Page 47 of Impossible Love

Cal’s outside the barn, waiting with the two horses. From this angle, I can see how big those creatures are. I gulp.

I pet Summer’s horse, Trixie. I keep petting it. If I keep petting it, maybe Cal will forget that I’m supposed to ride it. “It’s a pretty blonde one,” I say.

Cal chuckles. “She’s what’s called a Palomino. Leroy is a Paint. And they’re both Quarter Horses. Saddle up.”

This is it. I’ve backed myself into a corner. I put my foot in a stirrup and attempt to heave myself up. It’s a steep climb, and I hop on my other leg, trying to help myself, but I’m getting nowhere.

Suddenly, Cal grabs onto my middle. At first I think he’s going to lift me onto the horse, but he lifts me up in the air and back down onto the ground, away from the horse.

“Wrong side,” he mumbles.

“There’s a right side?”

“Yes. The left side is the right side. You mount the horse on the left side.”

I shrug. “I was taught how to ride by an Englishman. They mount their horses on the other side, just like they drive on the opposite side of the road.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “That’s incorrect.”

“Why, I never,” I say, clutching at my chest.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“I do know how to ride a horse. It’s just been a very long time.” A long time since I fed them the contents from our crisper drawer, anyway.

He sighs. “Today is your first refresher lesson, then. I’ll be right next to you. No worries.”

“I don’t believe you,” I tell him. But I do. I’ve seen him in action. He’s John Wayne MacLaine, a born protector. Of his family. His land. His country. And now, me.

He walks me around to the other side of the horse and spins me, his hands on my waist. For a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he lifts me up and tells me to swing my leg over the saddle. Then he puts my feet in the stirrups, adjusts the leather straps, and then adjusts whatever belt goes under the horse’s body. Finally, he places both my hands on the saddle horn and squeezes them until I grip the horn.

“Just hold on and don’t tense up. Keep your heels down. Let your body move with the horse,” he says. “Sit tall and balanced, picturing a weighted string dropped down from your ear to your shoulder, to your hip, to your heel. Settle into the saddle. I’ll do the rest. We’re going to move slowly.”

Cal’s grumpy personality has vanished. I notice that around the horses, and now that he’s aware that he’s responsible for this idiot’s safety, he’s gentle and calm. No negative energy. A leader.

He slips the reins over the horse’s head and carries them as he moves to the black horse. After mounting, he says, “Trixie is accustomed to Leroy, and she’ll follow. She’ll stay a bit behind us, to the side.” With some kind of invisible signal, Cal’s horse begins to walk and mine follows, just as Cal predicted. I watch him use one hand for his reins and the other to hold Trixie’s.

The Palomino is tall, and it’s not lost on me that there’s a great deal of empty space between me and the ground. Falling would absolutely hurt. But so far, I haven’t fallen. My knees naturally grip onto the horse, and my hands squeeze the saddle horn.

“Relax a bit, Victoria,” Cal says. “If your legs are pressed into her sides when Trixie is already moving forward, she’ll think you want her to speed up.”

“But I don’t!”

“Exactly. So sink deep into the saddle, relax your arms, and just picture yourself as being a part of Trixie.”

“Okay.” I’m trying not to hyperventilate.

“You’re doing great.” Cal guides us away from the houses and the barn, into a meadow, and west toward the mountains.

About fifteen minutes later, I feel like I’m getting the general idea. I think Trixie likes it when I’m relaxed. I’m proud of myself and somewhat surprised that I haven’t fallen. Maybe I was right—how hard can it be?

“Look,” I whisper. “I’m doing it.”

Cal glances back at me and nods. “You’re a born horsewoman,” he says.

I don’t detect any sarcasm. Maybe he’s just being kind. “Let’s gallop!” I say.

“Not this time,” he says with a laugh.

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