Page 61 of We Redeemed the Rain

“You gotta let go of the saddle and stand up.”

I let go.

“No.” A slight laugh. “Don’t let go of the horn!” His hand moved to my calf, pressing firmly so I stopped wobbling. With his otherhand he touched mine—the one grabbing the back ridge of the saddle. “Move this hand back to the horn.”

I did as he said.

He put both his hands on my leg. I tried not to notice how warm and strong they were. “Good. Now stand straight up. You aren't goin’ anywhere. I got you.”

Holding onto the horn, I pulled my upper body off the saddle. My dangling foot instantly connected with the earth as I lost balance.

“Try again. All one motion this time. Pull up and lift your leg at the same time.” He touched my foot that was still in the stirrup. He pressed my toes down. “Also you’re losin’ balance ‘cause all your weight is goin’ into your heel. Put your weight into the stirrup by standin’ on the ball of your foot.”

I pulled with all my might and lifted my leg like I needed to throw it over a wall. With all the grace of a tumbling boulder, I slammed down into the saddle, nearly toppling off the other side. Righting myself with a jerk, I celebrated. “Ha! I did it!”

I looked down at Tag and a soft smile on his face made my heart flip. “Yep. Now reach forward and grab the reins.”

For the next twenty minutes, he showed me how to move Paprika around the arena. How to stop, go, and cut a quick turn. We even trotted side by side. I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. I knew I was beaming, but I didn’t know how to stop.

His letters filtered through my mind like catchy lyrics. All the things he’d told me in his letters about horses, riding, the trails, and the stories he’d told. All the lines I would have forgotten forever if this very moment had never come to be.

“I wish I would've been helping with the trail rides the day your family was here. If you ever come back to the ranch, we’ll ride together. I’ll make sure of it.”

Here we were—riding together.

Maybe not as best friends. But as allies.

And I could live with that.

I tapped out a text to Tag:

Hey, what time is your work day over?

He quickly texted back:

Whenever the work is done.

Me

I went grocery shopping, and I’m making tacos. If I had dinner at eight, could you stop and eat?

Besides the cold breakfast items provided for Meadowbrook guests, the pickings in the kitchen had been paltry. Before shopping, I’d found decaffeinated black tea bags, a bag of sugar, random spices, dozens of eggs, wrinkly apples, expired salad dressing, and frozen meals. Now, I could actually work in there.

Tag

I don't want to eat the groceries you bought. Keep it for you.

Me

Oh! Don’t worry! I want to share. Eight o’clock then?

Three bubbles appeared.

And vanished.

And reappeared, pulsing as Tag typed on and on. Then vanished. Then reappeared.

Finally, his text came through.

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