by Bowes, K T
“Erm...I’m not riding this horse am I?” There was a note of panic in her voice as Hana finally did the maths.
“You can ride this one if you want,” Logan offered, pointing a finger at the white head, one brown eye and one blue wall-eye glinting and threatening from either side of a forehead lightly dappled with grey. “But she’s only ever carried me. I’m not sure if she’d deliberately scare you. She’s got a bit of a reputation as a bitch.”
Hana’s palms began to sweat with the realisation that she was expected to mount up and ride the enormous beast. She wiped them repeatedly on her jeans and fought the uncomfortable terror burgeoning in the pit of her stomach. Logan’s horse waited patiently while he stepped easily up and seated himself in the saddle. Hana glanced at the tan saddle resting snugly on Digger’s back. It was a stock saddle, beautifully embroidered with patterns lovingly stitched into its leather, equipped with buckles and hooks for towing cattle or other horses. The pommel on Digger’s saddle was a winged affair protruding from either side. “I’ve never ridden Western,” she squeaked, her anxiety communicating hidden fear to the horses, who misbehaved with more intention. Even Digger viewed her with the whites of his eyes showing and Sacha whirled on the spot snuffing and champing on the metal bit in her mouth. Hana’s squeaked plea was lost in the general clatter of activity and Logan smiled at her with expectation and a hint of pride. He was showing off. Worse, he was showing her off. It’s going to be a complete disaster and he’ll dump me, probably seconds after his horse does!
The old man led Digger over to the mounting block at a cracking pace and Hana’s moment of doom grew closer. As she passed him, Logan said quietly, “His name’s Jack and he lip reads.”
For a second, Hana felt confusion add to her panic, realising with a flash of inspiration Logan meant the man, not the horse. Jack positioned Digger next to the table and looked around for the quaking rider, indicating furiously with his arm for Hana to come over.
She dragged her feet and searched her addled brain for reasons why it wasn’t going to happen in her lifetime. She bit her lip and cast her green eyes around her wildly, seeing nothing. Jack wordlessly pointed at the makeshift block. With a tiny groan of protest, Hana obeyed, clambering onto the table top on her hands and knees. The horse looked smaller when she stood up, until she looked at the ground, dust spinning away from his fidgeting hooves. Her face paled and Hana felt her blood launch into her feet and away from her brain. She looked at Logan out of the corner of her eye to see if he witnessed her humiliation. He glanced away and made a big show of patting Sacha’s glossy neck.
It was years since Hana mounted a horse and she suffered a momentary mind block. Jack pointed at the stirrup and grabbed at her left ankle, almost pitching her off the table. It began to look safer being on the damn horse. Hana shoved her boot in the stirrup and launched herself with an undignified grunt as Jack rushed around the other side and grabbed hold of the opposite stirrup leather, stabilising the saddle as Hana put her weight into it. It was easier than she remembered.
Her mind was flooded with memories of being a small child trying to mount a big pony, hopping around on one foot while the pony fidgeted and tried to run off. This was certainly easier. Jack yanked on her other leg, encouraging her to put her foot into the stirrup. “They’re a bit too long,” Hana tried to say, but he shook his head furiously and patted the stirrup leather with no intention of changing it. His face held determination and an element of do-as-you’re-bloody-told-woman. He made strange sounds in his throat and it occurred to Hana possibly the old man couldn’t speak either.
Rapid footsteps slapped on concrete, moving quickly from the hotel courtyard and rounding the corner to the stables. The horses started, the jangle of tack adding to the noise as Miriam puffed across, furiously berating Logan as she trotted over to him. “You need to wear a hat, you foolish boy!” she exclaimed. “I keep telling you!”
Logan pointed to his Jackaroo. “This is a hat, Mum.”
Miriam clucked and slapped his calf, turning and pointing towards Hana. “What about your guest though?” She rested her hands on her hips in victory. “You haven’t taken very good care of her now have you?”
