it’s a challenge. Getting on from the ground is even harder. It’s like scaling a skyscraper and then straddling it. Definitely not a natural motion — at least not for me. And there’s so much to remember too — how to hold the reins, where to stand, where to put my hands, how to shift my weight. After forty-five minutes of practice, I am exhausted, and I haven’t even done any riding yet. The rest of our lesson is taken up with learning how to sit on the saddle and control the horse with the reins and my legs.
The next thing I know, it’s noon, and Sam is back. I do my best to dismount like a pro. I want to show him that I’ve actually learned something and haven’t just spent the morning staring at Micah.
He smiles at me. “Well done.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. You can see what a fast learner I am. It’s taken me two hours just to learn how to get on a horse.”
“That’s an important thing to know, and unless you were brought up around horses, it’s not something that comes natural to most people.”
“Not to me, that’s for sure.”
“Aw, don’t listen to her, Sam.” Though I don’t see him coming, Micah is now standing beside me — close enough that his shirt sleeve is brushing my arm. I can feel my heart hammering. “Dani is a quick learner. She did just fine. Next time, we’ll have her barrel-racing.”
“Next time?” I look from Micah to Sam.
Sam shrugs. “As much as I’d like to teach you myself, I think it’s probably best for you to stick with Micah. The truth is, there’s more than one way to skin a cat — or, in this case, teach you to ride a horse — and we don’t want to confuse you with different methods.”
Micah grins. “All right then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?”
“Sounds good,” Sam says.
I couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Eight
On the way back to Sam’s place, I pump him for information about Micah. Subtly, of course. I don’t want him thinking I’m interested in the guy. I start by asking about the ranch.
According to Sam, Greener Pastures is one of the largest spreads in British Columbia and has been in the Tooby family for several generations. Though well-known for cattle, the ranch’s real claim to fame is breeding horses. As a sideline, it offers day-trip trail rides and — for hardier types — overnight wilderness adventures. Sort of like African safaris, I guess, but Cariboo style.
The oldest Tooby son, Mark, works at the ranch full-time. Micah and son #2, Steve, are both at university, so they only help out in the summer. The youngest son, Randy, is still in elementary school, so aside from weekend chores of mucking out stalls and pitching hay, he isn’t too involved yet.
I ask all the sons’ ages, though it’s really only Micah I care about. He’s nineteen. Perfect. Now all I need to know is if he has a girlfriend, but there’s no way I’m asking Sam that. I’ll just have to find out on my own.
As it turns out, Micah is the one who brings up the subject — the very next day. He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I am so shocked I miss the stirrup as I go to mount and almost do a face-plant in the dirt.
“Not at the moment,” I tell him as I once again grab the horn of the saddle. And then — because this is the perfect opening — I nonchalantly add, “What about you?”
He shakes his head. “No. No boyfriend. I prefer girls.”
For a split second, I forget the guy is a god. All I’m thinking is that he zinged me, and I need to get him back. A retort jumps onto my tongue and is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Really?” I reply. “I would’ve sworn you were gay.”
To say that I catch Micah by surprise is the understatement of the year, and right before my eyes, he goes from cool to crushed. He couldn’t look more deflated if I’d punched him in the stomach.
I gaze down from my seat on Sweetpea and pretend to shoot him with a gun. “Gotcha!” I grin and waggle my eyebrows.
His face relaxes. Then he shakes his head and grins back at me. “And here I thought you were a nice girl.”
I shrug. “Hey, you started it.”
That’s all it takes. The ice between us is broken, and we spend the rest of the lesson exchanging shots and laughing.
———
Sam and I make lunch together. It’s supposed to be his day to cook, but I don’t mind helping. Actually, I kind of like it. Sam knows his way around a kitchen, but he’s really relaxed about it, so there’s something restful about working with him.
We take our quesadillas and coleslaw outside into the sunshine. Sam hauls a couple of lawn chairs out from under the trailer and sets them on the grass.
I sigh and turn my face to the sky. “Listen.”
After a few seconds, Sam says, “To what? I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly!” I inhale deeply like I’m refuelling my soul. “That’s the point. It’s peaceful here. No traffic noise. No rest-of-the-world sounds at all. It’s like this place is all there is. Birds singing, grass waving, sunshine, wildflowers — that’s it.” I turn to him. “It’s like you have your own little Garden of Eden.”
Sam cocks his head thoughtfully for a few seconds before answering. Then his eyes become dark slits that look right inside me. “You might physically resemble your mother,” he says, “and you might have the same sharp tongue that she has, but in some ways you’re very different. Your mom wouldn’t last more than an hour out here. She’d think it’s pretty, but she’d be happier just looking at a picture of it. A picnic is about all the outdoors she’s interested in — and even then, she’d want it without the bugs.”
I bite into my quesadilla and nod. “Yeah, Mom is definitely a city girl. She likes the hustle and bustle, the nightlife — the shopping! She really likes the shopping. She’d go into withdrawal here for sure.”
Sam wags a thumb toward the shed. “I could give her a good deal on some horse manure.”
I laugh.
“What about you?” Sam asks. “I thought seventeen-year-old girls lived to shop.”
“Yeah, I like to shop. Of course, I do,” I say. “But I like other stuff too. The stores will still be in Vancouver when I get back. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy what Webb’s River has to offer.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam says. But something about the way he says it and the way his face is threatening to smile make me suspicious.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His forehead buckles in feigned confusion. “Not a thing.”
He’s a good actor, but I’m not buying his performance. I know he’s making fun of me. I reach out and smack his arm.
“Ow!” He rubs it as if he’s actually hurt.
