Whatever the case, I’m grateful. Stepping inside the barn, I’m hit by the familiar smells of hay and warm animals. Closing my eyes, I take a deep, steadying breath.
I already feel better.
I head for a stall toward the middle of the aisle that splits the barn in half. A chestnut-colored horse with a white star on her forehead peeks out, her huge, dark eyes shining in the light overhead.
Everything inside me lifts.
“Hey, you.” I tuck my hand underneath her velvet chin and give her a rub. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.”
Meredith nuzzles my hand in reply, licking the pad of my thumb.
Yeah, I named my horse after Taylor Swift’s cat. So what? She looked like a Meredith to me.
I just hope my parents keep letting me ride her out with the cowboys. Dad’s always pushing me to help him in the office, where I put stamps on the bills and letters he sends out, and where I pretend to be interested in his lectures about how much everything costs and why. I don’t know who hates sitting at a desk more, me or him. He says he wants me to “learn the business side of things” because I’m “the smart one who’s good at math.”
But really, I think he wants to keep me away from cowboying or working with the horses. There aren’t any other women who work on the ranch, other than Mom, Aunt Lee, and the lady who comes to help the farrier sometimes. There are definitely no women who work cattle or break horses. It’s only the boys who train fillies or ride out in the mornings with our small herd of cattle or do fun stuff like rinse off in the creek after a hot day in the saddle.
Girls, meanwhile, have to doindoorthings, like lick stamps and fold laundry.
Meredith’s breath is warm on my hand. I lean into her, my heart rate finally back to normal.
Of course I’m your favorite, I imagine her saying back to me.I’m wild and I’m full of heart. Just like you. We can be both things at once, wild and warmhearted, no matter what other people think.
“They’re always saying I’m wild.” I stroke Meredith’s silky neck. “Why is that a bad thing all of a sudden?”
“Because boys are scared of wild girls. We’ll never admit it, but we scare a lot easier than y’all.”
I jump at the sound of the voice behind me. Whipping around, I see Ryder, my brother Colt’s friend, standing a few feet away. He’s in a rumpled T-shirt and shorts, and he’s holding a guitar in his hand.
Why is healwayscarrying that thing?The dude’s obsessed.
“Well, you just scared the shit out of me, and I’m a girl!” My heart thumps. But instead of putting my hand on my chest, I put it on my stomach.
It keeps doing this funny somersaulting thing whenever I see Ryder. It only started happening recently. Maybe because he’s gotten a little bit cute since he turned thirteen?
I like his smile. And the way he doesn’t make me feel like I’m any different from the boys. Like he can talk to me and hang out with me the same way he does with my brothers. I’m not some porcelain doll he ignores or mocks or handles with such care that he can’t be himself around me.
I alsoreallylike his thick mop of dark blond hair, the way it curls out at the ends.
Speaking of his hair: It falls into his eyes as he shakes his head. “You and the cussin’.”
Growing up surrounded by cowboys who curse like sailors and brothers who talk smack like nobody’s business, I learned the art of cuss words early.
“You gonna tell me to watch my mouth like everybody else?”
“Hell no.” Aw, Lordy, now he’s smiling, and he’s brushing back his hair, and my stomach’s flipping again. “Cussin’ don’t bother me one bit.”
“Even if a girl does it?”
“Especially if a girl does it. To be honest, I don’t care who’s doing it. I think it keeps things nice and relaxed.”
I grin. “Mom and Dad aren’t relaxed when I cuss.”
“Well maybe I’m able to relax when you cuss because I don’t gotta watch myself around you. I like that.”
Dang, now my heart’s doing somersaults too.
I don’t have many friends that are girls. None, really. Mom homeschools my brothers and me, so the only time I see other girls my age is at church on Sunday downtown. I used to be able to play with other girls in the “kid room” where our parents would drop us off before service. One of the older girls would babysit us while everyone else went into the chapel.
