Chapter 7 #2
Saturday morning is bright and warm, and I’m standing in front of my closet in my underwear at nine, which is absurd, because I told Charlie I’d wear something I didn’t mind getting dirty, and yet here I am rejecting three perfectly acceptable shirts.
I settle on a faded navy tank top, my oldest pair of jeans, and the work boots I wear in the vineyard. I French braid my hair and take my time getting it right.
My stomach flutters the entire way to Twin Oaks, and I release a deep sigh as I turn beneath the wrought-iron archway.
Rolling pastures stretch to the east, dotted with live oaks and clusters of horses grazing in the morning light.
The main house sits on a rise ahead, a sprawling stone structure with a wraparound porch and flower beds that bloom in organized profusion.
I park near the barn and step out of my truck, scanning the property for Charlie. The barn doors are open, and I can hear the low murmur of someone talking to an animal inside, but I don’t see him.
Then I hear hoofbeats.
Charlie rounds the corner of the far barn on horseback, and the sight of him steals the breath right out of my lungs.
He sits in the saddle like he was born there, one hand loose on the reins, his body moving in perfect rhythm with the animal beneath him.
He is wearing a white shirt with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms, faded jeans, and a hat angled low.
The morning sun hits him from behind, making him appear like some beautiful avenging angel.
The horse is a big bay with a glossy coat and intelligent eyes, and it carries Charlie with the effortless grace of an animal that trusts its rider completely. They move together across the yard in a fluid line, and I stand beside my truck with my mouth hanging open.
He spots me and steers the horse in my direction, pulling to a stop a few feet away. The bay tosses its head once and settles, and Charlie tips his hat back and grins at me.
"Morning, Sunshine." He shifts in the saddle and extends his hand. "Want to see the ranch from up here?"
I look at his outstretched hand, then at the horse, then back at his face. "You want me to get on that horse. Right now. With no lesson."
"I'll do the driving. You just hold on." His grin widens. "I promise he's gentle. This is Colby, my best stallion."
"You're putting me on your best stallion for my first time on a horse."
"I trust him more than any horse on this property, and I'll be right behind you." He wiggles his fingers. "Come on, Sunshine. Live a little."
My heart is hammering, but I take his hand. His grip is warm and strong, and he guides me through the motion of putting my foot in the stirrup. I swing up in front of him and his arms wrap around me to hold the reins, bracketing my body with his.
I am suddenly very aware of the solid wall of his chest against my back, the warmth of him through my tank top, the way his thighs press against the outside of mine. Colby shifts beneath us, and I grab the saddle horn instinctively.
"Easy." Charlie's voice is low and close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Relax your hips and move with him. He'll do the rest."
We walk out of the yard at a gentle pace, and the rocking motion is strange at first, my body stiff and fighting the rhythm.
Charlie's arms are steady around me, his hands quiet on the reins, and after a few moments my muscles begin to release.
The tension drains from my shoulders, and my spine softens against his chest.
"There you go," he murmurs, and I feel the rumble of his voice through my back. "You're a natural."
"I am sitting on a horse that is walking in a straight line. I would not call that natural."
"You stopped death-gripping the saddle horn. That's progress." He turns Colby down a gentle slope toward a tree-lined pond, and the ranch spreads out around us in shades of green and gold. "This is the south pasture. The mares graze here in the mornings."
The view from horseback is different from anything I expected. The land has a beauty that can't be fully appreciated from a truck window. I understand for the first time why people talk about horses the way I talk about wine.
"It's beautiful," I say, and I mean it.
"Wait till you see the ducks." He steers Colby toward a fenced enclosure beyond the far barn, and as we approach, I hear a chorus of quacking that grows louder with every step.
Charlie dismounts first and lifts me down, his grip spanning my waist as he sets me on the ground. The contact is brief, but the warmth of his touch lingers against my skin long after he lets go.
The duck enclosure is bigger than I expected.
It sprawls out from a central pond in several directions with separate areas for shade and grazing.
An arched bridge, with pink railing that's even more vivid in person, spans the pond, and a tidy shelter with a sloped roof sits off to one side.
