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“Okay. Today we’re going to have a basic lesson, and we’ll do one every day until you are comfortable riding. Consider it your exercise.”
I’d been going for runs in the late morning, but if this got me a little more time with Killian, I would do whatever I needed to do. He needed to trust me.
When we reached the stables, I could hear the occasional whinny from a few of the horses who were in their stalls. Turbo poked his muzzle out, searching for something, and Killian surprised me as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small peppermint stick before letting the horse take it. Turbo crunched loudly on the treat, and Killian patted him on the cheek before pressing his forehead to the horse’s.
“I didn’t know horses like sweets.”
“This one likes just about anything. We really should have named him dumpster or garbage disposal.”
My laugh was louder than I intended, but Killian so rarely made jokes, I couldn’t help it. We reached the end of the big barn, and I gasped at the sight of the beautiful midnight black steed who greeted us.
“Who is this beauty? I asked.
“This is Hera. She’s mine. The only good thing my dad gave me.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“I know. I got her as a birthday present the day I turned seventeen. I didn’t realize it was because he felt guilty for knocking up my mama and then lying to me my whole life, but you win some, you lose some.”
This poor man. At least I’ve known my story from the beginning. I’d always been a foster child, always known that my birth parents were never going to be in the picture. But Killian had gone his whole life thinking one man was his father, only to find out that wasn’t the case at all. And then, he blamed himself for the breakup of his parents’ marriage. It must have been a heavy load to bear.
“Am I riding her?” I asked.
Killian shook his head. “No, she’s feisty. We’re gonna start you off with a more entry-level pony.”
“You don’t think I’ve got what it takes to handle her?”
“I know you don’t.”
He pointed across the stall facing Hera’s. This horse was a lovely dappled grey, and the name Dusty was engraved above the door.
“Dusty?”
“Hmm, yeah. Seems fitting. You know, since you’re so old.”
“I am not old, and you know it.”
“Keep telling yourself that, grandpa.”
“You’re gonna give me a complex.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” he said.
The way his eyes twinkled with mischief made my belly tighten. A few minutes later, after he taught me how to properly saddle and prepare the horse for riding, we led both animals to the outdoor arena. It was a dirt-covered enclosure, clearly set up for teaching or, as Killian told me, for breaking wild horses.
“All right,” he said. “Here we go. Time to earn your spurs.”
Coming up next to me, he tied off his horse, but from one look at her, I could tell she was so well trained, she probably would have stayed right next to him the whole time.
“First things first,” he said. “We got to get you up there.”
He placed a stool next to the horse, then looked from it to me.
“That’s your mounting block. You’re gonna walk up there and grab on to either the horn or the saddle. Right up here.” He reached up and grabbed the front of the saddle, then grabbed onto the horn to show me where I was supposed to put my hands. “And you’re gonna put your left foot in the stirrup there, and then swing your right leg over.”
“But what if Dusty moves?”
“Then you will fall. Don’t worry. Dusty won’t move. See this?” He gestured toward the rope in his hands that was connected to the halter around Dusty’s head. “You’re going to be fine. I won’t let him go anywhere.”
