“Ready to go?” Eric asked cheerfully as I came down the stairs, showered and dressed.
“When you are.” I checked my phone. “We have to be there at ten, right?”
He nodded, turning to put his coffee cup in the sink. “We should head that way. If we get there a little early, then…” He finished that with a half-shrug.
“Early is on time,” I said.
“Exactly.”
We locked eyes for a moment, and something flickered across his expression at the same time something tightened in my chest. It was like we both had the same thought:
It’s nice to be going somewhere with someone who thinks that way… especially after spending so much time with someone who doesn’t.
Eric recovered first, cleared his throat, and grabbed his keys. I took the hint, and we put on our shoes and headed out. Neither of us made a single comment about our chronically and unapologetically late ex.
Greenville was at the south end of Moosehead Lake, but the ranch was closer to the north end. Eric drove us along the winding highway around the lake, which was becoming familiar after a handful of days. Then he turned off and headed into an area that was a lot like what we’d driven through to get to Greenville: brightly colored forests dotted with huge evergreens and broken up by sprawling farms surrounded by white fences.
After a few miles, Eric turned down the long, gravel driveway of a ranch that had probably been here for decades. The barn, fences, outbuildings, and house were all in good repair, but weathered and faded. Half a dozen horses—some wearing blankets, some not—grazed in one of the pastures. A couple of goats and a llama wandered between them, and in another pasture, three mares grazed with their babies close by.
The whole scene gave me a sense of calm I hadn’t had in a long time. I’d stopped riding during college, and now I had towonder how I’d gone so many years without picking it back up. I missed everything about it, from the horses’ personalities to the dirt and grunt work that made non-horse people turn up their noses. Even picking out stalls was relaxing in its own way.
Maybe I needed to think about getting a horse. I’d brushed up against the idea a few times over the years, but just showing up on this farm brought back that itch with a vengeance.
In front of the barn was a gravel parking lot, and Eric pulled the Jeep in between a battered old F150 and a dusty sedan. We were greeted at the barn’s entrance by Carole, a white woman in her fifties. She owned the stable along with her wife, Leah, who was currently out with the previous group of riders.
“We’re a little early,” Eric said apologetically as we shook hands with Carole.
She waved away his concern. “I’ll take early over late any day. There’s a reason we tell people to be here at ten. I guarantee half the people in your group will get here at least fifteen or twenty minutes after.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gotta love when you can almost set your watch my how late people can be.”
“Right?” She chuckled. “Well, there’s coffee in the barn, and you’re welcome to wander through and meet the horses. We’ll start saddling up your group around 10:30.”
Sounded perfect to me. We grabbed some coffee and strolled through the barn, which had about forty stalls. I was happy to see the horses could all put their heads over the doors rather than being behind bars. I understood the bars sometimes existed for the safety of both horses and people, but the horses always seemed happier when they could see over their doors.
“This place reminds me of where I used to ride,” Eric said.
“Me too.” I glanced at him. “How long did you ride?”
He shrugged. “Off and on as a kid and into my teens. It’s been a while, though. You?”
“Same. I started competing in junior high, but then I stopped riding altogether in college.” I paused beside the door of a huge palomino named Bill. As I petted his long face, I added, “I should really get back into it.”
“Yeah?” Eric glanced at me as he let Bill sniff—then lick—his hand. “What kind of competitions did you do, anyway?”
“Jumping, mostly.” I smiled as I scratched Bill’s neck. “My trainer made me do dressage, too.”
Eric cocked his head. “Made you? Why?”
I gave an exasperated sigh. “Because she insisted it was a really good way to make a rider tune into their horse, feel the way they’re moving—that kind of thing.”
He arched an eyebrow as he wiped his hand on his jeans. “And… was she right?”
I patted Bill on the neck. “Yeah. She was.” Wrinkling my nose, I added, “I just fucking hated dressage shows.”
“What? Were they really that bad?”
“Oh myGod, yes.” I groaned as we continued through the barn. “Like I get the point of it and everything, but the tests—the patterns are just sotediousandboring. Give me a course with some jumps, damn it.”
