Page 3 of Holding The Reins

Ginger creeps in from the shadows of the kitchen at the back of the house like my stay home plan summoned her.

“Oh, no you won’t.” Her boots make a quick tapping sound on the floor as she comes into the living room with a glass of Mama Jo’s sweet tea. “I already told everyone you’re home, we’re not missing Sangria Sunday. You can sleep tomorrow, no time for wallowing.”

“Who’s everyone?” I groan.

She flashes me a gorgeous, perfect smile, her pretty caramel eyes dance with mischief and her deep brown natural curls frame her face. She’s always been one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen in real life.

“The girls, of course. It is ladies’ night after all.” She grabs my wrist.

“Now let’s get some dinner into you and get ready. You are going to look like the single hottie you are.”

I look at my mom for help but she raises her hands like she wants nothing to do with it.

“Beats staying home alone with your vibrator.” She giggles.

“Mother!” I yell as she and Ginger double over in laughter.

This goddamn town.

Two hours later, Mama Jo and Ginger’s wardrobe consultation service has put together an outfit I would never, ever wear in public at any other time. But, as they so eloquently put it, “the whole town knows I have a personal stash of sex toys now, so I may as well own it.”

There are more clothes spread out than this space can handle. My cabin is small, almost like a little apartment, but this one is my favorite because it has a big picture window over the kitchen sink, that looks out to one of the large horse corals on our property. And in the distance, you can see Sugarland Mountain in all her glory.

Mama has it set up like I’ve lived here forever—complete with decorative candles, throw pillows, and magazines on the living room coffee table. It only has one bedroom and one bathroom with dark cabin walls, but it’s perfect for me to start over in.

Back in the old days on our ranch, we had multiple horse trainers live on site, especially during my dad’s derby years. For the last ten years, we’ve had Wade leading the pack, so two of these cabins usually sit empty now that Cole lives in town with my favorite girl—my seven-year-old niece, Mabel.

I look myself over in the full length mirror that we moved to the living room for this makeshift fashion show.

I grunt and groan as I ask myself if I’m actually going to wear this: a dark jean mini skirt I keep pulling down to try to get it to at least meet my mid-thigh, and a red, lacy camisole of Ginger’s my breasts barely fit into.

I was blessed and cursed as an early bloomer but I’ve at least grown into my curves now. I adjust the layers of necklaces and big gold hoop earrings that Ginger added. She’s also styled my long hair into a mass of muted blonde waves and curls. I’ve never had so much hairspray in it, even at my prom.

“It just needs something,” Ginger says as she chews her bottom lip. “Take those sandals off,” she commands, raising one French manicured finger in the air.

“I don’t have any other shoes unpacked—”

“Don’t mess with my creativity, just take them off.”

She pulls her ivory colored Lucchese boots off her feet and tosses them to me. We’ve been sharing shoes since seventh grade.

“Yes,” she says. “Put these on first.” She tosses me a pair of high ivory socks from the middle of my bed.

“You want me to wear your babies?” I question. She rarely parts with these beloved boots.

“Yes, you need them tonight more than I do.”

I do as she says, popping them on and turning to see the finished product.

“Yes! Just like Dolly baby, if Dolly had smaller tits.” She winks and I toss a pillow at her from the couch.

“Just like Dolly,” I mutter as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Ginger kisses Mama Jo on the cheek and turns to me.

“Alright, get ready for some sangria and unsavory decisions!” She tosses on my sandals, locks arms with me, and pulls me out the door.

The sun is just thinking about setting as we get in the car and wave to my mom—she’s still standing on the front porch of my cabin.

“Bye, Mama,” I call out the window.

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