Page 56 of Saving Grace

I cluck my tongue and Trigger walks on. “The trick to lopin’ is to relax into the rocking motion.”

I push Trigger from the walk into a lope and Grace tenses, grabbing onto my hands. I twist my cap backward and hold her closer. We sway with the gelding’s long gait. The wind pushes her hair around us. I sink my face into her neck and breathe her in.

“Mack,” she breathes, leaning her head back on my shoulder.

I catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes are closed.

In this very moment, I realize heaven is right here.

And I’m getting used to this beautiful view.

I drop the reins to Trigger’s neck. “Open your eyes, gorgeous girl.”

She does, and I open our arms out wide like wings to fly, our fingers laced together. Like the Titanic moment, but on horseback. Her laughter reverberates through my chest. Her head rests on my shoulders again, the smile over her face stealing the air from my lungs.

We lope the round yard, rocking with Trigger’s sturdy footfalls, another three times before her face turns serious. “Mackinlay.”

I rein the horse in, and he slows down to a walk. She tugs on the reins in front of my hands. Trigger halts.

“You okay?” I ask.

She twists in the saddle, pressing her palms to my chest. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome.” I search her eyes, hoping I haven’t triggered some horrible memory for her.

“Can I teach you something?” she asks.

“As long it’s not yoga.”

She laughs. “Definitely not. Can’t have you going to yoga class and checking out all those Lycra-clad girls.”

I brush the hair from her face. “I only know one Lycra-clad girl worth lookin’ at.”

Her gaze drops.

She still doesn’t believe the words. If she could see what I see...

What weallsee.

Unfolding myself from our spot on the horse, I dismount and hold up my hands to help her down.

“I got it.” She swings her leg over the back of the saddle and slides to the ground.

A natural.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be out riding with Adds.”

“Really? Gosh, I would love to do that. She was a show jumper, wasn’t she? Maybe I could learn to jump?”

“Absolutely. But Trigger here is more of a reining cowpoke. Sure Huddo’ll have a horse for you, though.”

“Imagine! Grace Weston, horse owner.” Her hand waves in front of her like she’s reading some city billboard. I chuckle at her enthusiasm and lead Trigger through the yard and back into the barn. Grace lags behind, looking up at the mountains.

I unbuckle the girth, and Grace tugs the saddle from Trigger’s back, walking it into the tack room. I swap his bridle out for a halter and run the hose over him, washing away the sweat that accumulated in our one-hour lesson. Grace talks to him at his head, rubbing his muzzle. It’s the most female attention Trigger’s ever had. Poor old man probably doesn’t know what to do with himself.

With a nicker, he rubs his forehead into her hand, pushing it up to her chest. “Love you too, sweet man,” she says softly.

My gut flips.

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