I crouch down and scratch Rowdy behind the ears because I need something to do with my hands and something to focus on for the next thirty seconds of my life.
"Good boy," I tell him quietly.
I'm not sure if I mean it.
Chapter seven
Cowboy Lessons
Beckett
Ihave read the horseback riding chapter four times.
Not just skimmed it. Read it. With a highlighter. There are notes in the margin about posture, grip and communicating confidence to the horse through body language because apparently horses can sense hesitation.
I'm prepared.
I'm standing at the fence of the round pen at seven in the morning telling myself this while Laney checks on the saddle job I did on a horse named Copper who is large, red and looking at me with an expression that I can only describe as skeptical.
Copper is fifteen hands high. I know this because I measured, which in hindsight feels like information that did absolutely nothing to improve my situation. What it did do was confirm that sitting in the saddle puts me a whole lot farther off the ground than it sounds in a book.
It sounds fine in a book.
I look at Copper. Copper looks at me. We are not yet communicating confidence to each other and the ride hasn't even started.
Remy is on the fence rail to my left, hat pushed back, eating an apple with the leisurely energy of a man who has cleared his entire morning schedule for this. Silas is nearby pretending to work on something with a fence post that has been perfectly fine. Maisie is sitting on the top rail with her boots hooked on the second one and a look of excited anticipation that I find only slightly alarming.
"You read about it, right Dad?" she calls over.
"Four times," I confirm.
"Cool," she says, in the tone of someone who is not entirely sure that's going to be enough.
Laney finishes checking the girth strap and turns around and looks at me standing at the fence in my new boots and my work jeans and the expression of a man who is absolutely confidentand not thinking about the ground sixty inches below the saddle at all.
"You sure about this?" she says.
"I've done my research."
She looks at Copper. Looks at me. Looks back at Copper like she's having a private conversation with the horse about managing expectations. "Copper's gentle," she says. "He's good with beginners."
"I'm not exactly a beginner. I've ridden before."
Everyone at the fence goes very still.
"When?" Laney asks carefully.
"Summer camp," I say. "I was twelve."
The silence that follows practically has texture.
Remy takes a long slow bite of his apple.
Silas sets down his fence tool and picks it back up again.
Maisie covers her mouth with both hands.
"Summer camp," Laney repeats.
