CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The stables were a deep cranberry, like the covered bridge I’d visited with Penn. This time, Del’s last-minute directions were better than crude symbols on the back of my fair map. I still congratulated myself for not getting lost even once.
At the parking strip at the far end of a circular drive, I cut the engine and popped two Aleve—preventative.
My latest banger of a headache had downgraded to minor annoyance after two nights of good sleep.
I chased the blue pills with an antacid—remedial.
It seemed I was finally paying my dues to that corn dog–funnel cake combo with an earlier side of cascara.
I hydrated and tried to slow my heart rate from tattoo machine to drizzle. Today was just a horse, and Del, and it didn’t matter that two days ago I’d been kissed by a ghost.
I indulged myself in a rewind to butterfly feet and Fahrenheit and the sort of trouble you dove into headfirst. That’s what it was like, and I wanted that feeling to live on forever.
I shook myself free and hopped from the cab.
Sacred and True Stables was carved into a sign hanging from the covered porch. Rocking chairs were a cute touch. When the door swung open, I was expecting Del, but it was her boyfriend who rushed out, slamming into my chest.
“Oof, sorry about that,” he said before he shuffled down the stairs.
“Ethan?” I called.
He stopped and pivoted, looking up from his phone with an expression that was half-confused, half-shocked. A little dark too, as if I were intruding on some sacred space.
My friendly “hi” fizzled out to barely a whisper, not that it would’ve mattered. Nearly as quickly as Penn, Ethan disappeared into his car with a throwaway wave. I could’ve sworn his eyes rolled.
Had Del shared our bizarre experience at the lake with Ethan and he blamed me for her still feeling unsettled? What was I thinking—of course she’d told him. He was her person.
Del did invite me, but was I ready for the version of her that was waiting behind that door?
“Hello?” I called into the empty reception area. Kelly Clarkson sang of beautiful disasters from a wall speaker. Absently, I checked my dormant watch and groaned. I pulled out my phone to text Del when she appeared in the doorway to a connecting room.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry I’m lagging. Had to put out a fire—not a real one.
More of the drama variety,” she added when I flinched.
She was similarly but better outfitted than me in a thin plaid shirt and a pair of expertly broken-in jeans the Melrose set would’ve called their personal shoppers to source.
“Er, hi,” I said. I stuffed my fidgety hands into my inadequate front pockets.
Del scooted behind the reception desk, spoke a few unintelligible stable terms into an intercom, and scanned a computer monitor. “Just printing out your release form.”
My scan of Del showed that she seemed to have evened out since the lake. What I couldn’t read yet was if she was more evened out with me.
My motivation, though, for wearing stifling clothes and preparing to ride a horse for the first time came from my dad.
He believed in the transformative power of being in your element.
Captain Adam Castellano was definitely the best version of himself inside his: the Med, the Mercury, gold captain’s bars striping his shoulder.
I’d learned early on that my mom could ask for the world when Dad was piloting a ship.
He was a better husband—calmer, less reactive than his LA self, and more of whatever it was that clicked with my mom and made her a better wife. The ocean did that, bow to stern.
Being in the saddle was nowhere near my element, but it was Del’s.
My instructor held out the release forms and a pen. “It’s the law.”
“Three pages? For one horse?” I asked.
Del gave an undignified snort. “For one two-thousand-pound package of muscle and speed with the power to end you. Now, do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Have you had alcohol in the last hour?”
“It’s not even eleven,” I said over a laugh, adding “Not a drop” when she pressed.
I read the rest of the Sacred and True guidelines, clinging for too long on the one that forbade double riding for the health and safety of the horses.
Would Penn count if my watch ticked while I held the reins, and he played the equine version of passenger princess?
How would that even work, and why did I have to think about him every five seconds?
I willed my ghost away and signed the liability forms. “Can’t wait to meet my horse!”
Oregon had blurred my definition of white lies.
“Not in those shoes,” Del said, pointing to my Converse high-tops.
“But—”
Del had already disappeared into the adjoining room after giving a loose follow me gesture.
I did, and “Holy Boot Barn,” I muttered. Racks were full of helmets and leather cowboy boots in a multitude of sizes.
“Size seven?” Del guessed, eyeing my feet.
“Six,” I said, but scrunched up my nose. “Are these like the stable version of bowling shoes?”
“They’re cleaned after each ride, and no, not casually spritzed by some dude with a crooked name tag who’s eating cheese fries and texting.
They’re fully scrubbed and sanitized.” She held out a pair in tan suede.
“Unless communal boots are a deal-breaker. You’re the one who texted fifty times and drove all the way out here. ”
“You invited me,” I said, and hell if my voice didn’t carry a few bruises.
My eyes cut away, the soft part of my conscience nudging my side.
What was I playing at? I’d had no intention of following through with this ride until Del’s vision had changed everything between us.
Del didn’t need to have The Sight to see that.
“A onetime deal,” she said, and chased it with a resigned smile. “Cat-mom special, so don’t get too used to it.”
There she was. I took the boots.
Suited up and outfitted with a blue helmet, I realized another one of the many things that seemed off about this place. A rack holding random shoes sat against the opposite wall. Where were their owners? “Didn’t you invite me on one of your two-hour trail rides? Isn’t that a group thing?”
“Oh, it is.” Del motioned for me to follow out a side door.
“Our morning tour started a half hour before you got here.” She craned her neck, pointing.
“That’s them right there. My mom’s leading that group.
They’ve already covered the safety bits, and now they’re learning how to properly mount and steer. Then they’re off into the valley.”
I looked out across the Sacred and True grounds. Even without Del’s guidance, I would’ve pegged the woman as her mom easily. A deep auburn ponytail flew out from a helmet as she swung up on a majestic black horse.
