What was the alternative? It wasn’t like she had any real choice other than to suck it up and do her best. And most days, her best felt woefully below average. Still, she could plainly see her father’s admiration, and it was something that she appreciated as a daughter.
“Thank you,” she accepted the compliment, however undeserving of it she felt.
She moved into his embrace, noticing for the first time that morning how strained her muscles had felt, how rigid her frame seemed to be. She’d been in pure survival mode and had yet to release an actual breath.
“I’m going to go take that shower.” Stepping back from her father’s arms, Trinity glimpsed the dampness on his shirt where her face had been pressed. As she touched her own cheeks, she was startled to find them wet. Was she crying? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d shed a tear without realizing it. After Calvin's passing, she often awoke to find her pillow soaked with tears she had no recollection of shedding.
If Joe noticed, he let his daughter have this small moment of vulnerability and didn’t mention it.
The shower was heavenly, just as Trinity had hoped. There hadn’t been a time in recent days when she’d been able to take one without rushing, knowing she couldn’t leave her children out of sight for long. She would try to complete her morning routine before their alarms would sound, but that didn’t always work. Liam was an early riser, and despite being instructed to stay in his room until his digital clock had a seven as the first number, he often made his presence known loudly andpersistently. Mia would sleep until noon if allowed, reminding Trinity of her own affinity for sleep, but she’d been a teenager when she’d stayed in bed that long. Sometimes, Trinity would worry that her daughter’s behavior was a sign of depression. Had she been a heavy sleeper like this before Calvin passed? Trinity honestly couldn’t remember.
She stayed in the shower until her skin had wrinkled and the water turned tepid. The big mirror over the sink had fogged up, steam making it impossible to see her reflection without a good swipe from the bath towel.
She paused. Was this what she looked like? When was the last time she’d glimpsed herself in the mirror like this? She looked significantly older, the wrinkles around her eyes deeper than she remembered them. She wasn’t haggard by any means. There was still youthfulness in her face, but some of that joy that had always made her look so fresh and radiant was gone. She wondered if she’d ever get it back.
After going for comfort with a cozy cranberry colored sweater paired with well-worn denim, Trinity finally emerged from the oasis of her room. Joe was on the couch and Liam was sitting beside him, engrossed in a picture book filled with trucks and tractors.
“Hey, you,” he said, looking up from the book. “I got this little dude to drink half a glass of water. If he’s able to keep that down, I promised a popsicle.”
Trinity’s dad had been the one to care for her whenever she was sick as a young girl. Her mother had been the breadwinner in the family with her job as a mountain home realtor, and while Joe was a handyman by trade, he stayed at home until Trinity was old enough for school. But he was always the one to pick her up, attend field trips, chaperone school dances, and coach her soccer team. He was more hands-on than any other fathers she’dmet, and she loved that he continued to be equally as involved with his own grandchildren.
Liam suddenly reached for the cup of water, eager to down it so he could move on to the sweet treat.
“Not so fast, buddy,” Joe said, commandeering the glass. “We need to give it a minute.”
Trinity paused, cherishing the precious scene unfolding before her. Gratitude was an emotion she felt daily, and today was no different. What would she do without the people God had placed in her life? It was a question she couldn’t answer, and she was immensely grateful she would never have to find out.
Approaching the couch, she nestled herself next to her dad, placing her head on his broad shoulder while her young son snuggled up on his other side.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you,?” she asked, her voice soft with affection.
“Every day,” he replied with a smile.
And that was one thing Trinity vowed to continue doing—letting the ones she loved know just how much they meant to her. Because as she’d learned the hard way, you never knew when one of thoseI love you’smight be the last.
CHAPTER 7
Spencer reached under the mare to adjust the cinch.
This wasn’t Bluebell’s first rodeo. When he’d first hoisted his heavy saddle onto her back, she didn’t flinch, not even a twitch or a flick of her ear. Some horses (like Alpine) threw a tantrum every time they were tacked up. They would toss their heads at the mere sight of a bridle and coaxing the bit into their mouth was a chore that demanded patience, finesse, and some good, old-fashioned persuasion.
There were horses that dreaded work, and there were the ones that thrived under it. It was what cowboys often referred to as a horse that liked having a job. He couldn’t be entirely certain just yet, but Spencer had a hunch Bluebell fell into that latter category.
The mare stood tied to the hitching post without fuss, no pawing or stomping, just licking and chewing, another good sign. When Spencer approached her with the bridle, she lowered her head to accept the bit eagerly.
“Good girl,” he praised, pulling her forelock out from under the leather strap and running his fingers through the tuft of hair. “You’ve done this before, huh?”
His plan was to saddle her up and take her down to the round pen to see how much she knew. She wasn’t green, that was obvious. But there were many levels to a horse, ranging from skittish to bombproof. If Nana Jo really did have hopes of using Bluebell as a lesson horse, she’d have to be as close to bombproof as possible.
Taking the reins, Spencer led the blue roan through the pasture and toward the pipe panel pen where they often exercised their horses, weather permitting. Thankfully, today was nothing but blue skies without any sign of rain or snow in the forecast. He knew if he didn’t take advantage of a beautiful, clear day like this, they could very well go all winter without exercising the new horse, and that would be a huge setback.
Bluebell followed along nicely, giving Spencer his space but not dragging too far behind. With every step, he grew fonder of the sweet mare. From what he could assess so far, she was definitely a keeper.
“Let’s see how much you know,” he said as he knotted the leather reins and moved them over her head, so they were out of the way. He gathered the lunge whip perched upright next to the gate and kept it low by his side, so as not to startle her. Some horses lost their minds at the sight of the training instrument, or even a plastic bag, for that matter. This particular tool wasn’t used to physically whip the horse, just as a stick to direct their movements, like an extension of Spencer’s hand.
Bluebell had obviously seen one before, because as Spencer walked to the middle of the pen, she immediately moseyed over to the rail, knowing the drill. He lifted the whip to his waist and directed the tip of it toward the horse’s rump. Immediately, Bluebell began walking in the direction Spencer urged her in.Good, he thought to himself, nodding.She does know a little something.
Making a clicking noise with his mouth, he asked for a trot, and just like before, she picked up on it immediately without Spencer even uttering the verbal command.
