I started thumbing through my phone, scrolling through social media, and after a minute, my thumb stopped on an ad that popped up. It was for an article in theStockman’s Journal, a magazine many of the local ranchers subscribed to. “Eight ways to get kids excited about ranching,” was the tagline.
Okay, I admit it. I’d maybe googled a few ideas to try for the kids at the White Pines class, and now it seemed like the whole Internet was conspiring to give me tips. I needed them. Morgan had said things were a go for this week, and we’d probably have some new kids signing up. That meant I had to bring my “A” Game.
We, actually. Because I’d never survive that two-hour class without Dusty’s help. He might be the quiet type, but he was steady, cheerful, and always there when you needed him. And the kids really responded to him.
I clicked on the article fromStockman’sand read through it. Most of the ideas were either impractical for our situation or things we’d already done, but one was pretty cool. It was about teaching kids to groundwork a horse, progressing from basic handling skills through higher level maneuvers and even Liberty work. The idea was to give them a course to run, goals to achieve, and a way to mark their progress.
That actually gelled pretty well with White Pines’ mission of connecting people with horses, and it was something we could accomplish. Plus, it would be fun. Those kids didn’t come to the after-school program to get better at coloring pictures. They wanted to handle the horses more.
Pleased with my new idea, I scrolled through my phone contacts. Did I even have Dusty in here? Ah, yes. Under Walker Ranch, probably because Dusty handled the books. The last message thread was over a year old, when I’d ordered some hay. But I knew this was his personal phone number because he’d mentioned which Walker I was talking to.
I clicked the link for the article and forwarded it to him, then typed out a message of explanation.
-Hey, this is Jess. Came across this article. What do you think of the idea in the last paragraph? Could we do that tomorrow?
I didn’t expect an answer right away, but I’d scarcely pressed send before the message showed that it had been read. Almost immediately, he sent a reply.
-I was reading this same article yesterday. Do you get Stockman’s?
I stuck the tip of my tongue out as I typed.
-No, I just saw the link and read it online.
-They have articles like this every month. One of the editors is an FFA and 4-H leader, so there are always things for youth.
-Maybe I should subscribe, then! Do you think we could manage this? Would Morgan let us?
The reply field blinked for a few seconds.
-I’m sure she would. I’ll ask if we can use Biz tomorrow. Hang on.
I waited a little while, playing with Dakota’s floppy ears as I thought. How could we manage doing this with, say, ten kids? Would we need two horses? How were we supposed to keep the others entertained when one was taking a turn? My phone dinged while I was mulling over my ideas.
-Morgan says all her therapy horses are booked tomorrow for multiple sessions.
I frowned.
-Well, there goes that idea. Maybe when the arena’s open.
-It’s not a space problem. She says we can use the indoor ring if I bring one or two of my horses. Some of the program horses are already moved up to the new ranch, and she doesn’t want to wear out the ones that are still here.
Excitement tingled again through my fingers. We could make this work, after all! Hurriedly, I sent a reply.
-I can bring Nash. He loves kids.
-I have a good one to bring, too. Want me to pick up your horse? It’s on the way for me, and that way, we don’t have to haul two trailers.
I grinned as I typed.
-Deal. See you tomorrow.
Chapter 16
Dusty
“So,that’showit’sgoing to be.”
Those words had sent a second set of shock waves through the house this week. First, Marshall up and married Kelli on about a thirty-six-hour notice. Just dragged her off to the courthouse—actually, she might have been the one doing the dragging—and then he was gone, moved into her house on Main Street in town. His socks were still on the floor of his bedroom, for crying out loud, but his chair at the table sat empty.