“Not for me! I’ve never done anything like that in my life! And she’s four times as big as I am! Why in the world would she let me do that? Doesn’t it bother her having that piece of metal in her mouth?”
Stuart laughs more and catches my chin. Pulling my face up, he plants a firm kiss on my lips, and all my questions disappear.
“It’s her job to carry us around, and she trusts you. Don’t overthink it.” He steps away, returning to the small closet. “Now for the saddle.”
We go through the same routine as with Ranger, only this time, I’m more involved with tossing the stirrup, tightening the girth. I even walk around front and tentatively pat Cheyenne’s knee pit. Just like clockwork, she lifts her leg for me to tug on it.
“You don’t have to do that unless you notice the girth bunching her skin.”
“Still, I did it!” I walk around the giant animal feeling strong and empowered. I put all these leather and metal contraptions on her just so I can sit on her back and drive her around.
Stuart’s right. I’m overthinking it. “What do we do now?”
“Now you get on.” In one fluid move, he grasps the saddle and mounts the horse, holding the reins and steadying it as Ranger steps to the side in the alley. “We’ve saddled up two horses. Let’s go for a ride.”
Looking toward the stall in the back I call up at him. “But what about Jessie?”
“I’d feel better if you had a little more practice with trained horses before you start training one yourself.”
I have to concede he’s right. With a nod, I walk back to Cheyenne’s belly and put my hand on the saddle horn while I use the other to try and situate my foot in the stirrup.
“Hold the reins,” Stuart advises, and I pause, making sure I have the thin strips of leather in my hand before I awkwardly haul myself up onto her back. I’m on my belly at first, but I manage to fling my leg around and wiggle myself to a sitting position.
“Good work.” I’m pretty sure he’s fighting a laugh.
With a wink and a flick of the reins, he heads out of the barn. Cheyenne is right behind him as if she doesn’t even need me to tell her what to do. She probably doesn’t.
Stuart gives us a quick glance before calling, “Let’s ride to the cabin!”
The wind has picked up, and I don’t try to make him hear me. I give him a vigorous nod and urge the horse onward with my legs as we take off, moving through a bumpy trot to a smooth canter.
4
News
Stuart
Wind sweeps down across the prairie grasses in a line like an invisible ship over sage-green waters. Mariska is right behind me, her long hair flying in the breeze, and every time I glance back, she gives me a huge smile.
We haven’t been to the cabin since Christmas, and I’ve wanted to check on the place. When Bill bought the ranch, I took my sleeping bag and set up shop there the first year we were here, and that settled it. It’s primitive, remote, and barely big enough for one person, and it’s all mine.
My younger brother Patrick is more interested in hanging around the house, talking to our uncle, and getting to know the other ranchers. Our baby sister Amy couldn’t be bothered with such crude accommodations. The jetted tubs, plush robes, and soft mattresses of the main house are more her style.
Last year, I came back here alone, hoping to find peace. I’d been sent home from the desert, discharged after a spinal injury left me unable to complete even the most basic tasks without pain.
I’d done my best to stay in the game with prescription pain killers, but the narcotics brought their own brand of handicap to the mix: addiction. I was the lowest I’ve ever been when Mariska showed up with a potent blend of love and massage therapy and a desire to help me. I finally got my head out of my ass and let her.
Now, charging through the tall grasses, I look back on those golden days, our first memories together. Ranger’s hooves pound the earth in a satisfying rhythm, and after what feels like too short a time, the small grey shack appears at the horizon. I sit straighter, barely moving the reins toward my stomach as my horse eases to a halt.
Mariska rocks forward as she tries to hold onto Cheyenne through the bouncy stop. I do my best to not laugh. Everything she does is adorably amateur, but she’s so earnest. I don’t want her discouraged—or worse, pissed.
“When it’s time to stop, lean back a bit and tighten your stomach muscles. That way you’re in control, and you don’t fly off.”
Her silky hair swirls around her head, and she’s breathing fast. Her eagerness to learn reminds me of our early days when she would follow me around the barn asking questions and watching me work. She was cute then, but I was still resisting her charms. Now she’s beautiful and determined to master this skill.
“Lean back and tighten my stomach,” she repeats as if it’s a mantra.
I watch as she practices the motion. Cheyenne’s chin moves down, and the large horse takes a step back.