Logan looked across at Hana’s bare head and guilt flickered in his eyes. Miriam didn’t wait for an answer. She nipped quickly into the tack room and reappeared seconds later with a riding helmet, which she held up to Hana. “Ignore him,” she indicated Logan with her head. “He’s an idiot and will break his neck one day. He’ll be laid on the mountain waiting for help but he’ll have upset everyone and they’ll just be glad of the peace.”
Waiting until Hana placed the hat on her head and found it fitted snugly, Miriam glared across at her son. Then she leaned close to Hana and stared up into her face. Digger turned his head and snuffed on the back of Miram’s blouse. “This is important to him. He’ll take good care of you?”
Hana nodded and gulped, fear reaching out to touch the other woman’s psyche. Miriam patted her knee. “Don’t be scared. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”
The words left a leaden quality to the air as Miriam started walking back to the house, stopping on the way to do something weird with her hands for the benefit of Jack. He looked pleased and pointed to his mouth, nodding furiously. He dropped his bucket and followed her back to the house like a little puppy trotting behind her.
“What did she say to you?” Logan sounded concerned.
Hana shrugged, unable to read the expression in his grey eyes. “Nothing...just not to be scared. That’s all. She said I’d be fine.”
Logan nodded and lost the crease in his brow. Digger, growing restless wheeled around in a circle and Hana instinctively tightened her reins, causing him to shudder to a halt on the hard surface and back up. Logan trotted up to her, grasping the reins out of her hands and lifting them in the air above the horse’s neck. Instantly he stopped his prancing. “Relax,” ordered Logan, “hold the reins loosely in your weakest hand and if you want to stop, lift them up.” Hana did as he asked. “This is a stock horse,” he went on, “if you pull on the reins and put your legs on him, he’ll go backwards.”
She must have looked horrified, because Logan leaned over and touched her on the shoulder with a reassuring hand. “You’re doing fine. I’ll tell you stuff as we go along. Don’t worry.”
He wheeled away from her and set off towards the open end of the yard, turning before he reached the house and going to a gate into the paddock. Digger strutted off behind him, not needing any encouragement and Hana struggled to relax and seat herself comfortably. The saddle was much more fitted than the English ones Hana was used to, built for hours of riding in rough terrain. It felt strange and unfamiliar. She knew her stirrups were too long and contemplated stopping Logan and shortening them. If the horse got up any speed, she felt certain she would overbalance and fall.
Logan stopped at the gate and turned towards her. He didn’t need to ask if she was all right. He could see she wasn’t. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking crestfallen. His face said maybe it hadn’t been a good idea after all.
“My stirrups are too long for me,” Hana complained, trying hard to keep the whine out of her voice.
Logan moved forward to catch up her reins and steady Digger, indicating with a pointed finger at her leg, “You can shorten them. We tend to ride long because your leg stretches down as you go further and up here, the stockmen ride all day. Change them for now and maybe lengthen them later when you feel more confident.”
Hana struggled, pulling the leather out to clip the buckle higher and then wrestling it back down into its holder. Logan waited patiently until she finished and then leaned down to test her girth. He jostled the horses together. “Put your leg forward and I’ll tighten this.” He sounded disappointed. Hana levered her leg over the leather and Logan tightened the girth straps. Somehow the thought of disappointing him was much more frightening than falling off. She was aware he was taking special care of her and panderi
ng to her fears, watching his face for further signs of exasperation at her frustrating timidity. Sacha’s girth looked dreadfully slack, hanging down underneath her stomach like a belt rather than a fastening device. I bet he’s fed up of me already, Hana thought, punishing herself for her inadequacy.
Digger looked around at him before expelling his excess wind in a noisy gust and Logan stifled a smile at the loud and explosive protest at having his girth tightened. He pushed Hana’s leg back into position, his fingers calm and comforting on her thigh. His touch lingered and Hana fought the urge to grab his hand and plead with him to release her from the promised equine excursion. Logan slapped Digger roundly on the neck. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise,” he smiled nervously. Then he leaned forward and kissed Hana on the lips. He smelled of toothpaste and coffee and she reached for the front of his shirt to steady herself as the horse moved underneath her. Please God, spare me the indignity of breaking my neck in front of this man.
