“I see.” And Gabe thought he did. “Is that why you don’t like horses?”
“I—I like them well enough, though I don’t like to be bitten. It’s just…I cannot ride.” He said it as if confessing something shameful.
Gabe kept cutting slices and handing them to him. “How old are you?”
“I will be eight next month. His lips are so soft—like velvet!” He was feeding the big horse now with confidence.
“Plenty of time yet to learn to ride. Most people don’t learn until they’re much older.”
Nicky shook his head. “In England perhaps,” he said dismissively. “But not in Z—where I come from,” he amended. “There we ride from the age of four or five.” He looked away. “Theyride,” he muttered.
“Your mother can’t ride.”
“Yes, but she is a ladyandEnglish.”
Gabe shrugged. “Lots of English ladies ride. I know ladies who can ride better than most men.”
Nicky looked doubtful.
“Besides, what does it matter if she rides or not?”
“It matters in Z—where I come from. We are famous for horses and horsemen. Everybody rides—all the men and most of the women. Horses are my country’s heritage.”
Gabe nodded, understanding the implications. “Would you like me to teach you?”
The boy shook his head. “Papa tried many times. I just fall off—like ababy! Useless!” He thumped his crooked leg so hard it must have hurt. “This leg is no good. Not strong enough.”
Gabe passed him the last slice of apple. “Many people with bad legs can still ride.”
The boy shook his head. “Not me. Papa had me examined by the best physicians. My leg cannot be fixed. So I will never ride.”
“Maybe,” Gabe said. He entered the stall and slipped a bridle onto his horse. “My brother Harry’s leg was hurt when he was tiny. He still limps, but he rides like a demon.”
There was a silence. Gabe placed the saddle on Trojan’s back and bent to tighten the cinch. “Harry will be here in a few days. He’s bringing some horses.” He glanced sideways at the boy’s face. The boy made no sign he’d heard.
Gabe untied Trojan and led him out of the stall. Nicky hung back, still nervous of the big horse. When Trojan made a lunge toward him, he flattened himself against the wall. His fear faded when Trojan gently lipped at his shirt and nudged impatiently at his pocket.
“He wants more apples!” the boy exclaimed, laughing. He hesitantly stroked the horse’s nose, then patted him with increasing confidence.
Gabe gave them a few minutes, then led the horse outside.
Nicky followed, his limp very much in evidence. “Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d see if I could retrieve your mother’s portmanteau.” He mounted and turned the horse toward the driveway. “If anyone wonders where I am, say I’ll be back by bre—” He broke off. Turning unexpectedly, he’d caught on Nicky’s face such a wistful expression he couldn’t stand it. “Would you like to come with me, Nicky?”
“Me? Come with you?”
“You could ride with me. Trojan wouldn’t mind. He likes you.”
The boy hesitated, gave a longing look at the horse, and glanced back at the house.
“I’ll have you back before your mother even wakes.”
Still the boy agonized.
“You won’t fall off, I promise,” Gabe told him. “You can sit in front of me.”
“Like a baby?”
