“You did really good today,” Shelby tells Ruby. “Did everything I asked.”
Ruby beams like she just won a buckle.
“I didn’t even get scared,” she says proudly.
“That’s because you trusted yourself,” Shelby says. “And your pony.”
I clear my throat without meaning to. “I’d say she trusted her trainer.”
Shelby turns slowly toward me, like she’s bracing herself. Professional. Neutral. “Thanks.”
Momma peers at me, and I see the corner of her mouth lift.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Shelby tells Ruby.
I drop my boot and head to open the gate and enter the pen.
“Can we do it again tomorrow?” Ruby asks as I lift her down from the saddle.
“Not tomorrow. The next day,” Shelby answers.
I glance to her. “So, there will be a next time?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, she did great,” she says. She leans over and scratches the pony behind its ear. “And Honey here’s a good match. Calm. Responsive. I think we’ll be fine.”
I glance down at Ruby, who’s still glowing. “I appreciate it.”
Shelby doesn’t answer. I get the feeling gratitude makes her uncomfortable.
“Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom,” Ruby says, tugging the hem of my shirt.
“I’ll take her. I want to go say goodbye to Evelyn anyway,” Momma calls.
She and Pop both take a hand and walk her toward the house. Ruby lifts up, swinging her little legs between them and giggling the entire way.
Shelby and I lead Honey back to the barn and untack her together, mostly quiet. Then I give the pony a good brushing down while Shelby prepares her food and water.
“You did good today, Honey,” I tell her. “Real good.”
She neighs softly.
“Thanks for taking care of my girl.”
After Honey’s settled in her stall, we walk to the main house together.
“Why’d you stop competing?” I ask.
Her eyes come to mine, but she doesn’t answer.
“I don’t mean to pry,” I say. “It’s just … you looked so happy out there. Even though all you were doing was leading a little girl on a pony.”
She shrugs. “Life happened.”
“Life happens to everybody. You can’t let that stop you from chasing your dreams,” I say.
“You’re one to talk. I seem to remember you wanting to run Ironhorse with your dad one day. But you ran off … to do what exactly?”
“We’re not talking about me,” I say.
