Page 62 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

Here with this family I’ve found.

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Rounded eyes the exact shade of root beer peer back at me. The gelding patiently waits while the therapist explains the goals for our session today. I need to build a strong foundation reading and interpreting equine body language before building up to helping others.

“Wonderful!” Tanya, the therapist, says softly, combing her fingers through the gelding’s black mane. “Biscuit’s mirroring your energy. Do you see how he’s standing relaxed—his head’s hanging low, ears are pointing outwards, eyes are sleepy and he’s resting one hind leg.”

“Yes,” I say gently, cautious not to get overly excited about crushing my first lesson.

That’s a gross exaggeration, but as a girl who grew up with zero positive feedback, the smallest grain of praise lights up my brain like a carnival.

I’ve been relaxed around the horse, and he’s comfortable enough to mirror my energy.

Tanya motions for me to follow around Biscuit’s side. My boots crunch in the dirt and Biscuit’s ears flick towards me. I pause, but she urges me forward.

“You’ll learn more from him today than you will from me.”

Tanya guides me to walk slowly in a wide arc around Biscuit. He moves calmly and quietly, following me like a shadow.

The sun glints off his silken coat, a mesmerizing pattern of sorrel and white. He’d be the most beautiful paint horse I’ve ever seen, had I not met Hope first.

I’ve been sneaking over to see her every chance I get. Lucky Spurs Ranch is working its healing powers on her already.

“Good. Now step closer to him,” she says.

I tense slightly, and step forward softly. Biscuit halts his movement, shifting away.

“He’s giving you space. Do you feel how your body told him what you needed? He feels your hesitation and senses the shift in your mood.”

Deliberately, I relax my shoulders and neck and breathe easily. This time when I step towards him, he stays in place and his ears relax.

I’ve loved meeting all Reid’s horses and learning how to care for them. But it isn’t until now that I understand what Olivia, Reid, and Isabelle have described. Horses have a way of speaking to you without any sound—and I feel what it means to be heard.

I’ve regaled my first session with Tanya to my sister and Olivia. The three of us are at The Flying Pig for Queen Olivia’s twenty-third-birthday dinner and I’ve never been happier.

I have to tell myself this because if I acknowledge the giant missing piece of my perfect life, I crumble. Connor and I are good—great even. But we’re still dancing in the grey area between friends and something more.

I internally smack myself because tonight is about Olivia, not my life-long, undying, unrequited love for my best friend.

Livy’s acting odd, though. She’s her typical boisterous, bubbly self—but she’s distracted. She’s been checking her phone every few minutes, all night. It’s not like she needs a ride home. Since neither Izzy nor I drink, she always has a built-in designated driver.

She asked for the check as soon as the food arrived, which Izzy insisted on paying, so we’ve just been sitting chatting, enjoying our precious time together as a trio. Life’s had us running in different directions and I miss my girls.

Right on schedule, Livy picks up her phone and opens a text. “Shoot. I’m so sorry but I have to go! One of my dad’s biggest clients moved their meeting to first thing tomorrow morning. I need to head home to sleep off the pitcher of margaritas I just consumed.”

“Do you need a ride?” We gather our things.

“No!” Livy practically shouts. “No. My, uh, mom’s waiting out front.”

With no further explanation, she disappears into the bar leaving Izzy and I staring stupidly at each other.

“That was fucking weird,” Izzy says, finishing her Cherry Pepsi. “Do you want to stay? Or should I take you back to Connor’s?”

I can read my sister like a book, and she wants to get home to Reid.

“I’m ready to leave. Let me pop into the restroom first. I drank way too much lemonade.”

I take off into the crowded bar making a beeline for the ladies room. The door handle jolts against my grip—locked. I lean against the opposite wall for a minute before something, or someone, slams into the ladies room door.