by B. G. Thomas
Luckily, I was wearing the cowboy boots—although mine were the cheap thrift-store variety—the Black Bear website had insisted we’d need. Something about the heel and the stirrup?
And apparently protection from snake bites!
“I want Andromeda,” Crystal cried.
“Dusty,” called Robin.
Todd joined in. “I want King.”
Cole laughed and said he thought he could arrange that, and did Amy have a preference?
“Galavant?” she said almost shyly.
“Galavant it is,” Cole said. Damn, was he charming about it. I could see how he melted Amy’s heart. And he was gay!
It felt a little funny knowing my daughter and my extended family had favorite horses. I felt left out, and I didn’t know why. Hell, I didn’t even want to ride a horse!
“What about you?” Cole asked.
Me? I’d just been thinking I didn’t want to ride. But how did I tell this man that?
“He’s afraid of horses,” Crystal chimed in.
Great, I thought. Just great!
“Afraid?” Cole gave me a lopsided smile. “Big daddy like you? Nah.” He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”
I felt my face heat up. I wanted to deny my fear, but how could I? Especially when it came time to climb onto one of those huge beasts? Couldn’t I just go to my room? I didn’t care that it hadn’t been made up yet. Hey! Swimming. I could go swimming. But Cole was already leading us out of the building at that point, and I found myself following along.
“A horse threw him off when he was a boy,” Amy explained. “Broke his arm and hurt his back.”
“Ah, okay.” Cole nodded at me knowingly. “I knew it. You’re not afraid of horses. You’re afraid of the horse that threw you. And I am willing to bet he’s not here.”
“Well,” I said, and my throat clicked, “I sure don’t want to be thrown again.”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t either. It sucks. And a broken arm? Of course that would make anyone think twice about getting on a horse again. I almost got my tailbone broken once.” He reached up and held his chin between thumb and forefinger—a chin with the barest, finely trimmed goatee; not too much more than stubble. Cole looked at me thoughtfully. “You want a good horse, not a wimpy one. No old-lady horse for you, no way. But not a wild one either.”
An old-lady horse sounded good to me, but as I looked at the masculine young man, I suddenly didn’t want to seem “wimpy” to Cole. I certainly didn’t want to seem less masculine than a gay man.
“Gentle and sweet,” Cole continued as we walked. “But ready to go hell-bent when you’re ready.” He smiled, and those dark, exotic eyes took on a twinkle. “Mystic,” he said.
We had reached the stables, and the others, save for Amy, had already run ahead. I was impressed when we got inside. There were a lot more stalls than I had imagined. And it was very clean.
“How many horses do you have here?” I asked.
“Altogether we have fifty-nine,” Cole replied. “There are two more buildings like this one, plus a couple of much smaller ones.”
I whistled. Suddenly, I understood the price tag for a week at Black Bear Ranch. I’d known someone who’d owned a horse, and he’d had to sell the animal. Said a horse was a money pit with its upkeep, food, vet appointments, and more. So how much must it cost to take care of nearly sixty horses? And that wasn’t even counting their initial cost.
I stood and watched the kids. It made me smile. They knew what they were doing. They’d quickly found the names of their horses on a huge dry-erase board, and they wrote their names next to their horse’s to indicate which animal they’d be riding. Then they picked up their horses’ saddles and hauled them down into the depths of the stable. Crystal’s Andromeda was only a few stalls down, and I marveled at how fearlessly she opened its gate and went inside.
I couldn’t imagine myself doing the same. I turned and locked eyes with Amy.
“I’ll help you,” she said.
“No, no,” Cole replied. “You take care of Galavant. I’ve got Big Daddy here.”
I felt a funny little quiver between my shoulder blades and tried to decide if I liked Cole’s apparent nickname for me or if it was pissing me off. Right now, it could go either way.
But hell, the way he was looking at me. My insides were churning. I felt almost naked. What was going on?
Cole turned and led me almost to the end of the first row, then stopped where a dark horse had its head sticking out over the stall’s gate. “This is Mystic.” Cole reached out and stroked the animal’s face.
Something happened then that’s hard to explain. When I looked at Mystic, the horse was looking right at me.
Its eyes were a deep chocolate brown (almost as dark as Cole’s). The depth of those eyes was more than their color. I saw intelligence there. I don’t know what I’d expected. Goldfish eyes? The animal was truly looking at me, into my eyes, as if it were assessing me. It tilted its head, and, I swear, it looked deeper. Its gaze seemed to be delving into me. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I felt hypnotized.
Then it appeared to nod, and I was released. I let out a long breath that I didn’t know I’d been holding.
What an incredible experience.
Cole placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “She likes you.”
“Sh-she does?” I asked.
I was finally able to view the animal as a whole, and I saw just how beautiful a creature she was. She had a head that was mostly brown—an almost reddish brown—except for a path of white down the center of her face, and a long mane that was mostly white with a little black right at the top. Most of the rest of her was white, except for her brown chest, hindquarters, a few patches, and a few matching spots. When she flicked her tail, I saw it was mostly black as well, with a touch of white.
“Appaloosa?” I asked.
