We rode out single file—me in front, Beau in the middle, Pops bringing up the rear on Thunder to keep an eye on the rookie. The trail wound through the pastures, the grass turning golden under the late afternoon sun, wildflowers nodding along the edges. It was peaceful, the kind of ride that made you forget the ache in your muscles and the dust in your lungs. Red-winged blackbirds called overhead, and the distant low of cattle mixed with the creak of leather and the rhythmic thud of hooves.
As we descended the familiar path toward the creek, memory tugged at me—hard. The cottonwoods lining the banks were taller now, their branches spreading wider than I remembered, but the curve of the trail was exactly the same. The way the earth dipped just before the watercame into view, the flat rock we used to sit on jutting out like a natural throne. I'd been here a hundred times since those childhood summers, but riding it with Beau now felt different. Like stepping into a photograph and finding it had color after all.
For the first ten minutes, Beau did okay. Daisy was a gentle soul, a living rocking chair, plodding along at a steady walk without much prodding. But I could hear him muttering under his breath, shifting his weight constantly, adjusting his grip on the reins like he expected Daisy to turn into a dragon at any moment.
"You holding on back there?" I called over my shoulder.
"Yep! Totally fine! This is... exhilarating," he called back, voice tight. "Not like my inner thighs are being slowly sawed in half or anything!"
Pops chuckled from behind. "First real ride's always a thrill. Just breathe, son. Let Daisy do the work. You're fightin' her."
We hit a slight incline, the trail dipping into a shallow gully lined with scrub brush. That's when Beau started slipping. Literally.
Daisy swayed as she navigated the uneven ground, a simple shift of weight, but it caught Beau off guard. He lurched to the side, one foot kicking out of the stirrup as he flailed to stay seated.
"Whoa—Daisy! Easy!" His voice pitched up an octave, arms windmilling like he was trying to achieve lift-off.
The horse paused, confused by the sudden interpretive dance happening on her back, but Beau managed to right himself—barely—clinging to the saddle horn with white-knuckled desperation.
I bit back a laugh, twisting in the saddle to look at him. "You kiss your mother with that death grip? Loosen up, Beau. You're gonna choke the saddle horn."
"I'm not—ah shit!" Another slip, this time caused by Daisy stepping over a root. His hat tumbled off his head and landed in the dirt. He twisted to grab for it, overcorrecting and nearly toppling off the other side. Daisy sidestepped, whinnying in protest at the incompetence.
Pops reined Thunder in, his face creased with amusement. "Boy, you ride like a sack of potatoes. Keep your heels down and your ass in the seat!"
"I'm trying! Gravity is personally victimizing me today!" Beau snatched his hat from the ground without dismounting—a miracle of physics—and jammed it back on, his face flushed redder than a sunburn. "Don't leave me behind, okay? I got this. I am one with the horse."
"We ain't leavin' you," I said, fighting a grin. "But if you fall off, I'm not carrying you home. Pickles can drag you back."
The trail leveled out near the creek, and the sight of it stopped me cold for just a breath. The water sparkled under the sun like liquid diamonds, rushing over smooth stones worn down by decades of flow. The flat rock was still there, bigger than I remembered but unmistakable, and the old rope swing Pops had tied to the tallest cottonwood hung limp, frayed at the edges but holding.
Beau didn't seem to notice the significance at first, too busy sliding off Daisy with exaggerated care and landing with a thud that sent dust puffing around his boots. But Pops caught my eye as he dismounted slower, favoring his knee heavily, and his smile was soft. Knowing.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" he said quietly, just for me.
I nodded, throat tight. "Yeah. It is."
We let the horses drink, their noses dipping into the cool water, ripples spreading outward. Beau stretched his legs, wincing and rubbing his lower back. "Okay, that was... fun. In a terrifying, bone-jarring way."
Pops leaned against a tree, taking weight off his leg, his gaze drifting to the swing. "Used to bring you kids here all the time. Winnie'd try to teach you to skip stones, Beau. You were terrible at it. Truly impressive lack of coordination."
Beau blinked, looking around the clearing like he was seeing it for the first time—or maybe the hundredth, through the haze of memory. "Oh... wait. This is the spot. From the picture in the attic." He walked toward the water's edge. "We used to come here a lot, didn't we?"
"Every summer," I said, keeping my voice light even as something twisted in my chest. "You cried once when you caught a crawdad and it pinched you."
"I did not cry."
"You absolutely cried. You wailed. Nana had to give you a popsicle to calm you down."
His face softened, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his features as he looked at the water. "I... I remember that. Sort of. The popsicle was orange."
"Grape," I corrected automatically. "Orange was mine."
Pops chuckled, shaking his head. "Good times. Simpler times." He straightened, wincing again as he adjusted his stance. "Alright, if y'all want, we can pick up a trot on the way back. Stretch their legs a bit before we head in."
My heart lifted despite the nostalgia weighing me down. A trot sounded perfect—nothing wild, just enough to feel the wind and shake off the ghosts. "I'm game. Bandit's itching for it."
Beau eyed Daisy like she might spontaneously sprout wings and fly into the sun. "Trot? Like... faster than walking? Is that necessary?"
