“Looks like a busy area,” she remarked, gesturing at the ground. The dirt had been churned by horse hooves after the last rain and had dried in uneven clumps.
“Lots of the kids bring their horses here. They’ll say they’re bringing them here to graze, but they’ll climb on bareback over there.” She gestured at a tree stump on the side of the trail. “No one’s supposed to ride with only a halter and a lead rope, but they do it anyway.”
“And you let them do it?” Ainslee looked at Myra with her eyebrows raised in a surprised expression. “You seem so attached to your beloved safety rules.”
Myra laughed. “Throwing tantrums in the barn is inexcusable.”
“You think that was a tantrum? You have no idea…” Ainslee laughed along with her, and Myra was glad to hear her respond to teasing so easily.
“You’re right, though, that we’re relaxing the safety rules when we let the kids ride bareback. I guess Kate and I both know from experience that they’re going to break the rules and get on the horses no matter what we do. We can yell at them for doing it here, and they’ll find another place or time to play their games. Or, we can give them this safe space where we keep an eye on them even though they seem to believe they’re invisible back here. Besides, they’re actually learning better balance and connection to their horses when they ride bareback. They think they’re only playing, but they’re building a foundation. Like little centaurs.”
“That must be why you look so good on a horse. I’ll bet you were a hellion when you were young,” Ainslee said as they left the clearing and moved to single file along a grass-lined path. “It’s always the rebels who turn into the strictest disciplinarians when they get old.”
Myra shook her head at Ainslee’s emphasis on the last word. She ignored her flush of pleasure at Ainslee’s compliment—and her awareness of Ainslee walking so close behind her and watching her backside—and responded only to Ainslee’s exaggerated reference to the difference in their ages. “Then I guess in six years you’ll be even worse than I am.”
“I’m not exactly a rebel now,” Ainslee said, all laughter gone from her voice. “Not anymore.”
Myra wanted to reassure Ainslee—about what, she wasn’t exactly sure—but she chose instead to keep her tone teasing. She’d rather Ainslee had rapid mood changes than no emotional response at all.
“At least try to behave for the next two weeks. Kate and I are planning a party for the last day of class, and I’d hate to have you miss it.”
“You and Kate…You seem very close.”
Ainslee’s intonation changed her statement into a question. Myra turned and looked back at her, wondering how interested Ainslee would be in her answer. Ainslee gave her a small and enigmatic smile.
Myra faced forward again and ducked under a low-hanging limb of a Douglas fir. “Watch out for that branch. Kate and I have been friends since high school. I played softball on my public school’s varsity team, and I met her when I played a game at her private school. She was a cheerleader and very pretty, of course. We kissed under the bleachers—a first kiss for both of us. We got caught and had to face the humiliation of having our parents called to the school, but it was worth it.” Myra grinned over her shoulder.
“I’m sure Kate agrees that a kiss from you was worth getting in trouble. Sooo…” Ainslee drew the syllable out for several seconds while she looked off to the side, a faint flush of pink coloring her pale cheeks. “What happened after?”
Myra shrugged. “Nothing much, really. We had an instant connection, and I know we both were interested in discovering what a real kiss would be like. It was more a shared experiment than a romantic encounter. We stayed friends through high school, trail riding together on weekends at either my aunt’s barn or the fancy stables where Kate rode. We lost touch in college but reconnected again after we graduated.”
“No regrets? No lingering what-ifs?”
Myra glanced back again. This time, Ainslee was looking directly at her, waiting for an answer. She seemed relaxed in the saddle—more at ease than Myra had seen her yet. Nature and conversation were agreeing with her, apparently. Myra pushed aside her concern about her personal divulgences. She had vowed not to let Ainslee get close, but she also wanted her to benefit from the ride and their time together. Ainslee was just being curious, wasn’t she? She had intimated an attraction to Myra, but she probably hadn’t meant anything serious by it.
