Riding Lessons
Chapter One
"Are you ready?" says Roger as he gives me a leg up,
and I laugh, because I've never been so ready in all
my life.
And Harry is, too, with his red neck flexed and his
ears swiveling like antennae, but never together -- if
one is forward the other is back, although sometimes
they land impossibly out to the side, like a lop-eared
goat's. He stamps and snorts as I lower myself into
the saddle and gather the reins, and I forgive him,
this time, for not standing still while I mount because
while it's terrible manners there are extenuating
circumstances and I, too, cannot be still. I run the
reins across the black gloves that cover my wet
palms and icy fingers and look back at my father,
whose face is lined and stern, and then at Roger, who
smiles up at me with his face a perfect composite of
tension, pride, and joy.
He lays a hand on my booted calf and says, "Give
'em hell, babe," and I laugh again, because I have
every intention of doing just that.
And then Marjory is leading us to the gate -- actually holding the reins, as though I can be trusted
to take fences of almost five feet but not to steer
Harry into the arena.
"Watch your pace going into the combination,"
she says, "and don't let him rush you. Col ... read full excerpt from: Riding Lessons ebook