“Spotted Saddlebred,” he said. “She’s registered as an American Saddlebred. More often than not they’re show horses rather than ranch horses, but she came to us needing a home and there was no way we could turn her away. Not such a magnificent horse.”
I was enthralled. Mystic was magnificent. This creature was not the terror I had conjured up from my dreams, but something almost… why… sacred. No wonder people fell in love with horses. Referred to them as noble beasts.
“I c-can’t ride this animal,” I said. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Of course you can.” Cole squeezed my shoulder. He was so close to me I could feel his breath in my ear, his chest against my back. “It would be most right. I truly believe God made horses to be our companions. God made them to be ridden. And set us to be their caretakers.”
“You do?” Hadn’t I just been thinking Mystic was sacred? Me? Who didn’t believe in God or such mumbo jumbo. But Cole? He believed “God” made horses? And made us to be their caretakers?
“You believe in God?” I asked.
“Yes,” Cole answered. “Not my mother’s God. Not some old man on high, sitting on a giant marble throne, ready to pass down judgment. That doesn’t make any sense to me. I can’t even imagine what God is. But I do believe. I don’t try and put It in a box.”
“It?”
“Yes,” Cole said. “’Cause God isn’t a man. How could that be?”
It was a strange, timeless instant as I stood there between Mystic and Cole, feeling things I couldn’t understand and listening to a gay man talk about God. To say I had never expected to be in such a situation doesn’t begin to explain it. My mother had always told me homosexuals were evil—
(“Not my mother’s God.”)
—yet here I was in the presence of something that felt sacred, listening to Cole—a gay man—talk about the sacred.
I was feeling… I didn’t know what. The moment was charged and yet… peaceful. It was good. I wanted it to last forever. I relaxed into Cole, knowing I shouldn’t, but unable—unwilling?—to stop myself. It felt good to let go.
I real
ized I liked it.
“Are you ready?” Cole asked, and it took me a few seconds to understand what he meant.
“I—I guess,” I muttered.
“Mr. Baxter, trust me. Okay?”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Mystic wants you to ride her. She loves it. She’s accepted you—I knew she would—and now she’s ready. See how she’s starting to sort of prance? Her tail flicking? She’s ready. She’s ready for you to be ready.”
“You mean all of this, don’t you?” I asked.
“I do.”
I took a deep breath. Looked at Mystic. Looked at Cole.
How could I tell him no? I glanced back at Mystic.
How could I tell her no?
“Okay.”
“I’ll get her saddle,” Cole told me and was gone.
Immediately, I felt the lack of his presence, but Mystic somehow made everything all right. I reached out and, tentatively, touched her face and marveled at how soft it was. And warm. So alive.
I don’t know what I had expected, but this vital “aliveness” beneath my palm wasn’t it.
Then Cole was back, and he opened the stall door and led me in beside Mystic, told her all was right in the world, and began to saddle her.
Cole showed me how and told me that next time he wanted me to do it, but not to worry. He’d be right there.
“You ready?” he asked again, and, of course, this time I knew what he meant.
“You can do it, Pops,” said Crystal.
I looked up to see her leading a lovely gray horse along the aisle outside the stall. Amy was there as well, with a pure black horse. She was smiling—I could see Em in her smile—and then she nodded.
“Okay,” I told Cole, and he took Mystic’s reins, leading her out into the bright, warm afternoon.
“NOW, BEFORE you climb on, talk to her. Introduce yourself.”
Talk to her? Introduce myself?
But I could see in Cole’s eyes that he meant it.
I took a deep breath and turned back to Mystic. And she was looking at me. Totally.
I found I was almost trembling.
“It’s okay,” Amy said from astride her horse, mere feet away. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
But I wasn’t afraid. I don’t know what I was, but afraid wasn’t it.
Awe, I thought. I was much closer to awe.
“All right,” I said and cleared my throat. I reached out and hesitantly stroked her side. The hair was not quite as soft as on her face, but she was so warm. I ran my hand down her neck and did it again. I loved the feel of her. So different from any other animal I had ever touched. “Hey, Mystic, you sure are a pretty girl. I’m Neil.”
Did Mystic nod?
“Good, good,” Cole said. “Now remember always to mount from the left. Get your foot up.”
Easier said than done. The stirrup was high. Really high. And I’m a tall man. How had the others managed it? To get my foot up into it was awkward. How ridiculous did I look with one foot on the ground and the other so high my ass was sticking out….
Damn!
“There, that’s it. Grab the horn and bounce on your right foot and…. Let me get you a mounting block.”
“A what?”
“It’s like a step stool. Even Olympic riders use them. No shame in it, and it saves the saddle and the horse’s withers.”
“No,” I said quickly. For some reason I didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of Cole.
Determined, I gave Cole’s instructions a try and was embarrassed to see I wasn’t going to make it on my first attempt.
Suddenly Cole’s hand was on my butt, quick as could be, and with only a slight push I was up, leg over, and settling into the saddle. I could feel the heat where Cole had been so personal, and my balls drew up tight.
I gasped and didn’t know if it was because of the intimate touch or the fact I was now on noble Mystic.
Maybe both?
