CHAPTER 3 #2
I leaned forward, my hands gripping the edge of the side-by-side as I strained to see. The horse lifted his head, and even from this distance, I'd recognize that gleaming chestnut coat anywhere. Two back white socks. That proud, alert stance.
Choco.
"Stop," I said, my voice urgent. "Connor, stop."
He pulled to a halt, and I was out before he'd even fully engaged the brake. My feet hit the grass, but I didn't move closer, just stood there, drinking in the sight of him.
He looked… happy. His coat gleamed, muscles rippling under his skin as he moved. He'd filled out, strong and sure. Whatever Connor had been doing for him, it was working.
Unable to contain myself, I clicked my tongue, the same sound I'd used to call him for years.
His head snapped up instantly, ears pricked forward so hard they nearly touched. Our eyes locked across the distance.
There you are. There's my boy.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then Choco exploded into motion, bucking his back legs every few strides, galloping toward me with the rest of the herd streaming behind him like he was their leader.
His hooves thundered against the earth, kicking up clods of dirt and grass, and my heart soared.
He remembered me. After all this time—after everything—he remembered.
Choco slowed as he approached, transitioning from gallop to canter to trot, finally stopping a few feet away. His sides heaved, nostrils flaring as he caught his breath. He stretched his neck toward me, nostrils fluttering as he took in my scent.
"Hey, handsome," I whispered, extending my hand slowly. "Did you miss me?"
He hesitated, just for a moment, as if unsure this was real. Then he stepped forward and pressed his head firmly against my hand, blowing out a long breath that ruffled my hair.
The tears came then, hot and fast, streaming down my cheeks as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His familiar scent—hay, horse, sunshine—enveloped me, and something that had been wound tight inside me for months finally loosened.
"I'm so sorry," I murmured into his mane, my fingers tangling in the coarse hair. "I'm so sorry I left you. I didn't want to. I swear I didn't want to."
Choco just stood there, solid and warm and real, letting me cry into his neck while the other horses milled around curiously.
With Choco, I was home.
I don't know how long we stood like that—minutes, maybe hours. Time felt suspended, unimportant. Eventually, I became aware of Connor standing a respectful distance away, giving us space but staying close in case I needed him.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and looked up at him, unable to keep the smile from my face despite the tears. "Thank you—for taking care of him. For all of this."
Connor just nodded, his own eyes suspiciously bright. Then his expression shifted into something mischievous. "Do you want to try putting a saddle on him?"
I blinked. "What?"
"A saddle," Connor repeated, smirking now. "Think you can still ride?"
The question brought a rush of excitement mixed with doubt. It had been months. I'd been away from horses, from this life, for so long. But looking at Choco, feeling that familiar connection humming between us... a confident feeling surged up.
"Do you have an English saddle here?" I asked, curiosity winning out over doubt.
Connor's smirk widened into a full grin, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes. "Oh, we've got more than just an English saddle. I have all of it."
My stomach dropped as understanding hit me. "All of it?"
The mischief faded from his face, replaced by something softer, more serious. "Everything," he said quietly.
Everything. Sam's saddles, her bridles, her carefully organized tack room that she'd spent years curating. All of it, here.
"Thank you," I whispered again, the words feeling inadequate for the magnitude of what he'd done, what he'd preserved.
Connor only nodded and turned back toward the side-by-side. "Come on. Let's get you set up."
As we drove back toward the old barn, Choco and his companions trailed behind us, drawn by curiosity, or maybe just by the novelty of the vehicle.
Every few seconds, I glanced back to make sure Choco was still there, still following.
I felt a need to keep checking, as if I worried that if I looked away too long, he might disappear.
He's real. This is real.
Stepping into the older barn was like stepping back in time. The scent of hay and leather hit me immediately, mingling with the faint aroma of horse and sawdust. It wasn't as pristine as Connor's main barn, but it had character. History.
Denny emerged from one of the stalls, wiping his hands on his jeans. He paused when he saw us, stepping into the aisle.
"Connor, I need to speak with you about that sale earlier," he began, his voice carrying a note of urgency.
Connor nodded but turned to me first. "Denny, this is Anna Franklin."
I extended my hand, and Denny took it. His grip was firm, his palm calloused from years of ranch work. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, and I meant it.