“Not at all.” Myra chose to answer honestly. “I value her friendship, but we’d never have been a good fit as a couple. On paper, maybe, but who can predict love? And now she has Jamie. You haven’t met her yet, but she and Kate are perfect together. Very different, but perfect.”
“And you haven’t found perfect yet?”
Myra laughed. “I’m too busy to look these days. With teaching high school, helping Kate, and riding my two horses, I barely have time to grab fast food for dinner, let alone go on an actual date. What about you? Have you found someone with the surname Right yet?”
“It’d be a Ms. if I found one, but no. It seems pointless to even hope now.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Myra said, more sharply than she intended. She couldn’t bear to hear Ainslee dismissing herself and her future because of her accident. “You’re just as capable of love as anyone with two legs.”
“I guess, although I haven’t felt much of anything until…I mean, for a long time, especially love. I know it’s possible for me to be in love, but I don’t have much hope in the feelings being reciprocated.”
Myra turned Dragon onto a wide trail that circled the edge of the development and slowed down enough for Ainslee and Deacon to catch up to her. She wanted to convince Ainslee that she was attractive and appealing no matter what her physical condition made her believe. She hesitated, though, not daring to speak until she was sure she wouldn’t reveal the extent of her own confusing feelings.
“Your horse is huge,” Ainslee said once they were abreast of each other. She looked up at Myra even though they were close to the same height when standing. “He looks like one of the horses from the beer commercials.”
Myra stroked Dragon’s neck. She welcomed the change in subject. “He is, partly. He’s a Clydesdale-Thoroughbred cross. He has the easygoing temperament of a draft horse and the athleticism of a hot-blooded racer.”
“Have you had him long?”
“Almost twelve years. Since he was about seven months old.” About the time Jeffrey had been deployed. Myra put both reins in her left hand and rested her right on her hip, feeling the sway of Dragon’s big-striding yet contained walk. He had been on plenty of trail rides with students, and he automatically matched his pace with Deacon’s. “He’s a PMU rescue.”
“A what?”
“PMU. Pregnant Mare Urine. It’s used to manufacture hormones for women, but not as much anymore. When I got him, it was big business.”
Ainslee grimaced. “Yuk. People inject that into themselves? Gross.”
“I agree,” Myra said. She remembered the sick feeling she’d had when she first read about the horses on the collection farms. Not so much about the end product, but about the treatment of the animals. “The mares would be bred, and then they’d spend the eleven months of their pregnancies in narrow stalls while their urine was collected. They’d have a short break to have their foals and nurse them, and then they’d be bred again. The babies were by-products, especially the males that couldn’t be used for breeding, and a lot were simply…discarded.”
“So you saved him,” Ainslee said in a quiet voice.
Myra nodded, although she had been saved herself by the gentle horse. His comforting and undemanding presence had been what she needed while she recovered from the first shock of Jeffrey’s death. In the months following, while she sought to regain her equilibrium and come to terms with her loss, long rides on Dragon had been her salvation. She wanted to talk to Ainslee about Jeffrey, but she kept her private sorrow to herself. Because it was too private to s
hare? Or because she worried Ainslee might identify too closely with Jeffrey’s pain and his final decision?
“Dragon was the reason I got in touch with Kate again,” she said instead. “There were some wonderful foals at the farm where I got Dragon, and I wanted to rescue more of them. I contacted Kate, and she agreed to help. We managed to find new homes for over forty horses before the product got less popular and we weren’t needed as much.”
“Awesome. What are you doing now? I can’t imagine you stopped rescuing just because the situation changed for those particular animals.”
“Kate and I help where we can,” Myra said with a shrug. She wanted to deflect the attention off herself and not sound like she thought she was an incarnation of Saint Francis. She didn’t mention the rehabilitation and rehoming program she managed for ex-racehorses—many of which had become lesson horses or beloved mounts for Kate’s students. “Do you want to trot a few yards? Just to the cedar up ahead?”
Ainslee grimaced. “I feel like I’m going to fall off when I trot.”