“Come on.” Smiling back at her, Logan moved forward towards the gate. Hana assumed he would dismount to open it but he leaned down further than his own foot and unclipped the clasp on the gate. Urging his mount forward, he used her shoulders and chest to move the metal and then as she pushed her way through unconcerned, he leaned down and held it open for Hana. The gate was made of light metal and after Hana’s horse stepped through, Logan gave it a sturdy shove closed and then repeated the exercise of reaching down and re-clasping it again.
Finally, the journey was underway and they set off across an open paddock which seemed to stretch on uphill for miles. Logan jogged ahead and Hana used the distance between them to practice stopping Digger by raising her reins in the air. He responded quickly, skidding to a reluctant halt each time and Hana’s confidence grew as she sensed the balance of control over the immense piece of horseflesh, reverting to her.
The saddle was surprisingly comfortable and as long as she wasn’t expected to go any faster than a trot, Hana felt she would be able to cope. The wings on the pommel made it impossible for her to rise to the trot and she was forced to bounce around in her seat when Digger jogged to catch up with Sacha. Eventually, she discovered if she flexed her stomach muscles and relaxed her legs even that was comfortable.
Logan slowed as they approached another gate and Hana waited patiently as they went through the same drill. The next paddock contained a number of mares and foals, all either dapple white or black and grey like the Appaloosa Hana rode. The foals were curious and they trotted and bounced over to have a look but the mares were wary and stamped and snorted at them to come away, like mothers in the school playground directing their offspring away from traffic. Logan moved quicker across this paddock. Sacha seemed unperturbed but Digger was unsettled and frisky as he encountered the female majority. The foals made him nervous and he skipped and pulled uncomfortably all the way across the field.
Hana was relieved when they reached another gate and Logan opened it easily. They were quick going through as the foals got braver with curiosity, crowding around them until Hana feared they might escape. She needn’t have worried.
“It’s fine,” Logan reassured her. “They won’t leave their dams.” He was right. The power of maternalism far over-rode the will of the foals and eventually they obeyed the frantic neighing and snorting of their mothers, accompanied by a nip on the hocks by one of the mares designated bad cop. They sprang away from the gate, herded reluctantly back to the middle of the paddock where they surged around with excitement, bucking, kicking and running aimlessly.
The gate safely shut, Logan wheeled around on Sacha and they headed sharply downhill, rounding the bottom of a steep slope, moving closer to the imposing bush which oversaw the property. Once inside the trees, Hana was surprised at how quickly the temperature changed, dropping a few degrees as the native palms and canopy cut out the breeze and air currents, causing the sun to shine through the deep shades of green in dappled bursts of patterned light. It was darker in the bush and took a few moments for Hana’s eyes to adjust from the brightness outside. Digger plodded confidently onwards, picking his way along the track and thankfully avoiding the holes and stones without direction from his rider. Hana let him find his own path, figuring he probably knew the route much better than her. She left her reins slack on his neck, not trusting herself to yank them by accident if he stumbled suddenly and jab him in the mouth.
Logan looked back occasionally to check she was ok but pushed on at a brisk rate. Unexpectedly he skidded to a stop on a sharp downhill and called out, “Whooooa,” in a long tone, which filled Hana with alarm. Digger scrabbled for grip on the track and Hana grabbed hold of the wings at the front of the saddle, thankful for their presence. The buckle from one of the stirrups dug into her thigh, beginning to rub up a bruise. Digger’s chin was practically resting on the backside of Logan’s mare and Hana prayed silently she wouldn’t kick in protest. Logan pointed downwards, towards Sacha’s front feet and Hana’s eyes widened in horror at the gaping hole in front of them, which looked like a giant bite had been taken out of the earth. There was nowhere to go and Hana wondered how she was going to be able to turn around but Logan remained in place, calmly examining the washout. “Remember those rains a few weeks back? The water course has come through here pretty fast.” Logan turned in his saddle to face Hana, greeted by her frightened green eyes.
“Surely we need to turn around,” she said hopefully.
