Page 60 of We Redeemed the Rain

“Yep.”

I ran the water over her neck and down her spine, and her coat turned liquid. The hairs lifted and flowed together. She gave a loud, long sigh and I giggled. “Doesshe like it?”

“They all do.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lady May.”

“Do you name them all?”

“Not all of them. Cade and Jesse name some. Some I keep the names they come with.”

I wondered who named American Pie.

“I gotta grab another.” Tag tugged her reins, making a soft kissing sound at her. “Alright. Let's go, Lady.”

I followed again, my questions begging for release. “You don’t ride them all every day, do you?”

“Nope. I have a schedule. Every horse gets a ride twice a week to keep their top line in shape. We also have a trainin’ and exercise schedule. My trainer, Cook, comes at noon. I used to train ‘em myself, but then we got too—” He stopped abruptly and turned to look at me. His gaze fell to my Converse then traveled back to my face. “If you’re gonna follow me, we should grab another bridle.”

My eyebrows raised.

Fifteen minutes later, we walked back to the barn with two new horses: Coyote and Paprika. One question led to another, and pretty soon I was getting the crash course on how to curry brush the saddle area, how to pick hooves before riding, how to slip on a bridle, what type of saddle blanket to use, and how to tighten a cinch. I watched, listened, soaking every single word in.

Honestly, it made me wonder if he’d ever given lessons. He was a thorough, systematic teacher—even as he raced through the details. I didn’t ask him to teach me, he just did. I didn’t think he could stop himself. Helovedtalking about his passion.

Once Coyote was saddled, he said, “Alright. I gotta take him on a run around the arena. It’ll take ‘bout fifteen minutes, then I’ll do Paprika.”

“Tag?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ride Paprika?”

He hesitated.

“I know you’re probably a little too busy to teach a newbie, but ifit would be helpful, you could show me how and then I could help you get through the schedule.” That may have been putting a positive spin on things since I hadn’t been on a horse since I washereat Meadowbrook fourteen years ago.

He frowned, silent for a long moment. Finally, he answered. “Sure. I’ll show you.”

When Paprika was saddled, I led her to the arena beside Tag.

“Alright.” He stood next to Coyote and demonstrated. “Grab the horn.” His hand wrapped around a tall thing sticking off the saddle—the horn, I presumed. “Put your foot in the stirrup. Then pull and stand at the same time.” He did it slowly. “As you stand, lift your other leg”—he threw his leg across Coyote’s back and eased down into the saddle—“like this. See?”

He hopped down and stood beside me. “You try now.”

“Okay.” I grabbed the horn and slipped my foot into the stirrup.

“Nope. Your left foot.”

“Oh.” I switched feet and pulled. Heaving my weight up, the stirrup jerked forward and my heel pointed toward the ground. Off balance, I panicked. I flopped onto Paprika, folding my body over her, while gripping the horn and the back of the saddle for dear life. Why did I suddenly feel so high off the ground? Given my proximity to Tag and the fact I was bent at the waist a foot from his face, laughter burst from my throat.

I tried to lift my leg up and onto her back, but it was alongway from the saddle, my foot grazing the top of Paprika’s hips. The angle of my legs was far beyond ninety degrees. Hot blood rushed my face as I wheezed a laugh. “Tag, help me.”

Tag’s hand steadied my heel in the shaking stirrup. The soft laugh that permeated our first meeting in the mud, filtered through the air. “What’re you doin’?”

“Trying to get my leg over!”

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