Four
Dallas
“Billie-Mae, you’ve gotta’ keep your toes in the stirrups,” I shout across the corral. She edges her heels backwards, letting her toes find their grip against the cold steel that hangs from the dark leather of her saddle. That’s my girl, nicely done.
Planted firmly in her seat, she eases herself into the movement and nudges her spurs against the pony’s flank ever-so-slightly, encouraging him to change gait as they move into a trot. They complete another few laps of the corral, moving together as one cohesive unit.
“Alright, sweetheart, cool him down and we’ll get him unsaddled.” My boots hit the dirt with a loud thud as I slide myself off the wooden fence and make my way across the pen to my daughter.
I hold my palm flat and reach slowly towards the grey pony, allowing him to sniff my hand before scratching his muzzle affectionately. His lips lap at my fingers like he’s trying to eat me. Cheeky bugger.
We picked him up for her at an auction out of town when I was dropping off a bull for stud leasing.
They called him Lenny. Billie thought the name was adorable, so it stuck.
Lenny is a solid mount, well-built with a great temperament – not that any of that mattered to a five year old.
Billie took one look at the adorable grey pony and was smitten.
Now, three years later, they are two chaotic peas in a pod; perfectly matched in every way.
The bloke who sold him to me, Jonas, was at the auction with his partners – he’s an old rodeo buddy of Colt’s.
I smile as I remember Jonas telling me about how Lenny was a surprise to them all.
He said they had no idea his mother was in foal when they bought her.
Classic stitch up. Jonas retired a few years after his now partners’ accident.
Teddy’s fall was a huge scandal because he was one of the youngest riders on the circuit at the time, and nobody could believe they paired him with Terror.
He was bred well, and a good-looking bull, but a right prick in the ring.
I reckon that bull could kill a man and not bat an eyelid.
Colt was there the night Teddy fell. I remember it took Colt a long time to get back on a horse competitively after that.
Sure, he’d never ridden bulls like Teddy did, but seeing someone in their prime take a fall like that – especially since they were so close in age – had shaken him.
Sometimes I think the only reason Colt returned to the rodeo is because he found his horse, Finn.
To some people, a horse is a horse. But to us, our horses are our partners, our friends, an extension of us.
Some say horses – much like dogs – can sense good in a person.
My brother and I have bred and trained enough horses to know this to be true.
A horse will always choose their person, and the day Finn chose Colt was a day I’ll never forget.
Ragged, covered in bot eggs, mane full of knots and burrs – Finn stood in the rain at the auctions for days on end without so much as a second glance from the bidders.
We weren't even supposed to be there that day, but a late delivery meant that we were days behind on the stock schedule and had to squeeze in a load.
Colt had just returned home from a rodeo but decided to join me at the last minute.
Thank god he did, because the moment he stepped off the truck and locked eyes with Finn, something incredible happened.
This poor, beaten looking horse nickered out to Colt, slowly trodding his way to the gate to meet him.
Colt extended a hand by way of greeting, allowing the horse to catch his scent.
The second Colts palm touched Finns’ muzzle, their bond was awoken.
Colt bought him on the spot and spent months working with him, nursing him back to health.
Now, the two of them hold countless championship titles and are truly a pair to be reckoned with.
Shaking off the memory, a low chuckle erupts from my mouth, and I slide my free hand up Lenny’s jaw, scratching under his forelock as Billie dismounts in one swift motion.
If you’d have told me that day that I’d head into town to sell my stock and drop off a bull, and return home with not one, but two horses, I probably would’ve called you a madman.
“What are you laughing at?” she questions, raising an eyebrow in my direction.
“Just reminiscing about the day we found Finn and Lenny.”
“That was the best day ever! I wish Mum could have met River, she is so cool.”
Billie was, is, obsessed with the Carters and their son, Frank.
“Yeah, she’s definitely something,” I agree. Taking Lenny’s reins in my hand, I lead him towards the tack shed, switching to autopilot as I start unsaddling the young horse.
I recount the day I met the fiery, tattooed redhead, River.
She definitely gave those boys a run for their money.
We see them occasionally on the circuit; Jonas often brings them along to watch Colt compete.