“No,” Logan countered, “we’re going down this. Leave your reins long and lean back. Hold onto the saddle if you can.” Hana must have communicated abject refusal in her face because he squashed it immediately. “Look, you’ll be fine. Just let the horse do the work. They do bum slides all the time, just balance and let him go. I’ll go first.”
With that, he was gone, plunging over the edge to the bottom. The drop was sheer and an avalanche of earth followed him, catching in Sacha’s tail and covering her thighs with orange clay. It was amazing to watch. Sacha used her front feet to balance herself, pointing her body backwards almost into a sitting position and using her back legs as a rudder. As soon as her front feet hit solid ground, she elegantly jumped forward and was upright again. It was over in a flash. Hana’s stomach lurched into her mouth as she watched Logan and the mare pick their way up the other side, leaping and bouncing as they scrabbled through the loose earth. The upward climb looked almost more terrifying than the downward, Logan leaning forward to help Sacha gain grip. He sat solidly in the saddle, his reins loose in his right hand looking casual and unconcerned. Hana felt sure she would be unseated on the uphill, even if she survived the slalom down. “I’m not doing that,” she said to the horse and he flicked his ears in response.
Picking her way between the edge of the precipice and a punga tree which clung determinedly in the loose soil, Sacha’s legs took Logan to the top of the bank, turning sharply left and coming to a halt facing Hana expectantly across the void. Instead of looking distressed, the horse oozed exhilaration, tossing her head and dancing around as though she would love to do it all again. Hana felt sick. She turned in her saddle to look back, contemplating turning around on the narrow track and trying to find her way back to the safety of the hotel. “I don’t want to be doing bum sliding on a horse, not at my age,” she hissed. Quietly she consigned her forty-something year old self to the scrap heap and the realms of zimmer frames and liquidised food.
Logan saw her glance behind and a look of panic crossed his face. “Hana, no!” he shouted and there was impatience in his voice. He saw the dilemma in her and took matters into his own hands. Calling, “Hold on tight!” he put two fingers into his mouth and emitted a sharp whistle.
Luckily Hana was already holding on because Digger obeyed immediately, lurching down the bank with gusto and expertise. Hana lost the reins completely and one of her stirrups, gripping onto the saddle through some primeval need to survive. Down they plunged, slipping and sliding and then lurching up again, not having waited at the bottom to recover. Hana had
absolutely no control. Her hat tipped forward over her eyes and she swung and swayed around like a rag doll in the saddle. She felt like an idiot which in turn made her cross, so that when she crested the top of the bank to safety, her bruised ego made her livid.
Hana pushed back her hat and brushed escaped red curls out of her eyes with the back of her hand, glaring at Logan the whole time. “That was a mean thing to do!” She searched his face for signs of mirth, determined if she found him laughing at her she would dismount and walk back by herself. In her rage, Hana irrationally disregarded the sprawling gash in the track behind her and the issue of getting off the horse. If Logan laughed, she would leave.
Her eyes flashed with anger at Logan’s concerned face. She saw only concern for her and felt herself thaw slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning across and taking her hand in his, “I didn’t know about the washout and I needed you to come over it.” He pointed at the horse who puffed after his exertion. “He was coming anyway, whether you liked it or not. He wouldn’t have gone back with you alone.”
Hana’s green eyes flashed dangerously like emeralds. Logan removed his hat with his free hand and wiped his brow using the hem of his tee shirt. He looked ruffled and handsome and Hana was reminded of a character from a cowboy series she watched as a child back in England. Logan’s brown stomach was exposed by the action, defined muscle showing through soft skin and a delicious line of black hair which disappeared into his jeans. Flustered, Hana looked away.
Logan’s grey eyes sought her gaze and Hana felt powerless to stop the windows of her soul being flung open for him. Fear made her vulnerable and defenceless against him. Her stomach plunged as though she was on a roller coaster and it was an uncomfortably exhilarating sensation. She felt like everything was being laid bare. Logan raised his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb, his other fingers fluttering nervously against the side of her face. Hana forced herself to breathe and then looked down, desperate to break the connection in case she involuntarily revealed more than she wanted.