Myra pulled Dragon to a halt, and Deacon obediently stopped beside them. “You never mentioned that when I asked how you felt in the trot over the last three weeks.” She emphasized the words and sighed with frustration. How could she know how Ainslee was doing if she blandly answered fine to every inquiry? “You look great in the arena, so how was I supposed to know you had a problem?”
Ainslee shrugged. “Everything is harder or more painful with this thing.” She waved toward her right leg. “How was I supposed to know I had a problem?”
“We need to stop repeating what the other person says,” Myra said. She had enjoyed the banter at first, but now she got nervous when Ainslee focused more on her injury and what she believed was lacking in her rather than when she seemed engaged in the present and future. “As a reference point, you know you have a riding problem when you feel like you’re about to fall off. What was Rule Three?”
“Ask for help,” Ainslee said with a barely concealed roll of her eyes.
“You can remember them, but you can’t follow them,” Myra said. She had to grin at Ainslee’s exaggerated sigh. “When you feel out of balance, do you feel like you’re going to fall off the right or left side of the horse?”
“Left.”
“What do you do to compensate?” Myra scanned Ainslee’s position while they talked. She felt much more comfortable discussing the mechanics of riding and trying to solve Ainslee’s problem than discussing her personal life. The need to help Ainslee achieve a more secure seat in the saddle almost kept Myra from dwelling too long on the sight of the lovely curves of Ainslee’s lower back and ass.
Ainslee bit her lower lip while she considered the question and Myra shook her head to dispel the fantasy of using her own teeth on Ainslee’s mouth.
“I guess I lean to the right.”
Myra dismounted and draped Dragon’s reins over her arm. She walked over to Deacon and put one hand on Ainslee’s right knee and the other under the heel of her metal leg. Myra sensed Ainslee’s recoil when her leg was touched, and she understood the vulnerability Ainslee must be feeling.
“It’s okay,” she said, rubbing Ainslee’s knee with her hand. She hoped the touch was soothing to Ainslee, because it sure as hell wasn’t calming her at all. She often touched students when she explained position changes to them, but she’d never had such an unprofessional—and exciting—response to anyone else. Focus on teaching, not on sex. “Pretend you’re off balance and about to fall off to the left. Push harder into this stirrup to counterbalance.”
Ainslee stiffened her right leg and pressed against Myra’s hand where it rested under her prosthesis. Myra couldn’t see the change in Ainslee’s position like she’d have been able to notice stiffness in a natural leg, but she felt the muscles tense and Ainslee’s weight shift.
“When you push like that, where does your weight go? Is it balanced on both seat bones?”
“No,” Ainslee said. Awareness spread visibly over her features. “I’m just pushing myself farther to the left. No wonder I was getting worse instead of better.”
“We’ll make you better,” Myra said. She paused as she realized she’d do just about anything to make that happen. And if she failed? What would happen to her then? She adjusted Ainslee’s leg position and slid the hand that was under Ainslee’s knee up a few inches. “Try using your thighs for balance instead of shoving your feet harder into the stirrups. Squeeze against my hand. How does that feel?”
“Works for me,” Ainslee said. Myra was staring at Ainslee’s leg, her whole body zeroed in on the feeling of Ainslee’s thigh muscles against her palm, but the husky tone in Ainslee’s voice made her look up in surprise. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who felt this lesson growing more intimate than it should be. She removed her hands as quickly as if she’d been given an electric shock, busying herself with mounting Dragon and readjusting her reins.
“Let’s try a short, slow trot now,” she said. She squeezed her legs gently against Dragon’s sides and he jogged quietly along the dirt path. Deacon stayed close to his side, and Myra watched Ainslee’s look of concentration as she put Myra’s instructions into practice.
“Hey, now I feel it,” Ainslee said. She kept staring straight ahead as if she were driving herself toward a finish line, but a smile softened the edges of her mouth. Myra kept Dragon in a trot for several yards after Ainslee seemed to get the correct feel for the trot, and then she slowed back to a walk before Ainslee’s muscles could protest the change in position.
