Chapter 45
I’m so close to graduating, I can taste it, but it tastes like ash because I’m so stressed I’m imploding. If it weren’t for daily orgasms from my husband, I might’ve jumped into the Whitetail River and let it carry me away.
Instead of living in newlywedded bliss, I’m a basket case. Of course, Connor’s the best husband in the world because he’s unfailingly patient and does everything possible to help me—even while finishing his own program and taking on additional responsibilities at the ranch.
I suppose it’s timely since my lesson today with Tanya and Biscuit is about emotional regulation. I’ve studied until my eyes crossed, but I’m anxious to work on it in person.
Crunching gravel alerts me that Tanya’s arrived with my best buddy Biscuit in tow. I help back her in and get Biscuit unloaded. She gets him comfortable as we chat about our last lesson, and what to expect today.
“Now remember the belly breathing we’ve been practicing. You’ve been practicing, right?” Tanya asks.
“Yes, I have. I’m an expert at this point.” I chuckle.
I practice every chance I get. Focusing inward is a challenge, especially when the pressures of the world are so loud.
“Alright, let’s move on to desensitization.”
Oh, dear god. I wasn’t prepared for this. I thought we’d spend the session practicing mirroring. Biscuit snorts, backing up slightly, flicking his ears back and forth—picking up on my anxiety. It’s fascinating how in-tuned he is to the slightest emotional shifts.
“No use in fretting, darlin’.” Tanya pulls out a crisp windbreaker and pops it open.
I jolt at the sudden sound, and Biscuit retreats a step, tugging on the lead held tightly in my hand. Immediately guilty for upsetting him with my reaction, I take some belly breaths and do my best to center myself.
“Now, I’m gonna walk around like I’m checking the fence. You’re gonna do your best not to react. It’s natural for you to anticipate his anxiety, which ratches up your anxiety—and that’s what’ll make him nervous—your energy, not me moving around in the jacket.”
The windbreaker swishes and crinkles as Tanya takes exaggerated steps along the fence line. My stomach’s flipping because I’m afraid Biscuit will spook, and on schedule, his head rises and nostrils flare. I’m gripping his lead so tight, my knuckles are white.
I relax my hold and loosen my stance, doing my best to act like there’s nothing special going on. Biscuit relaxes a fraction, his energy soothing my own, harmoniously flowing between our bodies.
Tanya brushes her hands down the windbreaker loudly and my eyes flick to her, but my body and respiration stays calm. Biscuit flicks his ear but otherwise remains still.
By the end of the session, Tanya’s running around like a lunatic, flapping her arms, rustling the windbreaker like crazy. So long as I stay calm and don’t react, Biscuit doesn’t give two shits what’s going on.
A joyous laugh bubbles up my throat, and I’m thrilled Biscuit remains calm, only a flick of an ear, because he senses my happiness.
“Great job today, darlin’. Looking inward and becoming more attuned to your own emotional shifts will do you wonders in this field. Practice that on top of your other skills until our next session. You’re getting real close to graduating. Keep up the good work,” Tanya praises.
As her trailer disappears over the hill, warm arms wrap around me, and I melt into Connor’s hold.
“Wife.” His deep rumble floods my skin with goosebumps.
“Husband,” I reply, tilting my head for an upside-down kiss.
I turn and drink him in. He’s positively edible today decked out for a day in the stables.
Those goddamn Wranglers hug his thighs and ass so perfectly I’m jealous the denim’s touching him so intimately.
His cowboy boots are caked with dried mud—I’ll have to give them a clean tonight so he can relax.
Leather gloves hang from his back pocket, and soft flannel is pushed up to his elbows beneath a new quilted vest.
A worn Broncos cap covers his golden hair from the sunlight and I’m about ready to drag him into a stall and get on my knees for him.
“How was your session? Looked like Tanya was trying to attract a partner to mate with.” He chuckles. I love his laugh.
