“Okay.” Cal took a hard swallow and watched with astonishment as Zeke moved his hand to take Cal’s hand in his, then he twined his fingers into Dusty’s newly straightened mane.
“Hold on,” said Zeke. “Don’t grab and pull. It’s just for balance. To help you focus.”
When Zeke started to walk, merely holding Dusty’s reins in his hand and not pulling on them, Dusty followed with slow steps, matching Zeke’s pace.
Cal felt like he was rocking back and forth almost violently, then his body seemed to realize that they were going slowly, and just walking, and that there was a rhythm to it. A steady, calm pace that matched the beat of his heart, slow, and slow, and slow.
“Just hold these, now,” said Zeke, and he slipped the reins over Dusty’s neck and handed them to Cal. Paused long enoughto show Cal how to hold the leather reins between the fingers of one hand. “Rest your other hand on your thigh,” he said.
Cal did this and tried to accommodate all the signals coming in, the pace of the horse, the weight of the reins, the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. The light on the back of Zeke’s neck where several dark strands of hair had become plastered to his skin with sweat.
It all seemed to come together in one glorious moment of balance and power and everything right in the world. And then Dusty shifted sideways, hoofs clopping in the dust of the paddock, causing Cal’s whole body to become unbalanced as he fell forward on Dusty’s neck.
He was about to fall off, which would hurt like hell, but Zeke caught him, his hands on Cal’s leg and shoulder, and held him in place.
“Easy, easy,” he said, though Cal wasn’t sure if Zeke was talking to Dusty or to him.
Zeke gave Dusty a pat and secured the reins with one hand on Dusty’s neck as he slowed Dusty to a stop. “You okay?” he asked Cal.
“Yeah.” Cal nodded to show that this was quite true, that he was ready, pretty much, for anything Zeke would ask of him.
“Let’s get you off there and put a saddle on Dusty and try again.”
“Okay.”
Cal had never dismounted a horse before, but he’d seen it done in westerns, so he figured all he needed to do was swing his leg over and slide off. Only it didn’t happen that way. He leaned forward to swing his right leg over Dusty’s back, but didn’t do it far enough, and, out of balance, he toppled off.
Tensing, he expected to end up on the ground in a pile of dust and pain, but strong arms caught him again. A broad cheststopped his fall. Warm breath skittered across his neck, his collarbone. And then there was Zeke’s soft, steady voice.
“Got you. You’re okay.”
For a long moment, Cal lingered in a cloud of comfort and safety, reveling in the human touch, the moment of connection that had been lost to him for so long. It felt so good he wanted to stay and stay and stay, but Zeke set him upright, steadied him on solid ground, and those strong arms slipped away with a last lingering pat from those warm hands.
When at last Cal turned to face Zeke, he had been warmed through, and didn’t want to move on. He still just wanted to stay, forever and forever.
“Go fetch the saddle blanket first,” said Zeke. “And I’ll show you how to saddle up Dusty.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cal, because it was obvious Zeke was all business and that’s all it would ever be. They weren’t friends. They were co-workers. Boss and employee. Forever more.
Cal went and got the saddle blanket from the top of the paddock fence and brought it back. Zeke showed him how to lay the saddle blanket high on the horse’s withers and then to slide it in the direction of the hair of Dusty’s coat.
He went and got the saddle and, though much heavier than the blanket, the treatment of the saddle was much the same. Then came the seemingly complicated array of cinches and straps and gullets, which Zeke showed him with patient, slow hands.
It almost took his breath away to watch Zeke mount and then settle in the saddle, rolling his hips to demonstrate how to find your center in the hollow of the saddle.
“It’s all about balance,” said Zeke, looking down as he twined the thick reins in between the fingers of his left hand. “The reins don’t guide your horse, your balance does. The reins aren’t forshow, as they supply a second level of guidance, but really, you shift right, your horse goes right. I’ll show you.”
Barely even moving, Zeke pushed Dusty into a walk, and then right into a canter.
Cal couldn’t even tell that Zeke was leaning one way or another, but Dusty could, and obediently turned around, turned right and left, and cantered figure-eights in the paddock. And all the while, Zeke didn’t even look like he was concentrating.
“I can’t ever do that,” said Cal as Zeke and Dusty came right up to him and calmly stopped.
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Cal,” said Zeke. Then, as he dismounted in a smooth swing of strong thigh and balanced shoulders, he added, almost as an afterthought, “I’ve had years of practice, and years of bronc riding.”
“Bronc riding?” asked Cal.
Zeke didn’t answer him and guided him to mount Dusty, which felt like a scramble up a tall, shifting mountain of legs.