“Whew,” Ainslee said when she and Deacon were walking again. “I’m going to feel that in my thighs tomorrow, but it was worth it.” She reached over and playfully poked Myra in the ribs. “You’re a pretty good teacher. I should have told you what was wrong before this.”
“Yeah, you think?” Myra laughed and swatted at Ainslee’s hand. “If I were really a good teacher, I’d have noticed something was wrong sooner than this, but…”
Ainslee frowned when Myra left her sentence unfinished. “Go on, say it. But…?”
Myra sighed. Their conversation kept moving from joking to irritable seriousness and back. She could barely keep up. She tried to remain positive with her therapy group, approaching their issues obliquely instead of dealing with them head on. She’d never really mentioned Ainslee’s leg and today was the first time she’d felt the sun-warmed metal against her skin. What did she expect? That Ainslee would one day become emotionally whole with a rosy outlook? That she’d forget about her leg and return to her pre-accident self, whoever she’d been before Myra had met her? No, her missing leg defined her now in a way her real one probably never had.
“But you always look uncomfortable, whether you’re walking or riding. I couldn’t tell when it was an issue with your riding position or the adjustments you regularly have to make with your leg.”
Ainslee’s cheeks flushed the way they did when she got mad. Myra was beginning to recognize the sign of frustration and anger all too well. “I am uncomfortable and I always will be. Like I told you in the hayloft, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m living in a body I hate. I’m scared most of the time. I’ll never be back to normal, able to do what I want.”
Myra felt her own anger in response. Not because she couldn’t sympathize with Ainslee, but because the words never and always made her scared, too. Ainslee was seeing herself and her future in the worst possible way. No hope, no way out.
She knew she was letting her fear speak for her, but she couldn’t stop the words, or even temper them. “You’re missing part of your leg, but the rest of you is whole and healthy. Your body, your mind, your emotions—those will all work if you let them. You can’t let this change who you are or destroy your life. Your soul wasn’t located in your shin, you know.”
Ainslee glared at her. “And you think you could do better in my situation? If you couldn’t ride like you do now, or haul bags of grain, or run yourself ragged on your mission to save every h
uman and animal you can find?”
“I don’t…I would still…” Myra stopped. Would she be any different from Ainslee, or would she, too, limp through the rest of her life with a chip on her shoulder? “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t say I’d handle the situation any differently and I shouldn’t have implied that I would. I’m sorry.”
“Of course you’d do better than I am.” Ainslee shook her head with a cross look on her face. Myra wasn’t sure how to read the expression. Disgust, or a grudging respect? She suspected the former. “You’d be leading amputee parades on horseback through the streets of Portland when you weren’t organizing one-legged charity races to buy crutches for all the lame horses in America.”
Myra had to laugh at the images Ainslee put in her mind, even as she acknowledged the truth behind her silly words. Myra knew she’d always find a way to be around the animals she loved, whether she was able to compete and train or had to be led around an arena on a therapy horse. And she’d probably find a way to turn her own disability into a way to help others through similar challenges. Ainslee had captured the person she was, and Myra felt a warm glow inside when she realized how clearly Ainslee saw her after such a short—but intense—acquaintance.
“Being around you makes me want to be a better person,” Ainslee said. “But I’m not ready yet. I’m still feeling sorry for myself. Don’t push me to heal more quickly than I can.”
“I didn’t realize I was pushing,” Myra said. She understood Ainslee needed time to process her transformation in her own way, but Myra wasn’t sure she could control her sense of urgency. What if Ainslee wallowed in frustration and helplessness too long? What if she never recovered any optimism for the future?
“I’m angry with you right now,” Ainslee said. Her frown appeared forced, though, as if she were pushing her beautiful lips into a downturned arch to keep herself from laughing. “Can you teach me how to ride a gallop? I’d like to run off and leave you in the dust.”
Sweet Hearts Page 26