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“Yes, we’re friends, roommates, and future co-parents.” Sighing, I try to ignore the fact that he called me good girl in the shower yesterday or that I’ve been fantasizing about it every minute since. I cross my legs underneath the table, the movement causing friction between my thighs.
“Whatever you say,” she sing-songs as she goes to the buffet, then returns. “You look like you could use this,” she tells me, sliding a piece of apple pie across the table.
“Oh, my dad wanted a piece. Thanks for the reminder.”
She shakes her head and makes her way back to the kitchen. I quickly finish eating, sneak a bite of the crust and filling, then shove it in a to-go box.
When I return to the training facility, I hand it over to Dad. Five seconds later, he’s complaining in his doorway about it being half-eaten.
“I had to make sure it tasted good and wasn’t poisonous.” I grin.
He narrows his eyes.
Mom walks up. “Oh, let me check too.”
“Just a little.” Dad lifts the top for Mom, who then snags a huge bite and pops it in her mouth.
“Oh yeah, it’s good enough for you, honey.”
Dad slams the lid down. “A buncha pie thieves.”
“What’s yours is mine,” she taunts.
“I’m tempted to ask Maize to make me a whole one,” he says, walking away with his sad half-eaten slice.
Mom walks over and gives me a high five.
“I needed that laugh,” I admit.
“Me too,” she says.
I head to the tack room and grab my riding helmet. Rolling Thunder and I will be practicing walking pirouettes. It’s a turning movement that must be executed flawlessly in dressage. The rhythm of their walk is crucial during competition.
After I have the saddle and bridle on him, we get to work in the arena. My outside worries and fears melt away when I'm training. Only when I’m not riding can I be reminded of what I don’t have.
An hour passes, and I notice Zach running through the arena. I want to scold him to slow down so he doesn’t spook the horse, but it’s too late. Immediately, the agitation and bucking start. Though I’m used to it, I’m still annoyed because I’ve told my little cousin a million times not to do that. But he’s only eleven and tends to forget sometimes.
Once the Arabian settles, I hop off and lead him out so I can remove all of the gear. As soon as we step into the equipment stall, I snap the two lead ropes on the halter to hold him in place.
Zach eagerly follows me like a shadow while talking my ear off. I swear his dad gave him a bucket of sugar to eat for lunch.
“Do you remember the rule about no running in the practice area when I’m training?” I ask, keeping my tone level when he finally takes a breath long enough to listen. He’s been talking a million miles per minute about some new video game I have zero concept of.
“Whoops. I forgot.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“I could’ve fallen off with all that hollerin’ you were doin’.” I shoot him a stern look.
“Nah, you’re too good at ridin’. You’re like the best on the ranch. No, in Texas! Everyone knows that.”
I brush my shoulder off and give him a wink. If he wants to boost my ego, I won’t stop him.
“I mean you’re not wrong, but that still doesn’t mean you don’t need to follow the rules. Even the best fall and get hurt, Zach. Just gotta be aware and not make any sudden movements, loud noises, or anything like that when hooves are on the dirt. Got it?”
“Okay, got it. I just wanted you to know I’m already here and workin’,” he states. “Do you remember what today is?”
“Well, I know it’s not your birthday because you just turned eleven last week.” I purse my lips as if I’m thinking hard about it.
He laughs when I remove the saddle and put it up.
