even under the thin morning light, strong legs planted steady in the dust. Its ears flicked at the sound of voices, dark eyes alert but calm.
For a moment, Nita said nothing.
She stepped forward slowly, as if the sight might vanish if she moved too fast.
“She’s yours,” Thomas said.
Nita let out a quiet breath. “She’s ... beautiful.”
Elijah smiled wider. “Figured you needed more than that piano to keep you company.”
Samuel added, softer, “And a way to leave town if you ever feel like it.”
That made her glance at him—but there was no edge in it. Just truth.
She stepped closer, reaching out a careful hand. The horse shifted, then stilled, allowing the touch. Nita’s fingers brushed along its neck, tentative at first, then more certain.
“I’ve never ridden,” she admitted.
“That’s about to change,” Elijah said.
The first lesson didn’t go well.
Nita was graceful at the piano—precise, controlled, every movement measured and sure. But on horseback, that control slipped through her fingers like water.
She mounted stiffly, every muscle tight.
“Relax,” Samuel called from below, one hand resting lightly near the reins. “You’re fightin’ her.”
“I’m not fighting,” Nita replied, though her voice betrayed the tension.
The horse shifted beneath her, sensing it.
Elijah chuckled from the side. “You look like you’re sittin’ on a loaded rifle.”
Thomas shot him a look. “Enough.”
Then, more gently to her, “Breathe. Let your weight settle.”
Nita tried.
She really did.
But the moment the horse took its first step, her balance wavered. Her hands tightened too fast, pulling the reins unevenly. The animal tossed its head in confusion, stepping sideways.
“Easy—easy,” Samuel said quickly, moving with them.
“I’ve got it,” she insisted.
She didn’t.
Her body leaned the wrong way, trying to correct too much at once. The rhythm of the horse didn’t match her own, and instead of moving with it, she resisted.
That was the mistake.
The horse gave a sudden, sharper shift—nothing wild.
But it was enough.
Nita’s foot slipped in the stirrup.
Her balance broke.
And in that split second, everything went wrong at once.
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