Page 26 of Christmas at the Ranch
But I know what to do. I nudge Star’s flanks gently with the bottoms of my heels, take the reins tighter in my hands, and direct her out onto the track. Charlie is right; you don’t forget how to do this. The simple signals between horse and rider are still second nature to me.
As we walk the arena track, our pace leisurely, I gaze out the small windows we pass, take in the fresh layers of snow on the distant hills and evergreens of the Haliburton Forest. I can just picture it: Because of all the snow still falling outside, the fields and trails will be fresh and white. I suddenly long to go out there with Star, to ride those trails I still remember so well on this horse. After I’ve walked Star around the track a few more times, Charlie instructs me to ask her for a trot.Again, I nudge her flanks with my heels—a little harder than before—while tightening up the reins to signal to her that it’s time to move faster. As I begin posting—rising and falling in the saddle seat along with her stride—Charlie calls out, “You two look great!” I’m practically beaming with pride at his compliments as he directs me to make some circles and figure eights with Star on either end of the arena, then asks if I feel up to cantering, which is the gait one speed lower than gallop.
“I’m ready!” I call.
“You know what to do,” he answers—and again, he’s right. I shift my hips so my seat is lower in the saddle, slide one heel just in front of the girth and one just behind. I squeeze, and we’re off.
Some horses have a smooth canter, some a bumpy one. Some are in between. Star’s canter feels like riding a cloud. I never want it to stop, but eventually, I know I have to slow her down. The frosty plumes of air from her nostrils fill the air and she’s working up a sweat. Exhilarated, I pat her shoulder enthusiastically then slow her to a walk again.
I can tell Charlie’s also thrilled. He approaches Star to pat her shoulder, too, while she tosses her head, clearly pleased.
“What would you think of cooling her down a bit more outside?” he asks me, a thoughtful expression on his face. My heart feels like it’s soaring.
“I’d love to ride her in the snow,” I say.
“Let me just go grab my guy, Hank, and we’ll all walk outside together.”
Within moments, Charlie is back with his horse. There’s a garage-style door at one end of the arena, and Charlie opens it, then gets on Hank easily, no need for a mounting block. I follow them out into the sunny morning, into a scene as picture-perfect as any holiday card I’ve ever seen: the stables, the paddocks, the horses, the rolling hills in the distance and the Haliburton Forest beyond, all of the scenery covered with the purest white snow. It’s nothing like the snow in the city, which looks beautiful during the first few hours but soon becomes gray with exhaust fumes. I breathe deep; the air is so much cleaner and clearer here, too.
Star and I walk slowly along the lane, Hank and Charlie just behind us, past the north barn, then the south, toward the woods. My eyes hungrily take in the scenery. The way the snow has settled on the branches of the evergreens, how the sun makes the top coat of the snow glitter like stardust. I see movement in the trees, and realize it’s two riders, walking their horses along the forest trail and out into the open. I recognize the Stetson, the red-and-white-checked plaid of Tate’s jacket. His head is tilted toward his companion. He’s laughing—and so is she.
She.
The woman has a long blond braid snaking out from beneath her riding helmet, flipped over one shoulder. Her jacket is emerald green, the perfect contrast to Tate’s red plaid. She’s laughing, too. Even from a distance, I can see how happy she is. And I can feelit, too. Because I know exactly what it’s like to feel that joyful on horseback beside Tate, walking along a snowy trail. There’s nothing like it.
In my distraction, I realize I’ve stopped paying attention to Star. She’s prancing sideways, and my reins are too loose to stop her. I pull at the leather straps, nudge my legs against her sides to try to get her to move forward again, but I’ve lost her. And the yanking of the reins is just upsetting her. Her ears are flat against her head—a sign that she’s distressed. She jolts forward.
I hear Charlie behind me saying, “Whoa there, hey there. Come on, Star.”
I try to tell her towhoa,too, but I know my voice sounds scared and shaky. Not good. Horses are sensitive to fear. And now everything I thought I remembered about riding is gone. I’m nothing but frightened as Star kicks her legs out behind her in a buck, then takes off at a gallop. All I can do is hold on for dear life until, seconds later, I’m flying through the air. I land with a soft thump in a snowbank and lie there for a moment, staring up at the blue sky, gasping for air because the wind has been knocked out of me.
When I can breathe again, I lean up, relieved that nothing feels broken, just bruised. I need to catch Star before she runs off.
Only, someone else has already caught her. It’s Tate, a thunderous expression on his face as he hands her off to Charlie, who has hopped off Hank. I notice the woman Tate had been out on the trail with standing behind him, holding their two horses by the reins.
As Tate approaches me, his expression softens into one of concern. He kneels down in the snow beside me.
“Are you okay? You shouldn’t be standing up yet,” he says as I try to scramble to my feet.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“We don’t know that yet. Just wait to get up. Please. Are you feeling pain? Tell me where.”
I’m embarrassed for a number of reasons, but the main one is that the only place that hurts is my backside. And I’m not about to say that.
“I’mokay,” I say again. “Nothing hurts, except my pride.”
“Can I see your helmet?” I take it off and he checks it over for any cracks or damage. Satisfied there is none, he reaches for me—and it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me again. His fingers move gently along the base of my neck. I try to ignore the way my heart gets away from me when he does this, racing so suddenly and so fast it reminds me of how it felt when Star took off from beneath me. I realize I’ve let out a little gasp. Tate looks alarmed.
“Does that hurt?”
“No. Truly, Tate. I’m fine. The snow broke my fall. I’m just sorry it happened. Is Star okay?”
“She’s perfectly all right.” This is Charlie, approaching with Star’s reins in one hand, Hank’s in the other. “But I owe you an apology. Both of you.”
I stand, and this time, Tate doesn’t stop me. When Star gets close enough, she butts her head against me, as if she wants to apologize.
“It’s okay, girl,” I say, rubbing her nose.