“It was great. We were working on me staying calm in the chaos, because Biscuit senses my anxiety and if I panic, he panics. But since I acted like I didn’t care about Tanya’s flapping, Biscuit didn’t care either.
It’s like he and I were sharing a brain and a heart. The way he mirrors me is mind blowing.”
He pulls me in with an arm hooked around my neck, kissing my forehead with a loud smack. “I’m so proud of you, doll. You’re going to be great at this.”
His faith in me means everything, though I have imposter syndrome out the ass and want to crawl in a hole at least twice a day.
“What’s on tap the rest of the day, baby? I’m done at the stables. I need to take a shower before class.” He holds me tighter. “Wanna join?”
I laugh. “You know how much I like getting clean before we get dirty.”
He sweeps me into his arms and jogs the entire way to the truck.
We’re about to get very, very clean.
Reid and Tanya arranged for me to go to an equine therapy workshop in Fort Collins, and I was able to register for the breakout sessions I wanted. The workshop was transformative—two days learning how equine-assisted therapy can be life changing for people struggling with their mental health.
Connor had in-person classes for his farrier program, so Reid suggested Izzy go with me. We had such a great time exploring the city and having sister-time. Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.
I attend a session the second day hosted by a renowned equine-assisted psychotherapist. She’s brilliant and will no doubt be revolutionary in the field.
Someone asked an innocuous question about what she had to do to get where she was in her career, and her answer pulled the rug out from under my feet.
My head swam in a torrential storm as she detailed everything that must happen after graduating with a bachelor’s degree.
Two to three years to get a master’s degree, thousands of supervised clinical hours, licensure exam, state application for licensing, and ultimately getting certified in equine-assisted therapy.
I’m not na?ve, I knew equine therapy was more than leading a horse around a pen—but no one ever spelled out the additional years of schooling, clinical hours, and legalities.
Maybe I missed it because I homed in on this specialty so late in my degree program, or maybe I assumed I only needed a master’s degree if I wanted to be a psychologist or social worker…
After all this time, I felt like I found my passion, where I belong, my chance to make a difference—and now it feels impossible.
I left the session nearly catatonic and when Izzy picked me up, she nearly took me to the emergency room for how listless I was. I numbly told her what I’d learned in that last session, and how my future’s destroyed.
I wanted to drive home immediately. Izzy tried to convince me to get some dinner in my stomach and get a good night’s sleep before we made the drive home, but I insisted. She only agreed after I promised to eat dinner in the car.
I managed half a chicken burrito before I couldn’t eat any more. We spent the drive in comfortable silence—my sister never prodding or prying—just letting me sit with my feelings in a safe space.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Connor all but shouts.
She brought me to the apartment but couldn’t get me up the stairs, so Connor rushed down to carry me. Now I find myself in my husband’s arms, being carried up the stairs to our home like I’m made of glass, and I can’t bring myself to care about anything.
Izzy helps us inside and Connor sets me on the couch with a glass of water. She pulls him aside and recounts the disastrous afternoon. She leaves at some point; I don’t notice.
“Let’s get you to bed. We can talk it all through in the morning. Everything looks better in the light of a new day.”
I never for a second doubted marrying Connor—not when I was a daydreaming little girl, and not when he proposed to me for a surprise elopement. His attentive care tonight proves why.
He carries me to the bedroom and gently sets me on our bed. Kneeling, he slides my cowboy boots off and rolls the socks off my feet. When he treats me to the same foot massage he always gives me, I dissolve into tears.
“Let it out, doll. Give me all your pain, I’ll gladly carry it for you,” he soothes.
And I do. I let my frustrations and sadness drip down my cheeks as Connor sweetly removes my clothes and dresses me in one of his shirts for bed. He brushes my hair and delicately removes my makeup, before tucking me in.
He closes up for the night and is soon wrapped around me, stroking my hair and kissing my tears away.
I’ve never been more grateful to receive Connor’s love.