The You I've Never Known(25)

So yes, I’m acquainted with horses.”

Well, this one must’ve left someone behind.

“I’d say that’s a given. Tell you what.

You take the car and see if you can find them. I’ll ride the horse in that direction.

She’s awfully tall, though. Can you please give me a boost?” I’d try it without help but my jeans are kind of tight, and I don’t want to rip the butt seam. I had no idea I’d go riding today. I expect an awkward attempt, but he immediately interlocks his fingers, creating a pocket for my foot, and launches me into the saddle. “Okay, wait. I take it you know horses, too?”

I do. I’ll tell you about it later, though.





The Mare Argues


When I try to turn her around.

That means home, or at least whatever she’s focused on

reaching, is in the opposite direction. I do my best to talk her into acquiescing. “Come on, girl. Your person needs a ride.”

Reluctantly, she lets me head the other way. Rather than hurry, we walk to cool her off, and I think about Nadia, who was the last person I saw tossed off a horse into the dirt, not that she didn’t deserve it.

The woman was a piece of work.

Dad hooked up with her in

Arizona, where ranch life is only pleasant seasonally. Maybe that was part of her problem.

While Pops insisted I ride his beautifully trained

quarter horses using nothing more than halters for reining, Nadia got off on spade bits in her bridles, and I’m pretty sure that’s how she dealt

with men—pain as control.

I’ve no clue if Dad gets off on pain, but relinquishing the reins, so to speak, is for sure not his thing, and YAY!

Since he didn’t fit Nadia’s profile, the relationship quickly went south. Still, I loved being there.

Her horses were stunning—

big Spanish mounts. I learned not to fear their size. And, unlike Nadia, I didn’t rely on ugly bits to gain their cooperation.

What I discovered was how

easily horses worked using nothing but subtle shifts

of weight, and once in a while, for punctuation, a gentle

touch of knees or hands.

This was their instinct

and, somehow, mine.

But then, no surprise, Dad decided it was time to leave, or Nadia did. That was more than two years ago, and I haven’t been anywhere near a horse since. Until now. Guess

it’s like riding a bike.

Once you’ve accomplished

the skill, you never forget how.





We Crest a Small Rise


And up ahead in the distance,

I can see Gabe’s GTO, pulled over

on the shoulder. I squint and discover him in an open expanse, well off

the road, kneeling over something

on the ground. I urge the mare into a gallop and when we get closer,

I notice a person, lying motionless in the dirt. Doubtless they were

ejected from the saddle I’m currently occupying. “Everything okay?” I shout, though it’s a ridiculous question.

Even from here, Gabe’s concern

is obvious. She’s in shock, he yells.

Get my jacket off the backseat.

I’ve already called 9-1-1.

I hop down off the horse and loop

her reins through the door handle.

If she really wants to get loose,

she will, I guess. I grab Gabe’s coat and hustle on foot to join him. When I reach his side, he pulls back, and I recognize the person he’s tending to. Hillary. Damn. “Is she conscious?”

No. Not sure if she’s got head or neck injuries, so I don’t want to raise her feet. For now, we’ll just keep her warm and let the EMTs figure it out.

I’m torn between joining his vigil

and taking better care of the horse, who might spook if a car goes by or at an approaching siren and flashing lights.

Not much I can do for Hillary, and

I know she’d be worried about the mare.

“I’m going to move her horse away

from the road. I’ll be right back.”

He tucks the coat carefully around

Hillary. Call your dad and let him know why I won’t be back right away, okay?

Don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

I wouldn’t have even thought

about calling Dad, but it’s a good

idea. When he answers his phone,

he’s skeptical at first, like we’d go to such lengths to try and deceive

him. “Listen. Hillary’s on the basketball team, and it’s a pretty great coincidence that we found her when we did.”





He Asks


About a dozen questions,

most of which I can only

answer with, “I don’t know.”

How bad is she hurt?

What was she doing out there?

How long till the ambulance arrives?

What are you going to do after that?

Have you called her parents?

Okay, that last one deserves

some thought. I don’t know

her parents at all, but their number must be listed.

Their ranch is what’s known

in the trade as a “going concern.”

“Listen, Dad, I’ll get back to you when I’ve got more answers.