Daddy [mxm]

6

The stables are a hive of activity. Blue sky weaves in and out of puffy, white clouds, and the training rings, alive with cantering horses and instructors' voices, are drenched in sunlight. It's earlier than I'd like to be up and about, but I'll get up at stupid o'clock in the morning to go trail-riding with Rudy any day of the week.

I navigate my way to the small, square outbuilding Rudy calls the tack room. The shade is an immense relief, and my eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the dimmer lighting. I grab a saddle soap, a sponge, and a wipe. Finding a free saddle horse, I start cleaning my new saddle, from pommel to cantle. Mentally summing every tidbit Rudy taught me, I make sure not to lather it with too much soap, because it wears the leather out and makes it more likely to crack up and become unsafe to ride with. Then I work the grease and saliva off my English-style snaffle bit, without using soap. Afterwards, I dry off each piece of equipment and rinse out the sponges and other tools.

My phone pings and I swear under my breath when I see it's just Bret. I was hoping it'd be Rudy. This is accompanied by a pang of remorse, because I know that I've been ignoring Bret. It's just that Rudy takes up so much of my attention and energy. Interacting with him, thinking about him, pining over him, it's intense.

I hoist Bella's English-style saddle over my arm and stroll down to the filly's stall, humming to myself. Bella has her head hanging over her half door, and she whinnies shrilly in my direction. She clearly has loads of energy to burn, and this becomes evident when I try to tack her up.

"Come on, girl," I seethe, attempting to hoist the saddle over the horse's back. But Bella dodges me playfully. With an amused whinny, the filly throws her head and paws at the straw, her eyes laughing. Only by cornering her do I manage to tack her up. Deftly, I hoist the saddle, leather supple and smelling freshly cleaned, onto Bella's broad back.

Rudy meets me outside the barn, leading Delancy, a pretty palomino with a dished face and a sweet temperament. His smile is all suntanned skin and crows' feet below his cowboy hat.

"Ready, Evie?"

"Yessir," I smile shyly.

A mild breeze ruffles Bella's glossy, black mane. The filly pricks her ears when I swing myself expertly into the saddle.

Several riding trails branch off from the courtyard, cutting across the expanse of grass like ribbons into the woods. Presently, a group of riders emerge from the trees, returning from a trail ride.

Rudy opens the gate leading out of the yard, and closes it behind him. He mounts Delancy and the pair of horses move out into a trot. Bella's stride seems to eat up the ground beneath me as she moves next to Delancy. I feed the reins through my fingers, hardly able to control Bella's excited pace. I glance discerningly at Rudy's evenly rising figure. Delancy arches her satiny neck; her ears prick forward, an eager step in her stride.

Up ahead, a forest of trees cave over us, their branches swaying slightly with the gentle breeze. I take a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. Puffy, white clouds in an azure sky harbour flocks of chirping birds. I can't help lifting a rapt face to the sky above, feeling the warmth spill over me.

We follow the path for several minutes in silence, the horses eagerly plodding forward onto the shady dirt trail. A curious Bella sniffs at the trees and shrubs, nosing the smooth leaves of the bushes whenever she can. Without warning, the filly leaps for the nearest leafy, green tree and begins to chomp away greedily. I have to continuously pull her head up from the green grass as we follow Rudy's lead. The air carries the scent of oak and poplars, hinted with dampness from the other day's shower.

"It's so beautiful," I comment appraisingly. Critters scuttle hurriedly up the immense tree trunks, chattering in the shrubbery at the sides of the path. I glance upwards, but can't see the sky for the dense canopy of interwoven tree branches, laden with verdant leaves. Somehow, though, sunlight makes its way through, falling in dappled patterns on the soft dirt beneath us. The strains of birdsong, whistling of the wind, rustling of leaves and scurrying of small animals, all mingle harmoniously to create a lulling soundtrack. "Bret's so lucky he grew up surrounded by animals and nature his whole childhood."