Colt is a five-time bareback bronco riding champion, although he doesn’t talk about it often, which is ironic, because it’s part of the reason we still have the farm.
I slide my free hand under Lenny’s forelock, scratching the grey fur nestled beneath it.
He lets out a soft nicker and presses his muzzle into my chest. His soft breaths against my palms are warm and comforting.
Although Billie’s passion lies in her music, my girl sure can ride; just like her Mum.
Billie doesn’t bring up her mother much these days.
I know she still remembers her, but she’s more of a distant memory at this point.
Like something you think you remember, but it’s more like a vision created by stories that have been recounted to you your entire life.
Samantha was always chasing her next adventure, never really stopping to consider anything but the road ahead and where it led to.
I didn’t realise when we’d met as teenagers how reckless she would be.
I always just thought she was passionate, a force to be reckoned with.
My eyes twitch, the tears pooling in my ducts suddenly feeling heavier than expected.
I blink them away, careful not to let Billie see me be weak, she deserves more.
She needs more. I have to be strong. For her.
“Daaad? Are you even listening to me?” Billie’s voice snaps me out of my trance. I turn to see her leaning against the stable, with one arm planted on her hip, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah, sure am, sweetheart. Sounds great,” I reply, although I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
“Ahhh!” she squeals. “Thank you, Daddy. It’s going to be so much fun. I can’t wait to tell the girls,” she continues, her smile now extending across her entire face.
What the fuck did I just agree to?
A two-week sleep away camp somewhere in the mountains out past Wattle Ridge – that’s what I agreed to.
Some expensive, summer-camp type crap. They leave in a few days.
Summer camp, in spring, what a joke. I can’t help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of her leaving.
Neither Colt nor I have been away from her for more than a night since she was born.
I sit on the edge of Billie’s bed while she packs, listening to her as she rambles on about her friends and the extensive list of activities they're going to be doing.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, princess?” I ask her, concern washing over my face.
“Daddy, I will be fine. Everyone’s going. I’m so sad Ms Harrington couldn’t come though. She said she has to look after her horse. She rides too, Daddy, can you believe it?”
I lean into Billie, raising my hand to her face gently as I press my palm to her cheek, weaving my fingers between the tiny strands of golden curls that have fallen across her face.
My expression softens as her eyes meet mine and she pounces into my arms with a mischievous grin.
Before I can even reply, she’s off again.
“You’re gonna miss me sooo much. I don’t know how you and Uncle Colt will manage for two whole weeks without me,” she teases, her big, blue eyes dancing beneath her lashes.
I lift her up – princess style – and whirl her in a circle as her head flings back, her wild curls catching in the air. Hysterical giggles leave her lips, her arms flailing around as she tries, and fails, to escape my hold.
“We managed for decades before you turned up, ratbag. I think we’ll be just fine,” I reply. Heavy footfalls echo through the hall, and I twirl her around to come face to face with my brother.
“What are we fine with, old man?” he asks, cocking his brow playfully.
“Billie reckons we’ll be lost without her while she’s at camp,” I tell him, lowering her until her boots meet the hardwood fall with a soft whisper.
Colt chuckles as he leans in and plants a gentle kiss atop Billie’s golden curls and says, “I’m always lost without you, Bumble.” She groans at the nickname, scowling at my brother.
He tousles her hair, smirking at her as she walks away to continue packing.
My brother and I stand there watching her meticulously sort through her clothes, stopping to hold individual pieces up to her chest and inspect them in the full-length mirror on her wardrobe door.
She may only be eight years old, but she’s growing up so fast. I reckon Colt and I are both secretly dreading the day she becomes a teenager; we’re not remotely prepared to raise a woman.
I wish, sometimes, that we had family around to guide her – guide us.
I don’t know what I’d have done without Colt all these years.
He may be my younger brother, but he’s always been wise beyond his years.
Raising a hand to rest it on his shoulder, I extend my other hand in a gesture towards my daughter. With a low sigh, and a proud smile, I ask, “She’s gonna move mountains and conquer the world, isn’t she?”
I feel Colt shudder with a laugh, and he turns to face me, our eyes meeting as he flashes me an equally proud smile and says, “Fuckin’ oath she is, brother. She’s a Northlane.”