Once I was sure he wasn’t in a panic, I put my hands on his withers and my heels on the next fence board up. I took a moment to steady myself and make sure he was still okay. Then I carefully brought up my right knee and inched it over his back. So far, so good.
Just as I shifted my center of gravity from the fence’s support to his, Blue snorted, jumped to the side, and I was on the ground in an undignified heap. Much as it would have been safer to have John or Dustin nearby, I had to admit I was glad to do this without an audience.
I picked myself up and dusted myself off. Blue hadn’t gone far, just a few paces away, and even as he grazed, he fidgeted uneasily as I approached.
“Easy, Blue,” I said, and when I was close enough, I stroked his shoulder. “Easy. It’s okay.”
I might have convinced myself to just let this drop and try again another day, except he settled down faster than I expected. Way faster. One second, he was fidgeting and tense; the next, he was more interested in the grass at his feet than whatever it was that might have sort of scared him a minute ago. Not what I would have expected from him of all horses. Not after the way he always behaved in the round pen, which was a far cry from this.
Maybe it was worth a second try.
I led him around in circles a few times, speaking softly to him and petting him until long after he’d calmed down. Once he had, I lined him up with the fence and tried again.
And once again, I was on my ass in the dirt.
“Damn it,” I muttered to myself, and got up again. I brushed the dirt off my jeans and gingerly rubbed my hip. Damn rocks.
As I walked him in circles to calm him down again, I decided maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He wasn’t ready for it. Doing it out here was stupid. Dangerously stupid.
My eyes darted toward the fence.
Okay,
one
more try. Just one more.
I stopped him beside the fence again. “Okay, Blue,” I said, carefully stepping onto the board, “I’m not going to hurt you, big guy, I promise. Just going to get on and see if we can do this.” Of course he couldn’t understand a word I said, but he’d understand the tone. That and as long as I was speaking, I kept him hyperaware of where I was so I was less likely to startle him.
Feet on the board. Arms over his back. Carefully, slowly, one foot off the board and my leg pressed against his side. Pulling myself up. My arms ached and shook from exertion, especially trying to do this slowly, but I gritted my teeth and kept going.
Blue tensed.
I stayed as relaxed as I could, reminding myself with every heartbeat that if I stayed calm, he might too.
The whole world seemed to come to a halt as I inched higher. Eased my leg over him. All the way over him.
And I was on his back. We weren’t moving, but I was on his back, and he was calm.
I nearly laughed out loud but bit it back as I gathered my lead rope reins. Then as carefully as I could, I leaned forward.
Blue tensed again.
“Easy,” I said, smiling as I stroked his neck. “Good boy, Blue. Very good boy.” Tugging cautiously on the lead rope, I brought his head around toward my leg. Then I released the rope and held out my hand.
Blue sniffed my hand. His eyes flicked up, and he snorted hot air into my palm.
“See?” I stroked his muzzle. “It’s not scary. It’s just me.”
He searched my hand for treats, and I laughed softly.
“Oh, you must be terrified if you can think of treats. Silly boy.”
Still moving slowly and carefully, I sat up. Then I shifted my weight to the left, to the right, to the left again. Reached up and patted his neck, back to pat his rump, forward again to pat his shoulders. He eyed me but didn’t freak out. He didn’t shoot out from under me and leave me in the dirt. Now that I was on him, and nothing scary was happening, he relaxed more than I thought he would.
But we weren’t moving yet, and curiosity was still killing me. I gently pressed my lower leg against him, just enough he could feel it. With the softest, subtlest nudge, I touched my heel to his side. He didn’t move, so I gave him a light tap and quietly said, “Walk.” He didn’t move. I tapped him a little harder and said the word a little louder. “Walk.”
Blue tentatively took a step. Then another.
Twisting my body to the left, I tugged the lead rope in the same direction and steered him in a small counterclockwise circle. As we made little circles and figure eights out here in the muddy grass, I must have looked like an idiot, grinning from ear to ear, but I didn’t care because I hadn’t had a rush like this since the first time I took a horse over a jump when I was six.
Blue snorted and tossed his head. He was antsy now, but not in a spooky, flighty way. He wanted to
go
.
And who was I to tell him he couldn’t? I’d only intended to get on for a minute and see if he’d let me, then try again for a longer ride when I had Dustin around in case something went wrong. But Blue didn’t want to just walk, and he hadn’t tried to unload me, and what could I say? The girl who couldn’t resist trying just
one
more time was the same girl who couldn’t resist seeing what other surprise he might have waiting for me.
Grinning to myself and hoping I wasn’t about to get acquainted with the mud again, I kept the reins taut—not restrictively tight but not flapping in the wind—and squeezed him with my legs. He hesitated, so I gave him a little tap with my calves.
I thought he might explode out from under me into a full gallop or something, but to my complete and utter shock, he slipped right into a running walk. A perfect, smooth running walk, just like he’d done whenever we ground-drove him. Bobbing his head as he glided over the grass, he was relaxed, and supple, and calm, and it wasn’t the wind that made my eyes well up like this.
We were flying. Across a muddy, grassy pasture, with no one around and no saddle and no fear, we were flying, and it was all I could do not to just bury my face in his mane and cry.
In all my professionally competitive years, I’d been chasing the high that came from that first blue ribbon at a 4-H show when I was nine. Countless trophies, championships, even national and world titles, and I’d never been able to recapture that giddy, top-of-the-world feeling I had when they called my name for that tiny blue rosette ribbon.
Not until now.