Six ducks move around the space with the casual self-importance of animals who know they are adored.
"Sunny, meet the flock." Charlie unlatches the gate and holds it open for me.
On the far side of the enclosure, a furious quacking starts up and does not stop.
"Gerald is the brown and green one by the bridge.
Karen is next to him, preening her feathers.
Wadsworth is the big white one in the water.
Biscuit and Dolly are the two sitting in the shade together.
" He pauses and nods toward the source of the quacking, a duck who is eyeing us with what can only be described as hostility. "And that's Kevin."
I step through the gate and crouch down, holding my hand out.
Gerald waddles over immediately, his head bobbing with interest. He nudges my fingers with his bill, and the soft, cool pressure of it makes me laugh.
Karen follows, curious and friendly, and within seconds I have three ducks gathered around me, investigating my bootlaces and pecking gently at my jeans.
"They like you," Charlie says, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed. "Gerald doesn't go to most people."
"Gerald has good taste." I scratch the top of Karen's head, and the duck leans into my hand with a contented trill. Biscuit and Dolly approach next, more cautiously, and I let them come to me on their own terms.
Kevin watches from a distance, quacking with aggressive displeasure.
"Kevin is suspicious of everyone," Charlie says. "He bit the landscaper twice. He bit Wade once, which I think Wade took as a personal insult. The only person he tolerates is Gran. She walks in there and he follows her around like a puppy. The rest of us get teeth."
I am laughing before I can stop myself. "He’s perfect. Every flock needs a Kevin."
"I'll remind you of that when he goes for your ankles." He nods toward Colby, who is standing patiently at the fence. "Give me five minutes. I need to get him cooled down and settled before we do anything else." He leads Colby toward the barn, and I turn back to the ducks.
Sitting here, cross-legged in the grass while they waddle around me and over me, has to be the most fun I’ve had in years.
Even Kevin shuffles over eventually, voicing his annoyance the entire way, but he finally nudges my knee with his bill and doesn’t bite.
At some point Charlie returns from the barn and leans against the fence, and when I finally glance up, his expression is so openly tender that my chest tightens.
He clears his throat and pushes off the fence. "Ready for your riding lesson?"
At my nod, he leads me to the main barn, where a dapple-gray mare stands cross-tied in the aisle, already saddled and waiting. The mare is smaller than Colby, compact and calm, with dark, liquid eyes that blink at me with patient intelligence.
"This is Pearl," Charlie says, running a hand along her neck. "She's Gran's horse. Gentlest animal on the property, and she hasn't spooked at anything in the ten years Gran's owned her."
"Your grandmother rides?"
"Not much anymore, but she did for decades. Pearl is semi-retired. She mostly grazes and gets spoiled." He holds the mare's bridle while I approach. "Put your hand on her neck. Let her get used to you."
I press my palm against Pearl's warm coat, and the mare turns her head to inspect me with calm curiosity. Her nostrils flare as she takes in my scent, and then she nudges my shoulder gently, as if approving me.
"She likes you," Charlie says. "Good. Now, left foot in the stirrup, grab the horn, and swing up."
The mounting takes me two attempts and a fair amount of graceless scrambling.
But I get there, and the feeling of sitting in a saddle by myself thrills me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Charlie adjusts my stirrups and shows me how to hold the reins, his touch guiding mine to position my fingers correctly.
The touch is instructional, but my skin doesn’t seem to know the difference.
He mounts Colby, and we ride out together at a walk, side by side.
He talks me through the basics of balance and leg cues, his voice steady and encouraging, and Pearl responds easily to the lightest shift of my weight.
We follow a dirt path that winds along the fence line, past rolling green pastures where horses graze and lift their heads as we pass.
"You're doing great," Charlie says, and the pride in his voice makes me sit taller.
"Pearl is doing all the work. I’m just sitting here trying not to fall off."
Charlie chuckles. "Trying not to fall off is the first step. Everything else comes with practice."
We ride for half an hour, looping around the south pasture and along a ridge that overlooks the property. The view is staggering, miles of rolling land stretching toward the distant hills. The wind carries the scent of cedar, and I find myself relaxing, letting Pearl's rhythm carry me.