Page 39 of The Lost Hours
Tucker coughed and Emily looked away, hiding her smile.
“Then imagine that you didn’t. What’s the fastest way to get that ice cream?”
“To eat my broccoli.”
“That’s right.” I squeezed her hands. “Sara, do you really want to ride Oreo today?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“And what’s the best way to do that?”
She looked up at me and then over at the pony. “Get up in the saddle?”
“Right. And once you’re up there, how do you think you’ll feel?”
Sara thought for a moment. “Like I’m riding a horse.”
“Exactly. And you do know that your daddy, Emily, and I won’t let you get hurt, right?”
Her wide eyes swiveled back from the pony to regard me. “But you got hurt.”
I remained where I was without blinking, ignoring the pain in my knee from kneeling so long. “But that was my fault, not the horse’s. He did everything right. I was the one who lost my concentration, even though it was only for one second. My horse depended on me to tell him what to do, and I failed him and myself because of that mistake. But I’m here to teach you how not to let that happen. So, see—you’re already one step ahead of me.”
“But what if I fall off?”
I leaned forward, recalling the rest of what my grandmother had told me. “Then you get back in the saddle before you forget the reason you got up on a horse in the first place.”
I stood, almost groaning with relief when I straightened my knee. I held out my hand and she took it. “So are you ready?”
Sara gave a firm nod and allowed me to lead her to the mounting block, where Emily had already moved Oreo into position. I put my hands on her narrow hips. “Oreo’s a bit on the plump side, so you’re not going to have any trouble staying on her. I’m going to lift you into the saddle, all right? Otherwise, you might hurt her feelings when you can’t fit your right leg over her back because she’s been enjoying the grass a little too much.”
Sara giggled as I lifted her and placed her in the saddle. I held on tightly until I was assured that she had a firm grasp on the reins. “How do you feel?” I asked.
“Like I’m on a horse,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Great. Then we’re on the same page.” I showed her how to hold the reins, then took the lead rope from Emily. I turned back to Tucker. “Let’s just walk them around the ring a few times and then let them practice getting on and off their ponies. That should be enough for their first lesson.”
“Can we at least walk fast?” Lucy asked, kicking her heels into Benny’s flank.
I watched as Tucker struggled not to smile. “After you show me you can keep your seat while we’re going slowly. Then we can up the pace. But not before.”
She looked at her father without smiling. “I’d much rather go fast.”
Tucker returned her gaze. “We can’t always get what we want.”
Lucy touched the pony’s mane with one hand. “I know that, Daddy.” Her voice carried with it more hurt than I thought an eight-year-old could know.
I looked away, unable to look at Tucker’s face and tugged on Oreo’s reins, clicking my tongue. “Let’s go. And try to remember to keep your heels down and your toes up.” Slowly, Oreo began to amble, followed and eventually surpassed by the more spritely Benny.
After an hour, we stopped. Emily took the girls home to change into swimsuits before going to swim in the pond, and the stable manager, Andi, with her nose still bandaged from her encounter with Captain Wentworth, appeared to take the ponies back to the barn, leaving just Tucker and me. I felt awkward being alone with him, remembering my outburst from the previous day as well as Lucy’s pervading silence during the entire lesson. There was a tension between Lucy and her father that I couldn’t discern, something that went a lot deeper than childish disappointments. I had no interest in becoming involved; I’d be leaving at the end of the summer and had no business delving into problems that had nothing to do with me.
But then I remembered what Lucy had said when she was on the pony, how she wanted to run, and to run fast. I was lost then, of course. I had found a kindred spirit, not one I could easily leave behind. And Tucker, too. He carried his regret like a suitcase, a barrier between him and everyone else, including his daughters.Regret is as useful as trying to stop a flooding river with your hands. It’ll keep you busy, but you’ll still drown.I recalled Lillian’s words, and wondered if she’d ever shared them with Tucker.
His eyes were warm but still guarded as he approached me. “Thank you, Earlene. The girls really respond to you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
He stood close, close enough that I could smell the peculiarly enticing scent of citrus cologne, male sweat and horse. An understanding seemed to hover between us—an understanding of kept secrets mingling with the desire to be set free from them. I looked away, uncomfortable.
Tucker continued. “I can tell you really know horses and riders. And that you must have once been a pretty amazing equestrian.”
