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The affection with which Bex treats the animal has me smiling.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, taking in the towering horse.
“Isn’t she? I thought you might like her coat. She’s somewhere between a cremello and perlino, giving her that unicorn look.” She chuckles. “I’m gonna grab Sour Patch, and we can take them both to get tacked up.”
I laugh. “Are all the horses named after candies?”
“Pretty much,” Bex says seriously, turning to walk to a nearby stall as I rub Skittles’s muzzle. “Or at least all the mares are because they’re sweet as can be. The stallions are all named after more savory snacks, like Chex Mix, Cheez-Its, and Goldfish.”
I grin at the silliness of it all and turn back to Skittles.
“Ready, girl?” She gives me a neigh and a nod, and already I feel a connection to this horse.
It doesn’t take us long to get the girls all tacked up, Bex having guided me through the whole process of grooming, adding the blanket and saddle, then putting on the bridle. By the time we’re done, the sun is high in the sky.
“Where y’all headed, Mrs. Silva?” one of the grooms asks as we bring Skittles and Sour Patch out into the main area of the barn.
“I’m thinking we go over the hill toward the pasture so we can watch the cows,” she replies brightly.
“Oh, no Mrs., I wouldn’t do that,” he replies, shaking his head. “The hands said they had some animals over there tearin’ up the area and some of the fences.”
“Shoot. Well, that ruins that plan.” Bex frowns.
“Maybe head toward the river and that alcove of trees there? Might see a heron while you’re at it,” the groom suggests.
“Excellent idea. Thanks!” And immediately Bex brightens again.
The groom hands her a couple helmets, and Bex comes over to fasten and adjust one to my head.
“Do we really need these?” I ask.
“Better safe than sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t want precious cargo getting injured if something goes wrong.”
Bex tries to help me hop on Skittles, and while I love having her hands on me as I try and jump, ultimately a few of the grooms who are around have to help us step up into our saddles.
When I’m seated, she shows me how to hold the reins in one hand and positions me properly on the saddle.
“The trick is to keep your heels down at all times and move with the horse. Let your body follow her movements and you should be fine,” she explains.
“Yes, ma’am,” I joke, but it only makes her grin broadly at me.
When she hops up on Sour Patch, I can’t keep myself from admiring her ass and how her jeans hug her body tightly, the fabric clinging to every curve.
“Walk on,” Bex commands with a little rock of her hips in the saddle, and Sour Patch starts moving.
My own horse takes a step forward before rocking back to her previous position.
“You gotta tell her what to do,” Bex calls back when she turns to find me not moving and stops her own horse. “Ask her to walk on and give her a little squeeze with your thighs.”
I do as she instructs and suddenly, I’m moving forward.
“I’m doing it!” I cry out, smiling broadly.
“Good job!” Bex encourages, and when I catch up to her, she gets Sour Patch moving again. “Skittles is a great trail horse, so she’ll follow me pretty easily. But to get her to turn, just pay attention to which direction her head is facing. Pull the reins to the right and she’ll turn right. Shift your hand to the left across your body and she’ll turn left.”
Bex must nudge Sour Patch again because they pick up speed, and Skittles quickly adjusts to the new pace.
“And how do I get her to stop?” I cry out, my heart thundering in my chest at the speed.
