Page 41 of Saving Grace

“You ride?” I ask.

“I never have. Always wanted to learn.”

“If you’re going to work and live here, you should. Adds is a great teacher, she’ll have you loping along in no time.”

She stares at me before saying, “Sure, yeah, okay. I’ll text her later.”

She doesn’t want to.

Doesn’t want to learn to ride? Or doesn’t want Addy to teach her?

“No pressure. If you’re not a horse person, it’s fine.”

She pushes her eggs around the plate, her thinking face in place. “Can you teach me?”

I sip my coffee and hold her gaze as she waits for an answer. My mind is spinning with what that would look like.

“Never mind, it was stupid. I’ll ask Addy,” she says quickly.

Standing, I clear the plates away, taking hers with her uneaten breakfast. I dump them by the sink and head for the front door.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished.” Her hands are up in protest.

“Let’s go.” I grab my cap from the hook by the entrance. “Trigger’s waitin’.”

Chapter Eleven

GRACE

Idon’t know much about riding, but I’m pretty sure denim shorts aren’t what you wear. I sprint to my room and lose the shorts, pulling on my old jeans. Tight with holes at the knees, they feel much better, considering what I’m hopefully about to do.

Moments later, I reach the barn to find Mack leading Trigger from his stall. Faltering on the hay-covered ground, he steadies himself with one hand on the horse. I step in his space and take the lead rope from his hand.

“Show me what to do,” I breathe, almost against his chest.

He stills, so close. The wind picks up outside. The clouds that hung low on the horizon are now closing in. The air temperature has dropped, sending a chill over my skin that was flushed with heat only an hour ago. Trigger waits patiently, seemingly unaware of the barometric changes in his surroundings. Or the rapid increase of my blood through my veins.

Thunder rolls in a soft echo. The weather is turning.

Mack studies the sky. “Maybe just saddle him up. That’s enough to learn for one lesson, at any rate.”

“Sure, where are his things?”

He nods to a small room with an open door at the back of the barn. “Tack room.”

“Can I lead him over?”

Mack steps back, his face unreadable. “Of course.” He waves a hand toward the small room.

I cluck my tongue like I’ve seen in movies and give a small tug on the lead. Trigger walks by my side instantly. I huff a disbelieving laugh. Wow, he understands me. I mean, obviously, he’s well-trained. This is my first time, and it’s surreal that an animal this magnificent will follow the smallest of commands.

The gelding stops before the door, prompting me to halt, too. Good lord, the horse is smarter than the rider. Nerves skitter along my veins. My heart picks up pace with the realization that maybe learning how to ride is more than I imagined it to be.

Mack catches up and walks past into the dimly lit room. He tugs a rope, and a light bulb zaps and flickers to life. One side is covered in tack and equipment, the other, feed and buckets and what not. He takes a bridle from a hook and walks out, handing it to me. I study the soft leather in my hand.

Returning, he eyes a large looking western saddle sitting on a round rack, a thick pad underneath. Setting his shoulders back, he moves in and shoulders it with a grunt. The weight must be too much. His face strains. A soft curse falls from his lips, but he takes long, confident strides out to us and hauls the saddle onto Trigger’s back.

Sweat breaks over his brow and his chest heaves from the exertion. He steps back, leaving what I assume is the girth dangling. I open my mouth to call it quits. This is too much for him. He shakes his head, face tight in warning. He wants to do this.

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