16. Georgina #2
I take another breath and ask Sovrano to walk again.
This time, the movement comes easier. We follow the rail at a walk, stopping once more when I need to.
By the time we reach the mounting block again, I have begun to feel the rhythm beneath the fear.
I still tighten when Sovrano lifts his head toward a sound in the yard, but I can ask him to halt, wait, and go on.
I halt and look at Max, who has been walking beside us the whole time, matching his pace to Sovrano’s.
“I want you to ride with me.” I look toward the stable before I lose the nerve to ask. “On another horse. Beside me.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Dante’s still in Umbria.”
“I know.” I look toward the stable, where the groom is watching from the aisle. “You could take the gray in the third paddock. He has excellent manners, provided you don’t let him choose the direction.”
Max calls to the groom from the gate, and she comes over to hear what we need. While she goes for the gray, I ask Max to move the mounting block a little farther from the rail.
Sovrano stands while we wait, and I spend the time remembering how to sit without rehearsing every possible thing that could go wrong. I don’t quite manage it, but I do notice when a fly lands on his ear before I notice my own heartbeat.
It takes longer than I expect for the groom to return with the gray.
She leads him through the gate already tacked, and Max takes the reins from her with a nod of thanks.
He puts on the helmet she’s brought, checks the fit and fastening, then the girth and stirrups.
I move Sovrano clear of the block while he mounts.
The groom closes the gate behind her. Max lets the gray stand while he settles into the saddle, and Sovrano turns his head toward them. Neither horse seems especially interested in the other. I wish I could be as casual about the change.
“Beside you?” Max settles the gray a little behind us, leaving me room to turn.
“That’s what I asked for.” I glance over my shoulder at him, and his mouth curves before he brings the gelding level with Sovrano.
For the first few strides, I concentrate on the rail ahead.
The gray’s hoofbeats complicate the sound of Sovrano’s, and I am painfully aware of the second horse beside us. Then Max makes a small adjustment, giving me more room through the corner, and something familiar settles into place. I used to know where he was without looking.
He could ride slightly behind my shoulder and I would begin talking, certain he was close enough to hear.
“We can stop here if you like.” He has seen my hands tighten as we reach the turn, and I understand why he asks. I also feel the old irritation before I can soften it.
“I know. I’ll tell you.” I keep my eyes between Sovrano’s ears until I am sure my voice won’t sharpen further. “Talk to me about something else.”
Max considers that for a few strides. “The east gate. I think it would be easier to replace the whole thing while they’re doing the posts.”
“It would also be more expensive.” I turn toward him, briefly forgetting to worry about the corner. “The gate’s sound. It’s hanging badly because of the post.”
“The bottom corner’s dragging.” He glances toward the far side of the yard as though I need directions to a gate I’ve used most of my life.
“Because of the post, Max.” I give him a look, and he has the grace to smile. “Ask the manager before you buy me a new gate. He’s already measured for the repair.”
“I’ll ask him.” His gaze moves ahead again as the gray begins to drift toward the inside of the arena. “You might have warned me that excellent manners didn’t include going straight.”
“I said he shouldn’t choose the direction.” I watch him correct the gelding, pleased with myself in a small, ordinary way I haven’t felt for some time. “He knows exactly where the gate is. He’s hoping you don’t.”
Max laughs, and Sovrano turns an ear toward him. I feel the answering smile on my own face before I can do anything about it.
We are discussing a repair and a horse who would rather go home, and Max is listening to me. Nothing about the conversation requires him to lower his voice or reassure me that I will feel better soon.
“There you are.” His voice is soft enough that I almost miss it under the sound of the horses. When I turn, he is looking at me rather than the gate.
The warmth goes out of my smile. I know what he means, or what he probably means, and a part of me wants to accept it without looking any closer. But I have spent too many mornings wondering whether I had to get back into a saddle before my husband would recognize me.
“I was there before this.” I look down at my hands, then make myself look at him. “You know that, don’t you?”
Max brings the gray back half a stride when I slow Sovrano. “I do. I meant I missed hearing you laugh at me.”
“You had plenty of opportunities to hear that at home.” My voice is steadier now, although I can feel the place behind my ribs where the words have caught. “I didn’t stop having opinions because I stopped riding.”
“No.” He looks at the sand ahead of us for a moment. “I stopped asking for them.”