Page 100 of Wingwoman
I ran back in the house, grabbed my guitar, pen, and notebook, as well as a few more apples, then went back to sit with Snapple some more.
Something about being there with her was twisting my lungs. Like being with Snapple was as close as I’d ever get again to being near my mom.
I both hated it and loved it.
I’d avoided this horse for a long time because of that feeling.
But maybe it was time to embrace it. Maybe Hope was right. Maybe there was a song there about my mother. If I could just be brave enough to explore it.
I leaned my guitar next to me, then sat down in the hay outside of her stable, propping the notebook on my knee to write as lyrics flowed out of me.
When the words stagnated, I paused and took a bite of my apple.
A strong, wet nose butted my shoulder. I laughed, looking up at Snapple. “You already had some,” I laughed and stroked my fingers between her nostrils.
She chuffed again. “Fine. Just don’t tell the others. But I guess Mom’s best friend deserves a few extra apple slices, huh? Apples for Snapple.”
She took the apple core from my hand, chomping on it.
I laughed, shaking my head at her. No wonder my mom loved this horse as much as she did. They were basically one in the same… taking what they wanted and throwing a fit when they didn’t get it in the most adorably playful way.
“What do you think of this song, Snapple? Would Mom like it?”
I grabbed my phone and opened up the recording app so I could listen back and write down what I heard. Then pulled my guitar down onto my lap, strumming a slow, rolling intro to a ballad.
I started humming a melody I’d written down, not bothering to place the exact words into the tune yet, as different thoughts flashed in my mind. Hope riding a horse. Mom brushing Snapple. My mom teaching me how to make necklaces out of dandelions. Hope laying in the hospital bed. Hope sleeping, snuggling with Cash…
All the visions mixed and swirled together. Hope. My mom. Snapple.
There was something there and yet, it didn’t entirely make sense. Hope never knew my mom… so why the hell was I writing a song that weaved the two of them together?
I finished the bit of music with a final strum of a closing chord.
“That’s beautiful,” Hope said quietly behind me.
I jumped, startled and surprised to see her up already. “Hey,” I said, setting the guitar aside and starting to climb to my feet. “You’re up.”
She stopped me from standing, instead, lowering herself to sit in the hay across from me. “You took care of me,” she said. “Again. For the third time now. I swear, I’m not usually so… fragile.” A tendril of hair fell from her loose topknot, brushing against her cheekbone.
“You’re fragile in the same way a diamond is. A single diamond can cut through glass, but also get smashed into dust.” I paused, leaning forward to tuck a fallen strand behind her ear. “Besides, taking care of you after the hospital doesn’t count since it was my fault you were there in the first place.”
She drew back in utter surprise. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Believe me. When you run a horse rescue, it’s your responsibility to make sure you pair the rider with the proper horse so they’re both at the same level. I neglected to do that.” My mom would have whupped my hide if she’d been around to see that. I’d been cocky. I knew Hope wasn’t skilled enough to ride. Yet, I was too obsessed with trying to prove some adolescent point that I’d put Hope’s safety at risk.
“Okay fine,” Hope rolled her eyes. “So… that song. Did yourmuseinspire that?”
I ignored the way she mocked the word ‘muse’ with a roll of her eyes.
“She did. Or rather,youdid. You and my mom’s favorite horse, Snapple here.” I patted the horse’s cheek gently.
A smirk lifted Hope’s face. “So just me and a horse, huh?” She narrowed her eyes playfully and booped Snapple in the nose. “Watch your back, girl. He’smine.”
The slightest itch of panic shivered down my spine at her words. “Am I?”
I tried not to notice how stunning she looked in the freshly risen sun. Tanned legs peeked out of billowy cotton shorts and a tank top did little to hide her tear-drop breasts with beaded nipples despite the early morning warmth. A spray of faint freckles fanned across her sun-kissed cheeks. In a word, she was gorgeous.
“That is the point of this whole ruse, isn’t it?” She shot me a lopsided smile as she waved her hand in the air in a dramatic display.
