“I’m sorry.” My voice is back to soft. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”
He continues making the clicking sound, holding her. “Come on, it’s okay.” She lets him put his hand on her neck and then her face again, and I exhale the breath I was holding.
“Bill’s been working with her. She’s not going to lose ground so fast.” He’s got her back to him now. “Still, she has to trust me if I’m going to teach her speeding up and slowing down on the line.”
“And me!”
He looks over and smiles, and my stomach does a little flip. “She already seems to trust you. Sit up on the fence while I let her run.”
I skip back over to the fence and climb up while he makes a different noise to her. I’m starting to understand the different sounds are for different commands.
“What if someone works with her, and they don’t know all the sounds you make?” I watch as he follows her, jogging to the right.
“They’re pretty standard in the horse world. Bill taught them to me.”
My brow lines. “I don’t know any of them.”
“Just keep listening. You’ll catch on.”
I sit and watch as he leads her around and around until he takes a few steps toward her while saying whoa. She does not stop, and he repeats the process, shortening the line. They keep at it again and again until she finally stops when he gives the command.
“She’s very smart,” I call out from where I’m sitting.
He nods. “She learns fast. We’ll have to wait and see how much she’s like Freckles.”
I know he’s referencing her mother’s habit of being flighty and running away. Uncle Bill told me Freckles was captured with a band of wild horses, which is why she’s prone to erratic behavior. Jessie isn’t like her. I’m convinced my little horse is different.
As they work, my eyes follow the movement of her legs, the way it’s almost like dancing how she takes tiny steps to avoid Stuart, then large, graceful canters when she’s doing what she’s told. Stuart’s expression is focused, intense. His hazel eyes never leave her, and his light-brown hair is messy over his forehead. The muscle in his jaw moves, and the rope is like an instrument in his elegant hands. He’s strong and so intoxicatingly handsome as I watch him work with her.
It feels like we’ve been out here for hours, and I skipped breakfast. Still, I don’t want to miss anything. Quickly dropping down to fetch my sketchpad, I climb back to the top rail, holding it on my lap.
With one long, black sweep, I draw the curve of Jessie’s back. Her dark mane ripples along her side, and her tail is slightly raised. The grasses in the pen are low and brown, and behind all of it, the hazy mountains rise in the distance, purple, green, and gray.
Stuart is lean and tall guiding her. I shade the cuffs in his sleeves then spend a little time shading the muscles in his forearms. Watching the movement of his hands, my mind drifts to our morning in the spring and his hands on my bare skin. Warmth spreads across my stomach in a fizzy wave. The water in the creek was fizzy and warm. The sun was bright over our heads like the brightness of the sun today…
Too bright. It makes my eyes ache. Brightness, aching eyes. It’s like my dream. My sketchpad is so heavy. I need to put it down. My head is light, and from somewhere far off, I hear a voice shouting my name. I have to close my eyes. I’m falling…
Three worried faces are the next things I see. I’m lying on the couch in the house, and a cool rag is on my head. Bill’s face is drawn tight, and Stuart’s is pale. Sylvia looks like she’s about to cry.
“What happened?” I whisper, trying to sit up.
“Oh, thank God!” Sylvia gasps, catching my shoulder. “Lie back and sip this.”
She holds a glass of lemonade to my lips, and I sip it. Grasping it tighter, I take another, longer sip. It’s the best-tasting lemonade I’ve ever had.
“Take it easy now,” Bill says calmly. “You got a little overheated.”
“But I wasn’t doing anything…” I try to remember the last thing that happened before I passed out. “I was just sitting on the fence sketching.”
“On the top of the fence. If I hadn’t heard your sketchpad fall, looked up and saw you swoon.” Stuart’s voice trails off, and I realize what must have happened.
“Is Jessie okay?”
“Forget Jessie. Are you okay?” I can tell how worried he is by the sharpness of his tone, and I quickly try to ease his mind.
“I’m okay. I should’ve eaten some breakfast is all—”
“You didn’t eat breakfast?” His voice rises, and his mother stands quickly beside him.