Denny looked slightly embarrassed as he returned the handshake. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "Yesterday, I mean. In the barn. I didn't know—"
"It's fine," I cut him off gently. "Really. You were just doing your job."
He nodded, looking relieved, then turned his attention back to Connor. They headed toward the office, leaving me standing in the aisle.
"The tack room's through there," Connor called over his shoulder, gesturing to a door on the left. "Fair warning, it's a mess. We just unloaded everything from the trailer and haven't organized it yet. Take your time. I'll be in the office if you need anything."
I watched them disappear, then turned toward the tack room. My hand hesitated on the doorknob.
Sam's things are in there.
I took a breath and pushed the door open.
The room was cluttered. Totes stacked haphazardly against the walls, saddle racks empty and waiting. Connor had opened a window, and fresh air drifted through the space, chasing away the stale, closed-up smell. A small fan whirred quietly in the corner.
And there, on each tote, pieces of duct tape marked in black Sharpie: "Jasper – bridles," "Molly – leg wraps," "Misc. grooming supplies."
My throat tightened. This was Sam's handwriting. Her system. Her meticulous organization that she always insisted on because "a messy tack room is a messy mind, Anna."
My eyes closed briefly, a fresh wave of grief for Sam washing over me.
I moved through the totes slowly, reading each label. Blankets. Saddle pads. First aid supplies. Show equipment. It was all here. Everything she'd collected over the years, every piece of her life with these horses, preserved and protected.
Then I found it: a tote labeled "Anna's stuff" in Sam's familiar scrawl.
My knees went weak, and I sank onto the old couch against the wall. For a long moment, I just stared at that label, the proof that Sam had thought of me, had separated my things from hers even though we'd often shared equipment.
She knew. Somehow, she knew I'd need this.
With trembling hands, I dragged the tote to the center of the room and opened it.
My saddle sat on top, the leather dull from months of storage.
Beneath it were my riding boots—the expensive ones I'd saved for months to buy.
My half chaps, worn smooth in all the right places.
Choco's preferred bridle, the one with the gentle bit he actually tolerated.
And there, wrapped carefully in a soft cloth, my helmet.
Not just any helmet—the one signed by an Olympic rider I'd met at a show three years ago. Sam and I had been starstruck, and the rider had been so kind, so generous with her time. She'd signed both our helmets, told us to keep riding, keep chasing our dreams.
Dreams. I wondered when I had stopped having those.
I lifted the helmet carefully, running my fingers over the signature. Then I got to work.
If I was going to do this, if I was going to ride Choco again, I was going to do it right. I found cleaning supplies in one of the totes and set about restoring my equipment: saddle soap for the leather, polish for the stirrups, a damp cloth for the dusty saddle pad.
My hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over. This was familiar. This was safe. Just me and the leather, and the rhythmic motion of cleaning, polishing, restoring.
By the time I finished, everything gleamed like new. I slipped into my boots, pulled on my half chaps, and stood. The familiar weight and feel of them settled something deep inside me.
I can do this. I can still do this.
Then reality hit. I couldn't carry all this to the back field, not while also leading a horse who hadn't been ridden in months.
The side-by-side. Connor said I could use it.
I left my equipment in the aisle and headed for the office in the other barn, rapping lightly on the door before peeking inside. Connor and Denny looked up from the paperwork spread across the desk.
"Can I borrow the black side-by-side?" I asked. "The one we used earlier?"
Connor's face broke into a grin. "Absolutely. Keys should be in it already."
"Thanks." I started to close the door, then paused. "And Connor? Thank you. For all of this."
His expression softened. "Anytime, Anna. Anytime."
I loaded my equipment into the vehicle with care, double-checking everything—saddle, bridle, pad, helmet. Good. I was about to start the engine when I realized what was missing.
The girth. Shit.
I jogged back inside, rummaging through the tote until my fingers closed around the familiar strap. "Bingo," I muttered, tossing it into the back of the side-by-side with perhaps more force than necessary.
Get it together, Anna. You've done this a thousand times.
As I drove back toward the field, I noticed trails branching off from either side of the main path, disappearing into the tree line. They looked well-used—inviting. Something to explore later, maybe, when I felt more settled. More sure of myself.
