Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Even so, she appreciated the effort.
As if determined to make his own introduction, the horse stretched out his neck and nudged her shoulder.
Daisy startled so badly she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Flint laughed at once. "Easy."
"Easy?" she echoed. "He nearly knocked me over."
"He was introducing himself."
The horse shifted again, calm and unbothered by her reaction.
Daisy kept one hand resting against his neck and forced herself to focus.
Beneath her palm, the warmth of his coat felt familiar, and the scent of horseflesh mingled with worn saddle leather in a way that stirred memories she hadn't allowed herself to revisit in years.
The ache that followed hit far harder than she'd expected.
Flint must have sensed it because his voice softened. "You can walk away."
Daisy released a slow breath. "I know."
The answer seemed to satisfy him. He said nothing more, and Daisy was grateful for it. The quiet left room for her to make the decision herself, without encouragement or pressure nudging her in either direction.
After a while, she reached toward the saddle. Her fingers traced the worn leather before finding the stirrup and then the reins. The motions felt familiar. Not effortless, but familiar. The knowledge was still there, waiting beneath years of disuse.
Flint answered the questions she asked and wisely kept his mouth shut when she didn't. The restraint impressed her. Most men considered themselves experts the moment a horse entered the conversation and seemed unable to resist sharing that expertise, whether it was wanted or not.
Flint, however, appeared content to let her find her footing in her own way.
That mattered more than he probably realized.
Drawing a steadying breath, she placed one boot in the stirrup and gathered her courage. Then she pushed herself upward.
Flint's laughter burst out immediately. "You look graceful."
"I'll bury you."
By the time she settled into the saddle, her breathing had turned ragged. Yet she was there. Sitting atop a horse. An actual horse. The realization sank in gradually, spreading through her chest until a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it.
She'd done it.
Not gracefully, perhaps, and certainly not without muttering a few threats along the way, but she'd done it all the same.
The gelding shifted his weight beneath her. Instinctively, Daisy grabbed the saddle horn with both hands and held on with far more determination than dignity.
The horse, unimpressed by her alarm, responded with complete indifference.
Flint chuckled, "You know, if you squeeze that saddle any harder, you'll leave fingerprints."
Daisy aimed a glare toward his voice. "I hate you."
The grin in his reply arrived instantly. "That's the most affection you've shown me all day."
The ride began badly. The confidence she'd once carried so easily seemed much harder to reclaim than it had ever been to lose.
Every shift beneath the saddle drew her attention. Every uneven patch of ground sent fresh tension through her shoulders. She knew the horse carried her safely. She knew Flint rode nearby. She knew this animal possessed far more experience than she did.
Knowledge proved remarkably useless against nerves.
"I've made a mistake."
"You've been mounted for nearly four minutes."
"An exceptionally long four minutes."
Amusement threaded through Flint's voice. "I was hoping you'd at least wait five before surrendering."
His laughter drifted across the space between them.
The sound helped, more than she wanted to admit.
The horse continued forward at an easy pace while Daisy concentrated on breathing instead of cataloging every possible disaster. Gradually, the rigid awareness that had consumed her began loosening its hold.
The rhythm reached her before anything else. It was steady, reliable, and instantly familiar. She felt it through the saddle and along her spine, each step flowing into the next until the movement stopped feeling uncertain and began to feel like something her body remembered.
Leather creaked softly. Hooves pressed into the earth. Beneath her, the horse breathed with an easy, unhurried cadence.
As the miles passed, the years seemed to fold inward.
Memories surfaced unbidden. She remembered long afternoons spent exploring ranch land that had seemed endless, Flint riding beside her and insisting he knew shortcuts that invariably added miles to the journey.
She remembered arguments that dissolved into laughter and days when the future had stretched before them, wide open and uncomplicated.
The ache those memories carried was still there.
Yet something else had begun threading its way through it.
Joy.
At first, it was tentative, arriving so quietly she almost missed it.
But with every passing minute, it grew a little stronger, a little harder to ignore.
By the time they crossed beyond Nathan's property and entered the open grazing land beyond, Daisy realized she was no longer cataloging reasons to stop.
She was enjoying herself.
Flint noticed immediately. His sigh carried enough theatrical suffering to make her laugh. "Oh no."
"What?"
"The horse finally won."
Daisy turned her head toward his voice. "What are you talking about?"
"You smiled. That's how they get you."
"I've ridden horses most of my life."
"Then you're already beyond saving."
Sitting atop a horse she had once been certain she'd never ride again, Daisy realized that survival no longer felt sufficient.
For years, simply enduring had seemed like enough. Getting through each day had been a victory enough to claim. But now, as the horse carried her across the open land, she found herself wanting something more.
She wanted plans. Possibilities. A future that stretched beyond mere survival, a future large enough to grow into.