Page 59 of Crystal Iris
“Broc!” Hoyt yells at the guy brushing a brown horse. The tall, strong man is wearing a cowboy hat. He stops what he’s doing andwalks over to us. He’s one of those people who smiles with their eyes.
“I’m Iris,” I say.
His tan, muscled arms shake my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“This is my friend Akira,” I introduce them. He looks down at his hands and removes his glove before shaking hers. I notice from the corner of my eye that their hands… linger.
I walk straight to pet Blackwater; he’s the only black horse around.
“Can I?” I gesture to touch him.
“Yes, but first, let him smell you.”
I move my hand closer to the horse’s face.
The three of them laugh out loud.
“It’s not a dog,” Hoyt says, coming closer to pet the animal himself.
I make a face at him. “I’ve never…”
“I can tell.” He’s smiles.
I run my hands over the softest, smoothest, and shiniest coat. I could swear Blackwater’s eyes can see right through me.
“What’s this one’s name?” Akira asks, petting the brown one with white spots.
“That’s Lumberjack, our tobiano,” says Broc. “And this one is Elmwood, his foal.” He points to the smaller one.
“Can we ride them?” Akira asks.
“Broc, you take Iris. Akira, you come with me,” Hoyt says, getting the saddles ready.
“I can ride my own horse,” Akira says, already looking around.
“Not here you can’t. I’m not going to have you two getting hurt while staying under my roof.”
“How hard can it be?” I ask.
“I find it pretty easy,” Broc says, offering me a hand.
No amount of yoga would strengthen the muscles I’m using. I’m holding so tightly to the reins that my hands are getting red marks.
“You can let go. I’m not going to let you fall.” Broc is being respectful, though he’s close enough that I know I’m safe in place.
Hoyt and Akira are far ahead, going much faster than us. I’m sure she’s begging Hoyt to speed up.
“What if he starts… racing?” I ask Broc.
“He won’t. Jet here is a fast one, but he knows not to take off when it isn’t time.” We’re riding a brown horse with a white blaze—Broc mentions that’s what the white streak on their head is called.
I try to let go a bit.
“How long have you worked with horses?” I ask him.
“I grew up here, with Hoyt. My dad worked for his dad, training the horses.”
“So you live close by?”
