Chapter Twenty-Two
Marina
Royce insists on walking us home after dinner.
I tell him it’s unnecessary. The cabin is barely a ten-minute walk from the main house, and I’ve made the trip plenty of times by myself. But he only gives me that stubborn look and falls into step beside me like the decision has already been made.
Ryder doesn’t care either way.
He’s too busy skipping down the path ahead of us, his little boots kicking up dust as he goes.
“Ryder,” I call, “stay where I can see you.”
He slows down for approximately five seconds before he’s skipping again.
I shake my head, fighting a smile.
When I look back at Royce, he’s watching Ryder with an amused expression.
“Do you really think I should let him start riding sheep?”
“Honestly?” He brings his eyes to me. “Yes.”
“You answered that way too fast.”
“Because it’s the truth,” he says slowly.
“I don’t think he’s ready.”
“He’s not the one who isn’t ready.”
My eyebrows pull together. “He’s four.”
“You know as well as I do that kids can start training for entry-level rodeo activities like mutton bustin’ and dummy roping as young as three.”
I exhale through my nose. “I know.”
Ryder squeals ahead of us when he sees a chipmunk run across the path.
“I just …” I hesitate. “He’s been asking. A lot. And I’ve avoided it.”
“You can’t avoid it forever.”
I know he’s right. I’m just avoiding the inevitable.
“What age were you when you started training?” he asks.
I glance at him. I know exactly what he’s getting at. “I was in leadline classes when I was two.”
His brows lift.
“But I didn’t actually start barrel training until after my dad left and I went to live with my grandparents.”
He nods slowly.
“You already had the basics perfected,” he says. “You were already a good rider. You knew how to control a horse. You had good instincts.”
“Because I’d been riding since I was two,” I say, finishing his thought.
“Exactly. It was second nature.” He nods toward Ryder. “That’s what he needs.”
I watch my son running ahead, his little cowboy hat bouncing with every step.
“He needs to get the feel of being on the back of an animal. Learn how to hold his seat. Get used to how it moves.” Royce pauses. “That’s why you start him on sheep now. So, by the time he’s old enough to get on a steer or a mini bull, it’s already second nature.”
I let what he’s saying sink in.
Then he asks, “Blaze never talked to you about this?” Royce’s voice changes at the mention of Ryder’s father.
I shake my head. “No.”
He looks ahead. “I just assumed Blaze had been teaching him,” he says. “The way he was breaking down those rides on television earlier.”
“Blaze did watch tapes of his rides with him,” I say. “When he brought them home to study, he’d sit with Ryder and explain things.”
Royce nods. “But he never took the time to actually take Ryder to the arena.”
His jaw tightens. I can tell he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. He just walks beside me for several steps, his boots crunching softly against the gravel.
“I’ll bring him a bouncy bull,” he finally says.
“A what?”
“A bouncy bull.”
A laugh slips out of me. “You mean one of those inflatable things?”
“Yeah. They’re actually an effective early development tool. He can start learning balance. Seat. Movement.”
Ryder turns around and walks backward. “Mommy!”
“What, baby?”
“Look!” He spreads his arms and lifts his right foot. Like he’s balancing on an imaginary tightrope.
I point at him. “Turn around before you trip.”
He turns around.
Royce chuckles. “He’s been listening to us the whole time, hasn’t he?”
“Yep. Can’t hear me when I’m asking him a question from three feet away, but can hear a whispered adult conversation happening in another room. It’s a gift.”
Royce chuckles. “So, I’ll bring the bouncy bull by tomorrow?”
“Okay,” I agree.
“When you’re ready, when you trust him and you trust me, I’ll take him to the arena.”
There’s no pressure in his voice. Just an offer.
I glance at Ryder, then back at Royce.
“You have a ranch full of real cowboys, Rina. And a literal rodeo school full of professional cowboys and seasoned instructors at your disposal. This is the safest place in the world for him to learn.”
“I want you to be the one,” I say without thinking. “When I’m ready.”
His answer is simple. “I’d be happy to.”
Something warm settles in my chest.
I have to stop being afraid. I’m not afraid of Ryder getting hurt. Not really. Even though bull riding does terrify me a little. I’m afraid of letting him step into the world I know too well—the world that gave me so much joy, but also broke my heart when I had to walk away.
But it’s not fair for me to project that on Ryder and hold him back from something he wants.
Maybe he just needs someone we both trust to teach him how to ride.
And God help me, I trust Royce Trust.
In the arena at least.