For now, I had one goal: Choco.
I pulled up outside the gate and cut the engine, choosing to approach on foot with just a halter and lead rope. Slow. Careful. He'd been running free for months, and the last thing I wanted was to spook him or make him think this was anything other than his choice.
I clicked my tongue softly, and Choco lifted his head from where he'd been grazing. He moved toward the edge of the field where I stood, his gait easy and unhurried.
That's it, big guy. Come here.
I reached over the fence to stroke his neck, letting him see the halter and lead rope in my other hand. His skin was warm beneath my palm, his pulse strong and steady.
"I'm not going to rush you," I murmured, keeping my voice low and soothing. "You take all the time you need, okay? We'll go at your pace."
He'd been free for months, untouched beyond basic care. Asking him to accept tack, to let me ride him again, was a big ask. Too big, maybe.
But Choco surprised me. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against my chest in that familiar gesture he used when he wanted affection. An invitation.
Oh, you wonderful boy.
With practiced, gentle movements, I fitted the halter onto him. He stood perfectly still, his trust in me absolute despite all the time apart.
He remembers. He knows it's me.
I led him out of the field and secured him to a sturdy fence post, giving him space while I retrieved the grooming supplies from the side-by-side. Starting with a soft brush, I worked over his coat in long, steady strokes until it gleamed like polished copper in the sunlight.
His feet were next. I ran my hand down each leg, applying gentle pressure until he lifted his hoof. They looked good—well-trimmed, no cracks or chips. Connor's farrier was clearly doing excellent work.
"Looking good, handsome," I told him, moving to the next hoof. "Someone's been taking good care of you."
Once I was satisfied he was clean and sound, I grabbed the saddle pad. This was the real test. I laid it carefully across his back, watching for any sign of discomfort—pinned ears, tense muscles, shifting weight.
Nothing. He just stood there, head lowered, completely relaxed.
So far, so good.
I moved slowly with the saddle, lifting it with practiced ease and settling it gently in place. His ear flicked toward me, but he didn't move otherwise. I attached the girth on one side, then walked around to the other.
As I worked, I noticed Choco becoming more alert. His head came up, and his gaze fixed on the yearlings still playing in the field. His muscles tensed slightly, energy coiling beneath his skin.
He wants to run.
"I know, big guy," I murmured, tightening the girth another notch. "Soon. I promise."
I checked the stirrups, made sure everything was secure, then carefully removed his halter. He stood ground-tied, another testament to his training, as I offered him the bridle.
For a moment, he just looked at it. Then, with a soft huff of breath, he opened his mouth and accepted the bit.
Good boy. Such a good boy.
I secured the bridle, adjusted the noseband, and stood there for a moment with my hand on his neck. My heart was pounding, adrenaline, excitement, and a thin thread of fear all tangled together.
Can I still do this? It's been so long.
But looking at Choco, feeling the solid warmth of him and the trust radiating from every line of his body—
Yes. Yes, I can.
I gathered the reins and led him toward the side-by-side, intending to use it as a makeshift mounting block. My hands trembled slightly as I positioned myself, one foot in the stirrup.
Here goes nothing.
With a fluid motion born from years of practice, I swung myself into the saddle.
And the world shifted.
The familiar feel of the saddle beneath me, the gentle sway of Choco's body, the leather reins in my hands, it all came rushing back like a wave. Every muscle remembered. Every instinct clicked into place.
This. This is what I've been missing.
Choco stood perfectly still, waiting for my cue, his focus entirely on me. Asking permission. Waiting to see what I wanted.
With a gentle squeeze of my legs and a soft click of my tongue, I urged him forward. He responded immediately, moving into a smooth walk that felt like coming home.
I directed him toward one of the wider trails I'd noticed earlier—the one marked by tire tracks splitting off from the main road. His ears pricked forward with interest, and I felt him gather himself, eager but controlled.
As the trees closed in around us and the sounds of the ranch faded behind, something inside me finally, truly relaxed. The constant tension I'd been carrying for months loosened its grip.
In that moment, as the world fell away and the rhythm of Choco's hooves filled the air, I felt a piece of myself slot back into place. A piece I thought Daniel had destroyed forever.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I smiled. A real smile. The kind that reached all the way down to my bones.