Not much farther, and we’d be almost back to the barn, but I didn’t make him stop. I wasn’t ready for this ride to be over yet, and even as the arena roof came into view over the crest of the hill, I didn’t turn Blue around. I didn’t slow him down.
I just let him fly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dustin
“Farrier’s coming this week.” Dad scribbled some notes on the clipboard in his hand as we stood in the shade behind the barn. “Anyone need special attention?”
I shook my head. “Just the usual suspects with the usual trims and shoes.” I paused. “But we’ll have to sedate Blue and probably Star. Make sure the vet gets out here before the farrier so I can discuss that with her.”
Dad nodded and made a note.
“Oh, and I need to make a run to the lumberyard this week,” I said. “Amy said there’s a few rotted posts out by the western boundary.”
Dad grunted in acknowledgment. “She said that mare—Ivy, I think?—is halfway through some boards in one of the south pastures.”
“Figures,” I grumbled. “Madi too, I think.”
“Definitely Madi,” Dad muttered. “Between her and that kid of hers, they’ll eat this whole place before wintertime.”
“Joy. Well, if there’s anything you need me to pick up, make a note of it.”
“Will do.” He nodded toward the covered arena. “What about the footing in the ring? Still want to replace it this summer, or wait until next spring?”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know,” I said. “Not this month, though. Let’s see how many boarders pay on time before we decide to cough up that much. And speaking of which, there’s three mares coming in next week. One on Friday, two on Saturday.”
“Right,” Dad said. “We’ve got four moving out on Wednesday, so there should be plenty of room.”
“Perfect. Is May Johnston coming to pick up her two, or do we need to move a few out to one of the pastures?”
“I’ll give her a call today,” he said. “I think she wanted to have the vet check both mares and confirm they’re in foal before she takes ’em. And as long as their vet’s coming out, I’ll have her—” Dad looked past me, and his eyes widened. His pen slipped out of his hand and clattered on the ground. “What in the world…”
“What?” I turned around, and my heart stopped.
No way.
No. Way.
How in the…
There wasn’t another blue roan horse on this farm, let alone one with a natural running walk, so there was no mistaking whose back Amy was on.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
“Yep,” Dad said. “That crazy woman…”
I couldn’t help grinning. I started toward them. Walking, but quickly. Just barely resisting the urge to break into a jog, because I was scared to death I’d startle Blue, but my God, there he was: being ridden, cruising along at that gorgeous running walk I’d been dying to ride.
About twenty feet from me, she drew him down to a walk, then a gentle halt.
“You’re…” I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re riding him. I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I.” She had tears in her eyes, and, quite frankly, I was surprised I didn’t.
“How did you—” I stroked Blue’s face just to make sure he was really standing here and I wasn’t having some goddamned dream. “He’s…”
She sniffed sharply and grinned. “I’d call this a breakthrough, wouldn’t you?”
I laughed, patting Blue’s neck. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I definitely would. But…how?”
Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “He always gets so buzzed up in the arena or the round pen, but he’s so quiet out in the pasture, so I thought maybe that was the problem.”
“Fucking genius,” I whispered, still disbelieving she was really on his back. Judging by the patches of mud on her clothes and the smudges on her face, it hadn’t been quite as easy as she made it look now. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “How many tries did it take?”
“A few.” She grinned. “But it was worth it.” She slid off his back, landing on her feet in the grass, and I threw my arms around her. The bill of her hat caught on the brim of mine and knocked it to the ground behind me, but who cared?
“You did it,” I whispered. “You’re amazing.”
She sniffled again, and when I pulled back, she took off her baseball cap and quickly wiped her eyes, leaving a smear of dirt and tears.
I brushed a smudge off her cheek. “You okay?”
She smiled through her tears and nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m—”
“Don’t even apologize,” I said. “If I wasn’t so damned stunned, I’d probably be a mess too.” Amy laughed, and I kissed her forehead before adding, “I’m not kidding. You’re fucking amazing.”
Blue nudged us with his nose, and we both laughed as we turned to pet him.
“Yeah, you’re pretty amazing too,” I said, patting his blue-gray neck.
Still stroking Blue’s face, Amy put her arm around my waist and rested her head against my shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For letting me work with him. You have no idea how much this…” She trailed off, and when she sniffed, I wrapped my arms around her.
“You were exactly what he needed,” I said, stroking her hair.
“I think
he
was exactly what
I
needed,” she said softly.
I kissed the top of her head and just held on to her.
After a moment, she pulled back and looked at Blue. “I’m going to go brush him and put him away.” She tousled his forelock. “I think he’s earned his keep for the day.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
She met my eyes again, and we both smiled.
I touched her face and kissed her lightly. “Nicely done.”
“Thank you.” She raised her chin to kiss me once more, then we let each other go so she could take Blue back to the barn.
Smiling to myself, I watched them go. Blue’s ground manners had obviously improved—he walked beside Amy and kept his feet to himself. He looked around, and he was aware of his surroundings but didn’t spook at his own shadow.
Amy, you’re a goddamned miracle work—
A gruff, quiet cough made me cringe.
As I turned around, I said, “Dad, it’s—”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, boy.” He shoved one hand into the pockets of his dusty jeans as he came closer, and he gestured with his clipboard in the direction Amy had taken Blue. “So don’t tell me that wasn’t what it looked like.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you that.” I knelt and picked up my hat off the ground. “It is what it looks like.”
And there it was: the disapproving sigh he and my mom both had down to an art form.
“You know that girl’s got some kind of history,” he said. “You know she does.”
Oh, believe me, I know she does.
“That doesn’t make her a leper,” I said. “She’s got a history, but so do I.”