Page 20 of Darling Bride

One of the biggest joys in my life is my daughter. She’s sweet and sensitive, but I see her resilience shine through. Seeing her get to live the way I wanted to as a girl has healed me so deeply. Keira and I talk about that sometimes. How we’re so lucky we get to see our daughters grow up in a safe world.

“River doesn’t mean to tease you,” I say. “I mean, he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. He’s just…well, a little shit sometimes.”

She giggles, dipping her head. “He’s alright.”

“But he doesn’t mean it to hurt you,” I say.

“I know,” she says.

We fall into companionable silence as we chop and juice lemons. Allison measures out sugar and stirs while I clean everything up. Then she lets me hug her before she goes out to the barn.

I wipe down the countertops and head out to where everyone stands by the paddock. Sovereign leans on the fence, elbows on the top railing. Allison balances on the gatepost, where it’s flat from the kids sitting on it. River and Westin are inside the paddock.

The colt is in the middle, eyes big. There’s a distinct lack of halter or bridle on him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Sovereign clears his throat. “Oh, they’re just fucking around. River’s got cold feet.”

“Why’s that?” I kick a crate up to the fence and climb on top so I can see over the railing.

My husband has a halter and lead rope hanging from his arm, outstretched to River. There’s a firmness to the way he’s standing. I know he’s not willing to bend and put the halter on himself. If River wants a colt, he’ll have to do all the work himself.

“Go on,” Westin says.

Hesitantly, River takes the halter by the crown strap and slings the lead over his shoulder. The colt digs his hooves in and drops his head, looking up. The whites of his eyes flash.

I catch my breath. I’ve seen my son ride unbroken colts before, but never with everyone watching him. The tension in the yard is palpable.

“I said, go on. Before he gets the better of you,” Westin says.

He circles the inside of the railing until he’s standing before me. I glance up at him and he pats my hand. Wrapping his fingers around mine. I squeeze his fingers back.

“He can’t get too hurt,” he says. “And if he can do this, he’ll be proud of himself.”

I know he’s right. My eyes are glued to my son as he holds out his hand, palm up. The colt stays perfectly still. River takes another step closer, knees bent. He’s imitating Westin when he breaks the colts. The realization warms my heart.

The colt tosses his head. River doesn’t back down. One foot in front of the other, until he’s less than a yard away.

They stare at each other. Hazel eyes against black.

Slowly, River lifts his hand and the colt stays as he is, feet planted and heavy stare following my son’s every move. Then, like magic, his palm connects to the horse’s nose and it’s like all the tension leaks away from them both.

I release my breath in a puff of relief. Westin releases my hand and pats it. Sovereign clears his throat, taking his hat off. He pushes off the fence and circles it to the gate, stepping into the paddock. The colt lifts his head, stretching towards him as he approaches.

“Go on and hold the halter up to his face,” Sovereign says.

He has a slow, patient way with horses that settles them down. He places his hand on the colt’s forelock and it dips its head low enough for River to place the halter gently against his face. I glance at Westin, but he’s just watching, squinting in concentration.

The colt doesn’t throw his head.

Sovereign nods at River. My son takes a big breath and I resist the urge to call out and tell him not to let the horse feel his nerves. He can figure these things out for himself. It’s my job to just watch and if he gets hurt, I’ll comfort him.

River guides the noseband up and over his head, moving the crown strap behind his ears. The colt shakes his head, but it’s not angry. More experimental. Quickly and evenly, Sovereign takes the lead from River’s arm and clips it onto the ring below the colt's chin. He puts the other end into River’s hand.

“Let’s see you walk him,” he says.

He circles the inner edge of the paddock until he stands on my other side. Westin takes off his hat and puts it on my head so he can wipe the sweat off his forehead. The inner band is damp, but I don’t mind.

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