He laughs. “One of the shorter ones, actually. But falling off hurts no matter the distance—let’s plan on keeping you in the saddle, yeah?”
Nate lets go of Friday’s bridle, and reaches over her neck to show me how to hold the reins properly. Her tail flicks against my leg.
“We break our horses Western-style, so you mainly steer with your weight and legs, as well as her neck,” he continues, one hand on Friday’s shoulder and the other back on my thigh. “Western riders don’t rely quite as heavily on the reins as English riders do, so our horses aren’t used to people pulling on their mouths.”
“Okay,” I reply nervously, glancing down at the leather looped tightly through my fingers. Friday’s ears twitch and she snorts, head bobbing.
“She’s very responsive to your legs, though, so you won’t even need to yank her head around. If you want her to speed up, you squeeze both legs. If you want her to turn right, you use your leg to put pressure on her left side, while holding the reins forward over her neck and moving them to the right.”
Without me having to ask, he loops his fingers over my wrist and directs my arm to show me how it’s done.
“You don’t have to be too forceful about it. She’ll go exactly where you tell her, I promise.”
“Okay.”
“To stop, release the pressure of your legs and pull back on the reins. If you want her to walk backward, you keep pulling. But again, not too hard. We don’t want to hurt them.”
I shake my head. I won’t be doing that. Backward sounds like a terrible idea.
“I’m going to walk next to you. If I go in front of her, she’ll just follow where I lead, and I want you to get the hang of steering a little bit, okay? We’ll just mosey around.”
Nate, with all the easy confidence of someone who’s been riding since he could walk, smiles at me. Every day since we’ve been here, and several weeks prior to my arrival, he’s been talking about how excited he was to go riding together. This is his life—something he loves—and he desperately wants to share it with me. Trying to force down my fear, I nod and smile back.
“Reins in your right,” he tells me, and watches as I peel my hand forcefully from the horn to hold them the way he showed me. Nate moves Friday away from the hitching post, watching to make sure I’m stable. “You can keep your left hand on the saddle horn for now if it helps you feel more secure. Whenever you’re ready, give her a squeeze.”
I lurch forward when Friday steps into motion, and my hand hurts from where I’m holding tight on to the saddle.
“Sit up a little straighter,” Nate instructs gently. “You want to maintain your posture, but still move with the horse.”
“Better?” I ask, straightening my spine. He nods, beaming. Friday’s body seems to flow beneath me as she walks; I try to move with her like he said, rolling my hips in time with her steps. The ride is a lot smoother than I thought it would be.
“Perfect. You’re going to be sore as hell after this,” he warns me.
I can only imagine. I’m clenching my inner thighs so hard, I swear I can feel the muscles tearing.
We plod along through the pasture, Nate walking sedately at my side; every now and again putting his hand on my leg or up on my lower back. Friday, for her part, makes no effort to go for a run or throw me off. I make asilent promise to give her a carrot once we return to the barn.
“Take a right,” Nate instructs, even though the field in front of us is nothing but grass for miles. Talking myself through the steps he outlined, I press my left calf into Friday’s belly, and pull the reins gently against her neck. Obediently, she turns her head to the right and her body follows. Resetting my legs and arms to what I’m thinking of as the neutral position, I grin triumphantly at Nate, who returns it two-fold. The saddle creaks gently as the leather moves with Friday. She flicks her tail and Nate chuckles when it hits him.
“It’s beautiful here,” I tell him, which earns me another blinding smile. His eyes are the precise color of the grass in this field.
“Isn’t it? I love it.” Friday snorts in agreement, and Nate pats her neck. “Having fun?”
The question is innocent, but the tone is shy. He wants me to enjoy this so badly, it’s practically oozing from his pores. I don’t even have to lie when I respond, “I am.”
He smiles contentedly. It’s hot out here, with no shady reprieve from the midday sun, and both of us are obviously sweating. I can already see a damp patch spreading from underneath the saddle blanket, as Friday heats up as well. I frown.
“Will she be okay without water? Or do we need to give her a break? She’s sweating,” I point out to Nate.
“No, she’s okay. We won’t be out here long. It’s just hot under the saddle, and you’re heavy.”
“I’m sorry this isn’t more interesting for you,” I apologize, looking down at him. He’s probably bored out of his mind, walking as slowly as we are. He glances up at me incredulously.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months. I’ll walk you around this field for years, and enjoy every second of it.”
I laugh, and feeling brave, let go of the saddle horn just long enough to stroke Friday’s soft neck. The sun glints off the black of her coat, making her shine.
We stroll around the pasture, randomly changing direction at Nate’s urging until he finally points us back home. When I catch sight of the barn, I’m surprised with how far we’ve traveled.
