8. Eight #2
On second thought, if we know nothing about each other, the work environment may become miserable.
I can’t have that. I breathe out a chuckle, ready to shock her muck boots right off.
I halt myself after that thought. I don’t need to think about Cassidy losing any pieces of clothing. “I teach swing dancing.”
She pops in front of Mocha’s stall door with a brush in hand. “No way!” she says, and I smile at her enthusiastic look.
“Way.”
Her forearms rest on the top of the stall door, her head on top of them as she looks at me. “I went to some party about a year ago, and they had swing dance lessons there. I didn’t join that part—just the party, but it sounded fun!”
My brow furrows. There aren’t a lot of people who teach those kinds of classes around here. “Some place close?” I ask.
“Yes. It was called…” she snaps, looking up as she digs for the name. “The Handlebar Ranch.”
I halt my brushing, staring at her. “That’s where I teach ‘em.” My brain short-circuits as I try to remember if I’d seen her there. “Country Christmas Celebration?” I ask.
“You taught those?” she asks, aghast. “That has to be some kind of invisible string thing. I saw a video about it once. It’s where two people who are destined to be together cross paths in all these unknown ways before just the right time—like there’s an invisible string connecting them.
They constantly weave in and out of each other’s lives until the exact right moment. ” She sighs. “It’s so romantic.”
Her cheeks tint a pretty shade of pink as she shakes her head, looking horrified and embarrassed as she registers how that sounded.
It just makes me smile wider. “This isn’t romance,” she says.
“I’m just thinking more on a professional level.
This is the right job for me, and I have a boss who has a mustache! Who doesn’t love a well-kept mustache?”
I laugh, something pulled from the deepest parts of my stomach. It’s the kind of laughter I haven’t seen signs of for a while. It reminds me of my teenage years driving four-wheelers on the trails behind the farm with friends—sneaking off to drink beer and flirt with girls.
“I’ll consider your mustache preferences next time I’m confronted with my razor.” That is to say, I will keep the mustache for the foreseeable future.
A sound echoes from the end of the barn, followed by a “Hello?”
I look at Mocha, mostly clean—on this side.
Cassidy greets our guests and then looks back at me. “Time to put this little tot to work with some brushes, wouldn’t you say?”
I shake my head. “No better time to learn than immediately.”
The lesson went by quickly, and as suspected, I was right about Cass’s presence with children.
I have a tendency to be a bit harsh and gruff. It’s not intentional, but I know I do it. The thing about riding is once you're on that horse, you’re responsible for the animal. You can’t just hop off when things get tough.
It’s a great lesson to learn, but parents don’t always take kindly to the approach.
I must be a crotchety old man stuck in the body of a man in his thirties.
“This is my favorite part,” Cassidy chirps, walking up to the stall where I slide the saddle off Mocha’s back.
The young girl, age six according to the forms I had the parents sign, stands with a carrot in her hand. Her wide brown eyes stare up at me, the helmet askew on the damp strands of hair plastered to her temples.
Sweat drips down my back, and I notice the way Cassidy’s face looks permanently flushed, her hair sticking to her forehead.
Eighty degrees is pretty hot for the end of April, but Ohio does what it likes. The humidity certainly makes it feel worse.
Mocha steps away from me, nosing the top of the stall in anticipation.
“Now wait,” Cassidy warns. “We don’t want him biting people at the door, so let’s open this and go in first. Hold that carrot firm and use your big girl voice. We need that pony to know we are boss.”
The girl giggles as the latches click and the stall door slides open. I hold Mocha by the halter, keeping the saddle resting on my opposite hip. With a bit of pressure, I force him to be respectful to the little girl in front of us. He tosses his head once in protest.
“Flat hand,” Cassidy says. “Go ahead.”
The little girl, Willa, holds her hand out, giggling when Mocha’s lips tickle her palm. When Cass giggles too, I smile—something I’ve been doing a lot of lately.
“And that’s it!” Cass says. “Mr. Miller and I will take care of the tack since the lesson ran late, but be ready to groom your pony next week!”
Willa says something to Cassidy and skips off towards her mother.
I catch myself staring, and when Cass turns to me, her brows crease—just slightly.
“What?” she asks.
An idea comes to mind—a crazy one. I don’t take time to second-guess it. I’ve been so tense lately, and Cass’s help today really made a difference. Not only that, she seems to enjoy the lessons immensely. Scarlett never had the patience for riders under the age of fourteen.
It was unfortunate, really. A love of horses often shows up before then. It’s one of the reasons we welcome young kids here for lessons. I like that I get to nurture that love for the sport. It’s one of the things my parents did right when I was growing up. Roe and I used to ride all the time.
And just like Cass said, she missed it; I do too.
“Do you want to ride?” I ask, watching as her whole face brightens, sunshine bursting in the dim and dusty stall.
“You’re serious?” she says, and I can hear the excitement in her tone.
“You said you haven’t ridden in a long time. I don’t get to often, and I figured it would be nice to get a break for a bit.” I swallow, a bit uncertain. “Plus it’s such a… lovely day.”
She frowns, the brow crease deepening. “Wes, it’s eighty degrees today with no less than one-hundred percent humidity. I wouldn’t call that lovely at all. Ohio has launched us from a cool spring right onto Satan’s front porch.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, trying to keep the secret in. I have the perfect plan for dealing with the unbearable heat. “You have a change of clothes?” I ask, increasing her confusion.
“No,” she says. “Most of my stuff is in boxes ready to be moved tonight.”
Mocha nudges my leg with his nose, and I gently push him away. Damn horse begging for more treats.
When I lift the ballcap off my head and spin it around before placing it back on my head, I can feel how wet it is beneath, confirming today would be the perfect day for a swim in the pond.
“I probably have something you could use,” I say. “Who is your favorite lesson horse you’ve met so far?”
“Decorated.” Her answer is instantaneous. “Easy.”
“Alright.” I’m getting a real kick out of keeping her in the dark, here. Cassidy bounces on the balls of her feet in anticipation, her eyes flitting to Deco’s stall and back to me. “Deco and Intrepid stay in,” I say. “Let’s get the rest of the herd outside.”