“Is that why Noah always has his ears pinned back?” I asked, loud enough for Noah to hear me.
Jenn chuckled, but Noah ignored me. “See? His head’s relaxed, nostrils soft. Good signs.” Jenn ran her hand down Biscuit’s neck. “Horses are like people. They put up walls when they’re scared or threatened. The trick is showing them they don’t need those defenses.”
I caught the pointed look Jenn gave Noah. “Are we still talking about horses?”
“Just saying, fear’s a natural response to the unknown. But sometimes ...” She guided my hand to rest on Biscuit’s shoulder. “You have to trust that what’s on the other side of that wall is worth the risk.”
The horse’s coat felt warm and smooth under my palm. His steady breathing had a calming effect, and I found my own shoulders relaxing.
“He’s telling you he’s ready when you are.” Jenn stepped back. “No rush, no pressure. Just two beings learning to trust each other.”
I kept my hand on Biscuit’s shoulder, absorbing his quiet strength. For the first time since arriving at the stables, the knot of anxiety in my chest loosened.
“Ready to mount up?” Jenn patted the saddle.
I looked at the stirrup hanging at Biscuit’s side, then at the considerable distance to the ground. The last time I’d tried to get on something this tall, I’d face-planted into a climbing wall. “I suppose.”
“Foot here.” Jenn pointed to the stirrup. “Hand here.”
With Jenn guiding me, I grabbed the stirrup and pushed off the ground. Just as my foot left the ground, Biscuit shifted, throwing off my balance, and I slid back down.
“Maybe try jumping higher?” Jenn suggested.
“Right, because jumping is my specialty.” I tried again, getting my foot in the stirrup. My arms trembled as I pulled myself up.
“You’ve got it,” Jenn encouraged. “Just swing your leg over.”
I hung there, suspended halfway up, my right leg flailing uselessly. Biscuit chose that moment to take a step forward.
“No, no, no.” I clutched the saddle tighter.
“For crying out loud.” Noah’s footsteps crunched in the grass behind me. Two large hands planted themselves firmly on my bottom and shoved upward.
I yelped as I flopped across the saddle. Clinging to the horse’s neck, I wiggled my way into the saddle. Once I was set, Noah adjusted the stirrups and checked the straps. The familiar scent of him, pine and coffee, reminded me again of how close we’d been theprevious night.
“There.”
“I’m not going to fall off, am I?”
“Better hope not.” Noah didn’t seem as concerned as I thought he should be. “Sorry, we don’t have any saddles with a seatbelt.”
As soon as Noah stepped back over to Duke, Biscuit decided he’d had enough of standing around and started trotting toward the trailhead.
“Whoa!” I bounced in the saddle, yanking on the reins. “Stop! Halt! Whatever the horse word for stop and turn around!” Biscuit angled toward a tree, forcing me to lean in the opposite direction to keep from being scraped off his back by its trunk.
“Pull back harder!” Jenn called after me.
“I’m trying!” Biscuit ignored my increasingly desperate commands. Remembering Jenn’s lessons, I pulled the reins to the right, trying to turn the horse around.
Biscuit turned right, all right, a hard right into the trees. I ducked just in time to avoid having my head taken off by a tree branch.
Noah whistled, and Biscuit stopped immediately. Noah’s second whistle must have activated the horse’s reverse setting because Biscuit shuffled backward into the clearing.
“Oh my God, he’s moonwalking. My horse is literally moonwalking.”
Noah pulled Duke up alongside us, looking very much at home in the saddle. “Let’s just hurry up and get this over with. Then you can go back to taking pictures of chocolate truffles or something. Hyah!” He dug his heels into Duke’s side and they trotted off down a dirt path that disappeared into the forest. Yeti chased after them, tongue lolling out in a wolfish grin.
“Okay,” I told Biscuit, squeezing my legs like Jenn had taught me. “Follow them. Go. Hyah!”
