"Sunny, meet the flock." Charlie unlatches the gate and holds it open for me. On the far side of the enclosure, a furious quacking starts up and does not stop. "Gerald is the brown andgreen one by the bridge. Karen is next to him, preening her feathers. Wadsworth is the big white one in the water. Biscuit and Dolly are the two sitting in the shade together." He pauses and nods toward the source of the quacking, a duck who is eyeing us with what can only be described as hostility. "And that's Kevin."
I step through the gate and crouch down, holding my hand out. Gerald waddles over immediately, his head bobbing with interest. He nudges my fingers with his bill, and the soft, cool pressure of it makes me laugh. Karen follows, curious and friendly, and within seconds I have three ducks gathered around me, investigating my bootlaces and pecking gently at my jeans.
"They like you," Charlie says, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed. "Gerald doesn't go to most people."
"Gerald has good taste." I scratch the top of Karen's head, and the duck leans into my hand with a contented trill. Biscuit and Dolly approach next, more cautiously, and I let them come to me on their own terms.
Kevin watches from a distance, quacking with aggressive displeasure.
"Kevin is suspicious of everyone," Charlie says. "He bit the landscaper twice. He bit Wade once, which I think Wade took as a personal insult. The only person he tolerates is Gran. She walks in there and he follows her around like a puppy. The rest of us get teeth."
I am laughing before I can stop myself. "He’s perfect. Every flock needs a Kevin."
"I'll remind you of that when he goes for your ankles." He nods toward Colby, who is standing patiently at the fence. "Give me five minutes. I need to get him cooled down and settled before we do anything else." He leads Colby toward the barn, and I turn back to the ducks.
Sitting here, cross-legged in the grass while they waddle around me and over me, has to be the most fun I’ve had in years. Even Kevin shuffles over eventually, voicing his annoyance the entire way, but he finally nudges my knee with his bill and doesn’t bite. At some point Charlie returns from the barn and leans against the fence, and when I finally glance up, his expression is so openly tender that my chest tightens.
He clears his throat and pushes off the fence. "Ready for your riding lesson?"
At my nod, he leads me to the main barn, where a dapple-gray mare stands cross-tied in the aisle, already saddled and waiting. The mare is smaller than Colby, compact and calm, with dark, liquid eyes that blink at me with patient intelligence.
"This is Pearl," Charlie says, running a hand along her neck. "She's Gran's horse. Gentlest animal on the property, and she hasn't spooked at anything in the ten years Gran's owned her."
"Your grandmother rides?"
"Not much anymore, but she did for decades. Pearl is semi-retired. She mostly grazes and gets spoiled." He holds the mare's bridle while I approach. "Put your hand on her neck. Let her get used to you."
I press my palm against Pearl's warm coat, and the mare turns her head to inspect me with calm curiosity. Her nostrils flare as she takes in my scent, and then she nudges my shoulder gently, as if approving me.
"She likes you," Charlie says. "Good. Now, left foot in the stirrup, grab the horn, and swing up."
The mounting takes me two attempts and a fair amount of graceless scrambling. But I get there, and the feeling of sitting in a saddle by myself thrills me in a way I wasn’t expecting. Charlie adjusts my stirrups and shows me how to hold the reins, his touch guiding mine to position my fingers correctly. The touch is instructional, but my skin doesn’t seem to know the difference.
He mounts Colby, and we ride out together at a walk, side by side. He talks me through the basics of balance and leg cues, his voice steady and encouraging, and Pearl responds easily to the lightest shift of my weight. We follow a dirt path that winds along the fence line, past rolling green pastures where horses graze and lift their heads as we pass.
"You're doing great," Charlie says, and the pride in his voice makes me sit taller.
"Pearl is doing all the work. I’m just sitting here trying not to fall off."
Charlie chuckles. "Trying not to fall off is the first step. Everything else comes with practice."
We ride for half an hour, looping around the south pasture and along a ridge that overlooks the property. The view is staggering, miles of rolling land stretching toward the distant hills. The wind carries the scent of cedar, and I find myself relaxing, letting Pearl's rhythm carry me.
By the time we circle back toward the house, my thighs are burning and my hips ache from the unfamiliar motion, but I am grinning so wide that my cheeks hurt.
"So?" Charlie pulls Colby alongside Pearl as we approach the barn. "What's the verdict?"
"I understand why you love this." I run my hand along Pearl's mane, and the mare nickers softly. "I could get used to seeing the world from up here. Once my thighs forgive me, that is."
He laughs, and then his voice drops. "I've got liniment back at the house. You'll want to rub some into your legs tonight, or you'll have a tough time walking tomorrow." His eyes hold mine a beat too long when he says it, and the heat that climbs up my neck has nothing to do with the Texas sun.
We dismount at the barn, and Charlie shows me how to untack Pearl and brush her down. Wade appears briefly, nods at me without expression, and leads Colby toward the pasture.
Charlie leads me to the main house and holds the front door open. Gran is waiting in the front hall with a glass of sweet tea in each hand, looking as though she had been expecting us the entire time.
"Sunny, my dear." She presses a glass into my hand before I can get a word out. "I saw you riding Pearl from the window. You looked like a natural."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hayden. Pearl was very gentle with me."