“So this ride is just you and me?” But why?
“We might catch up to the others eventually, depending on how they’re managing on the trail.
” She led me in the opposite direction and into an airy stable with a modern aesthetic.
My nose was met by the biting tang of hay and manure and grain—the kind that clings to clothing.
I wondered if Del even noticed it anymore.
Inside, a long row of stalls stood empty. I guessed these were for the trail horses. But tethered to the opposite wall were two of the most beautiful animals I’d ever seen. A stable hand gave a quick “All set” greeting to Del.
She waved him off. “I had you come later because we don’t typically offer this part with our trail rides.”
“What part?”
“All the prep,” she said, and approached the two horses.
My belly fizzed, and my feet rooted to the floor. The reality of Sylvie-plus-horse was suddenly becoming a little too real.
“You said you have no experience with animals. I thought you might like some. So, we’re gonna tack up the horses together.” She threw one arm up, laughed. “You think I’d let you ride Winnie when you had no idea how a simple cat like Anne Shirley works?”
Ten points to Del for accuracy, and her thoughtfulness calmed my post-lake anxiety a few notches. I decided to keep her boyfriend’s snub to myself and let it go. Things were going . . . better, and I didn’t want to jinx that.
“That is totally fair,” I told her, stepping forward. “Winnie?”
Del smiled, the pureness of it taking me back to that first day at the farmers market.
She waved me over to the reddish-brown horse with a big white marking on her face that looked like a violin.
“Yup, Winnie’s a Morgan. We use her for our most timid riders—that’s you, if you were wondering.
” Del ran her hand along Winnie’s graceful neck.
“She’s golden unless you act like a total jerk.
She also hates loud noises. Ethan loves Winnie.
Soft and timid he isn’t, but he falls into line around her. She’s his favorite.”
I swallowed hard. How was Winnie with girls wearing enchanted watches who could make ghosts appear with the turn of a crown? It was time to find out. I crept over but wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
“Rule number one: quiet energy is key,” Del said. “They love chill.”
Because that was me lately. Complete chill. I tried my best anyway, following Del’s prompts to circle the Morgan a few times, letting her feel her way around me too. Then a brush was in my hand.
“The best icebreaker. Watch.” Del moved to the second horse and demonstrated the proper technique for preparing the horse for tack.
This creature was a darker, cooler brown with a stunning black-into-brown ombré tinting all four legs.
Grand, important, aloof. “That’s it, Bear,” she crooned. “My beautiful boy.”
“Yours, as in for real?” I gave the brush a try. Winnie seemed to think it was a great idea, and oh, the muscle on these animals. The stored power, literally under my fingertips.
“Some kids get cars for their sixteenth birthdays. I got an Arabian.”
My brush halted. “You named an Arabian horse Bear.” And wasn’t this the most Delilah thing that there ever was?
Her smile went crooked. “Why be conventional and boring?”
Why not accept the totally un-boring and unconventional supernatural gift you were given? God, there was so much I wanted to ask her.
But I would wait. I tried to settle around beautiful Winnie.
When blankets and saddles and girths and stirrups were fitted and it was time to attach her bridle, the horse’s face shifted and froze after I completed the task.
I was the creature at the other end of something piercing.
Winnie locked one deep sepia eye over me. Unwavering.
What is it, Win? What do you see?
Something faraway but also here was happening—a spark, a connection.
Somehow, I wasn’t afraid to lean closer to her pointy oval ear, my movements slow and guarded.
“Just so you know,” I whispered while Del moved off to check in with another stable hand, “if you feel it’s not just me in your saddle, you’re right, and it’s okay.
He’s the gentlest person in the world, and he goes where I go. ”
I shivered, brow to boot, when Winnie nuzzled into the bend of my elbow.
Why were animals so much easier to talk to than people? Anne Shirley faithfully endured all my rants about Penn’s absence. She barely left my side lately. And now an animal I’d never imagined allowing this close had appeared to sense my deepest secret?
“Time to mount,” Del said from behind, and out of habit, I covered the timepiece with my sleeve. “We need to get a move on before it gets too hot.”
We led both horses out to a wide alley. Outside, the workings of Del’s family business buzzed around us.
Two paddocks and a separate boarding area stood in the distance.
In a sheltered arena, children were taking riding lessons.
Beyond the grounds, distant sloping hills came in all sizes, and craggy mountaintops towered above flat plains, as if they were stage props.
The air smelled different here, almost too sweet and unpolluted, competing for space with the ripe, earthy animal scents.
Del grabbed what looked like a wooden step stool and demonstrated how to properly mount a horse as she climbed on to Bear. Fluid, easy, graceful—her element for sure.
“Meanwhile, watch me fall on my ass,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Not because of Winnie,” Del said, a little too pleased, and I had to work at not smiling.
Next came saddle etiquette, complete with her little reminder quips: ball of foot in stirrup, straight line from saddle to hip to back. No slumping.
After showing me the all-too-important dismount, it was my turn.
Del moved the mounting block, and my pulse gave a sudden rev, the lead rope still in my hand and hooked to Winnie’s bridle.
Sweat teased the back of my neck, the aching parts of my temples.
There was enough room in my borrowed boots that my toes were clenched.
The blue helmet would further annihilate my overgrown, unruly hair.
My lips licked up rough and dry—no balm was fully functional in this state.
Del should’ve seen it coming, partly because of whatever sixth sense she was so fond of dissing. Mostly because Winnie was part of a world Del understood better than most things. She should’ve known.
Or was I being unreasonable? Unfair?
Either way, as I swung my leg up and over, the horse that Del had said the stable gave to the most timid riders let out a deathly, shrieking neigh and went completely rogue, rearing up and darting sideways. And I went down.