Page 60 of One Golden Ring
“Good night,” I say.
Once we’re ready for bed J.B. climbs into her fort to read. There’s an easiness to it all, like we’ve done this a million times.
“Night, Darcy,” she calls out.
“Good night, J.B.,” I tell her.
Instead of reading my book I pull up tonight’s photos on my phone and scroll through every one.
Some are so silly, and others are out of focus, but some are really good. There are even one or two that are probably Christmas card worthy. But there’s one thread through every single picture.
We look so happy.
Like a family.
19
DARCY
The next morning the three of us are standing outside the barn at the lodge as the sun comes up, getting ready to make our way up Angel Mountain on horseback.
It’s cold outside, but my heart is light and I’m excited to spend some time out here with two of my favorite people in the world. Derek seems happy too and J.B. is thrilled that we decided to take her up on her idea from last night.
“You always mount a horse from the left side,” Derek explains to me. “I know it looks hard, but it’s super easy, and this horse is very gentle.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him this isn’t my first time riding. His old teaching instincts are clearly kicking in, and I can tell he’s enjoying himself.
“Put your left foot in the stirrup,” he says. “One hand on his neck, the other on the back of the saddle, and just pull yourself up with confidence. Horses love a confident rider.”
I do exactly as he told me, swinging up onto Mistletoe’s back and hoping it’s not super obvious that I actually know what I’m doing. The big white horse shifts his weight a little, but otherwise doesn’t move. He’s as tame as a kitten.
I lean down to stroke his neck and he whickers contentedly.
“That was good, Darcy,” Derek says. “You’re a natural.”
“Thank you,” I reply, lighting up like a Christmas tree from his praise, even though it’s not really earned.
J.B. is already astride Nutmeg, a dainty sorrel mare. Nutmeg snorts, her front hooves tapping the snowy ground like she’s excited for her adventure.
Satisfied that we’re both doing fine, Derek mounts Frankincense. The massive black stallion has a long mane, and he’s one of the most gorgeous horses I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what he’s doing at a mountain lodge in the Poconos, but he’s a sight to behold, especially with my boss on his back. It looks like they’re ready to ride right off the cover of a romance novel.
“I’ll lead the way,” J.B. announces, giving Nutmeg a squeeze with her legs.
The mare takes off up the path, and J.B.’s laughter peals like a bell in the cold, sweet air. I don’t know how often she gets to practice, but she’s riding like she does this all the time.
“You’re next,” Derek says, gesturing. “Just give him a gentle squeeze with your legs. He knows the way, so you won’t have to do much from here. The whole trail is just a big loop.”
He’s right—the moment I give Mistletoe a light tap he’s plodding faithfully up the trail.
Morning birds are singing, and the pale dawn light filters through the bare branches of the trees and glows pink and gold on the snow. Even the cold breeze feels good against my cheeks with the rest of me bundled up and warm.
I haven’t been on horseback in forever and it reminds me again how much I’ve missed being out in nature. The city has a pulse of its own and there’s so much to do. But I never do any of it.
Like most New Yorkers, I’ve never even been to the Statue of Liberty or The Museum of Modern Art. Between the job and the commute I just don’t have a lot of hours left over for stuff like that.
Mistletoe’s gentle movements lull me into a sort of haze and I let myself get lost in the journey up the mountain. Ahead of me, J.B. seems relaxed too. I sneak a peek back at Derek.
“Doing okay?” he asks.