CHAPTER 4: First Time
COLE PUT the reins in my right hand and explained how they worked: pull back to slow or stop her, left and right to guide, a slight, easy kick with my heels against her sides to urge her on.
At first, the ride was a bit unsettling. It was like being in a rocking boat. I’ll be shaken apart in no time. How did people ride for hours?
“Scooch up a little bit,” Cole said. “Scoot your butt forward.”
I wasn’t sure if I was doing what he wanted, but I tried.
“Good. That’s it.”
And almost immediately, I felt more comfortable.
“Her bridle is bitless,” Cole said. “That means there’s no bit, the metal thing that goes in a horse’s mouth. I don’t like them and neither do the Clarks. The horse’s mouth gets tough, and they stop responding. Since we get a lot of novice riders, we want to make things as pleasant and painless for the horses as possible. Most people tend to haul on the reins in a pinch. So many people who come to dude ranches don’t have a clue what they’re doing—”
“Like me?” I interjected.
“You’re doing fine so far. You’re on a very good horse too… one of my favorites. Mystic is good. She is very responsive. Some of our older horses are pretty stubborn. Now I’m going to get my horse. I’ll take the reins and tie you to this rail here, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
I felt a flash of fear, but Cole was so confident I pushed it down. Amy rode up. “I’ll watch him,” she said.
“All right,” Cole said. “You keep the reins, and I’ll be right back.”
Cole dashed off, and I watched him go. He was pure grace, like a horse himself. When he entered the stables, I turned and saw Amy watching me. “What?” I asked.
She shrugged, her red hair catching the sun. “Nothing,” she said. “Why don’t we walk them a bit?”
“What about Cole?” Do this without Cole?
“He’ll catch up,” she assured me. “Come on. Just tap Mystic’s sides slightly with your heels and she’ll go.”
I did and was surprised at how fast Mystic started moving.
“Pull back a bit and she’ll slow down,” Amy said. “‘Whoa’ works too.”
“You really do say whoa?” I asked, and Mystic stopped, her ears flicking.
Amy chuckled. “You really do.”
So we went, very slowly, down a road curving off around the buildings, the kids ahead.
“What do you think?” Amy asked.
I flashed on Cole, all grace and masculinity. Those deep brown eyes. His smile. Not the least bit effeminate. Not “swishy” at all.
“Oh, Pop, please” came my daughter’s voice in my head. “What’d you think? Gay guys wear dresses or something?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s not what I expected.”
“She,” Amy said, and I realized she was talking about the horse, not Cole. I blushed and hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“I’ll tell you in a bit,” I said.
It wasn’t long before Cole was at our side. He was riding a lovely dark brown horse with a black mane. “Look at you, Big Daddy!” Cole’s smile put his website photo to shame.
I tried to smile.
“Looking fine. Now remember, Mystic is a good horse. I can ride her without even using the reins. Just a little pressure with your legs to one side or another, and she’ll move. Amy, you ride ahead. Right now, we’ve got Neil and Mystic blocked in.”
“You got it,” she said, and with a slight kick of her heels and a clucking sound, she and Galavant moved off.
I looked after her and didn’t know if I wanted her to stay or was relieved she’d gone ahead. I was feeling like such a total incompetent and didn’t want her to witness me doing anything stupid.
Not that I wanted to do anything stupid in front of Cole.
But then looking at him I somehow felt as if it would be okay. There was no judgment in this young man. He was too kind. I felt a twinge of guilt.
“Now put a little pressure on her righ
t side.”
I tried it, and Mystic immediately started turning to the right. “Whoa!” I said in surprise, and when she came to a sudden stop, I realized she had responded once again.
“See what a good girl she is?” Cole stated.
I nodded. Yes. But I could hardly think of her as a “girl.” She was more than that.
“Do you have a hat?” Cole asked me.
“No,” I said. I hated them. My hair was nothing but a mop, and no cut could control it. I looked like an idiot with my hair as short as Cole’s, and if I wore a baseball cap, in no time at all I had hat hair from hell.
“We’re going to have to get you something or you’ll be burned up by the end of the week.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“I’d loan you one of mine, but I can see your head is bigger. You must be a lot smarter than me.”
“Em said I had a thick skull,” I said.
“Em?”
“My wife—” My throat caught. “She’s… she passed away two years ago,” I explained, then wondered why. It was none of his business.
“I’m sorry,” Cole said.
I nodded.
“Neil?”
I turned to him.
“Really. I am.”
I looked into his face and saw those eyes, usually filled with mirth, now deep with sincerity, and saw he did mean it. “I—” My throat almost caught again. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Now what do you say we ride?”
“Okay.”
“A little kick with your heels. It doesn’t take much,” he said.
And we were off.
Mostly.
For some reason, I kept making Mystic stop, and I wasn’t sure how.
“When you turn her reins,” Cole said, “you’re pulling back.”
“I am?” It didn’t feel like it.
“Keep your hand lower. Almost rest it there at her mane. And try not to grip the saddle horn. No need to white knuckle it, Big Daddy.”
I blushed again.
“You’re doing fine,” he said. “Rest your left hand on your thigh. Yeah, that’s right. You are right-handed?”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound terrified.