Page 75 of Spencer and the Younger Girl
He wished he could refute the words, but his dad knew him better than anyone, because they were so alike. Horses… this ranch… it was in their blood.
“I made do while I was away.” He watched Harbinger run laps. “But I did miss Harbi.”
“He missed you.” His voice lowered, and Spencer didn’t think he was supposed to hear what came next. “He wasn’t the only one.”
Schooling his face, Spencer turned away. “He threw me when I tried to ride him.”
“Damien told me.” He climbed the fence and jumped to the other side with more agility than a fifty-five-year-old man should have.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
“So,” his dad started. “Why haven’t you tried again?”
Spencer crossed his arms. “He hasn’t been ready.”
“He hasn’t, or you haven’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” He matched his son’s defensive posturing. “I’ve taught you better than this, Spencer. I’d like to believe you’ve come back the same boy who left, but a version of him who has grown and learned. I didn’t raise you to give up.”
“I didn’t give up.”
“Haven’t you?”
Spencer bristled at that, getting the distinct impression they were no longer talking about horses. Yes, he’d left, he’d taken his hurt and his pain and walked away from this town.
But if his dad knew…
“Dad…”
A hand landed on Spencer’s shoulder. “We still have time for explanations. Now is the time for action.” He nodded toward Harbinger. “Go.”
“But he doesn’t have his halter on.” By now, even Spencer could hear the excuses in his voice.
His dad laughed. “Your grandfather taught me to ride bareback. I’m sure you can do it without leads.”
“Oh, that’s right. When you were a kid, you rode up hill both ways to school in the snow.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
Spencer laughed. “Fine. But if he throws me again, that’s on you.”
“If he throws you, you’ll get up again just like the kid I used to know.”
He was right. Spencer had never before been scared of a horse. He was fifteen when he taught the younger Damien to jump their neighbor’s fence on Toby—much to the horror of their mom.
Stepping up to Harbinger, he grabbed the horn of the saddle. Harbinger shifted away from him, and Spencer had another idea.
He unsaddled Harbinger, leaving his dark back bare. Spencer set the saddle over the fence and looked to his dad who sported a smile.
“Can I get a leg up?”
“Sure, son.” His dad crossed to where Spencer rubbed a hand over Harbinger’s sweaty hair.
This time, Harbinger didn’t step away, and with the help of his dad, Spencer managed to climb up.
Sitting atop Harbinger without a saddle felt strange, but also right. It was like he was more in tune with the animal, feeling every muscle shift, every movement.
