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“I don’t usually let people choose. With the different riding levels, it gets difficult. But these are all really docile, beginner horses, so I feel comfortable with you riding any of them.”

She falls silent, though I’m not sure why.

After a minute of looking between Misty, my gray mare, and Maverick, my buckskin dun gelding, who both wander away after a moment, she points to the palomino mare with white socks, who stays nearby. “That one. He seems to like me more.”

“She. Rapunzel.”

“Oh.” She gives a nervous laugh. “My apologies, madam.”

“Come on. Let’s tack her up.”

Once again, she falls silent. “I’m not sure I’m capable of doing that,” she says in a small voice.

Is she insecure about her lack of experience around horses? I didn’t think she’d be comfortable around them. Most people aren’t. Truth be told, I had the selfish hope that she would be out of her comfort zone. It would make me feel better for how insecure I felt at her dad’s party.

But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. “It’s okay. I’ll do the hard parts. You can do the easy stuff.”

She nods, though she doesn’t look any happier.

After tying the horses to the outside of the fence, I lead her back to the tack room where we take a few trips to gather the bridles, saddles, and pads.

“Wanna try lifting it up?” I say hoisting my saddle off the fence.

“If I even try to hold that, I’ll fall flat on my face.”

I chuckle, then heave the saddle up myself. I make quick work of tacking up Irving, my leopard gelding, and Juliet watches me with an unfailing gaze.

She’s quick to learn as I point out the various pieces, buckles, and belts, and to my surprise, she’s unafraid to try out each step when it comes time to tacking up Rapunzel.

I lift the saddle for her, but she does most of the work on her own under my instruction. By the end, she props her hands on her hips. “How’s that for beginner?”

Beginner. That’s why she fell silent before. I didn’t mean it as a slight. We’re all beginners in one thing or another. But I have a feeling Juliet isn’t a beginner for long in most aspects of her life.

She stands next to Rapunzel, peering up at her. The top of Juliet’s head barely reaches the horse’s back.

I point to the stepping stool nearby. “You’ll probably want a mounting block.”

“No, I got it.”

My lips part with unspoken words of advice because her look of determination is undeniable. She’s going to do this her way.

She holds onto both ends of the saddle and lifts her right foot first, barely managing to hoist it into the stirrup. She bounces up and down helplessly for a moment to try to hoist herself up.

I clear my throat. “Um, wrong foot.”

“What? Oh, Oops.”

She manages to peel her foot from the stirrup, then tries again with her left.

“Want some help?” I offer.

“No, thanks. I’m gonna do this myself.”

When she finally sticks the correct boot into the stirrup, she takes a deep breath and kicks off the ground. She finally manages to hoist herself up from the dirt, but unfortunately, her foot slips from the stirrup, her hat falls to the ground on the other side of the horse, and now she’s planking horizontally across Rapunzel.

A memory rushes toward me. “Oh my heck.”

“What?” she asks with a grunt.