me, anybody who throws a leg over a horse’s back should wear an approved helmet like this one, one hundred percent of the time.” She pulled one of the bike-type helmets out of a box, brushed Lizzie’s hair back from her face, and settled it gently in place. “Hm. That’s not the right shape for you, is it, Lizzie? Looks like you’re not really an oval kind of gal. We’ll try a manufacturer who swings round.”
She didn’t seem curious about Lizzie’s lack of response, suggesting that Stace had filled her in. For a change, Shelby was grateful. Back home, the gossip got them sidelong looks, pity, and people who talked slow and loud. Here, it got Lizzie the space and lack of pressure she needed.
“How about this one?” Torie asked, pulling out another contender and tucking Lizzie into it. The helmet was a big, round shell in a blah beige color, like an overturned salad bowl. There was no visor or anything, just an adjustable nylon harness that fastened under her chin and a wheel at the back that snugged it onto her head.
Torie fiddled with the adjustments and the webbed harness, buckled Lizzie securely into the contraption, and turned her to face Shelby. “What does Mom think?”
Mom thinks it makes her look like a roll-on deodorant
. “Is it super safe?”
“Crash-tested and approved with all the alphabet soup agencies.” The younger woman winked, apparently reading her mind, or close to it. “Don’t worry, finding the perfect helmet cover is the fun part. We’re just getting the fit right first. Once you’ve got a shell, you can put everything from a Western hat to a jockey’s polka dots on it. Better yet, you can switch out different styles when you get bored.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I love it.” Kneeling down in front of Lizzie and getting nice and close to her, so she’d be blocking out the overwhelming peripherals, Shelby said, “How does it feel, kiddo? Is it comfortable?”
Because it was important, she made herself wait out the response this time, zipping the urge to fill the silence with background babble. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Lizzie gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Relief washed through Shelby, and she felt giddier than the moment deserved, maybe, but still. “Do you want to pick out a cover for it?”
And, wonder of wonders, she got another nod, this one faster and more definite. And for a second, she saw a hint of the old Lizzie in those big brown eyes.
Forcing herself not to overreact and scare her kid back into hiding, she kissed her cheek. “Good job. Let’s see what Miss Torie has for us.”
A fun fifteen minutes later, they settled on two helmet covers: a straw hat like the ones the wranglers wore, and a stretchy pink nylon cover that made the helmet look like a horse’s head, with pricked ears, a yarn mane, big cartoon eyes, and nostrils painted on the visor. The whole effect was one of a slightly startled
My Pretty Pony
, or maybe
Puff the Magic Dragon
. Which was still way better than a roll-on.
“Boots next,” Torie declared, “then grooming supplies. And then how about something for you, Mom?”
“Jeans and a few shirts, definitely, then maybe a pair of boots.”
“Style or comfort first?”
“Both?”
“Ariat,” Torie decided. “Justin or Abilene might work for you, too, but let’s start with the Ariats, as they have killer arch support.”
“Got anything on sale?”
“Ah, a woman after my own heart. We’ll get you hooked up.”
Torie was as good as her word, supplying them both with cowboy clothes and all the trimmings, to the point that it was getting on to dinner by the time Shelby and Lizzie emerged from Bootsie’s, hauling bags and feeling all Westerny.
Lizzie would’ve done the Easter Bunny proud in a sparkly pink belt, purple kid-size boots that Torie assured them would be great for riding, and a straw hat with a bright pink band. Shelby, on the other hand, had kept it pretty subdued on the theory that she was
She didn’t seem curious about Lizzie’s lack of response, suggesting that Stace had filled her in. For a change, Shelby was grateful. Back home, the gossip got them sidelong looks, pity, and people who talked slow and loud. Here, it got Lizzie the space and lack of pressure she needed.
“How about this one?” Torie asked, pulling out another contender and tucking Lizzie into it. The helmet was a big, round shell in a blah beige color, like an overturned salad bowl. There was no visor or anything, just an adjustable nylon harness that fastened under her chin and a wheel at the back that snugged it onto her head.
Torie fiddled with the adjustments and the webbed harness, buckled Lizzie securely into the contraption, and turned her to face Shelby. “What does Mom think?”
Mom thinks it makes her look like a roll-on deodorant
. “Is it super safe?”
“Crash-tested and approved with all the alphabet soup agencies.” The younger woman winked, apparently reading her mind, or close to it. “Don’t worry, finding the perfect helmet cover is the fun part. We’re just getting the fit right first. Once you’ve got a shell, you can put everything from a Western hat to a jockey’s polka dots on it. Better yet, you can switch out different styles when you get bored.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I love it.” Kneeling down in front of Lizzie and getting nice and close to her, so she’d be blocking out the overwhelming peripherals, Shelby said, “How does it feel, kiddo? Is it comfortable?”
Because it was important, she made herself wait out the response this time, zipping the urge to fill the silence with background babble. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Lizzie gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Relief washed through Shelby, and she felt giddier than the moment deserved, maybe, but still. “Do you want to pick out a cover for it?”
And, wonder of wonders, she got another nod, this one faster and more definite. And for a second, she saw a hint of the old Lizzie in those big brown eyes.
Forcing herself not to overreact and scare her kid back into hiding, she kissed her cheek. “Good job. Let’s see what Miss Torie has for us.”
A fun fifteen minutes later, they settled on two helmet covers: a straw hat like the ones the wranglers wore, and a stretchy pink nylon cover that made the helmet look like a horse’s head, with pricked ears, a yarn mane, big cartoon eyes, and nostrils painted on the visor. The whole effect was one of a slightly startled
My Pretty Pony
, or maybe
Puff the Magic Dragon
. Which was still way better than a roll-on.
“Boots next,” Torie declared, “then grooming supplies. And then how about something for you, Mom?”
“Jeans and a few shirts, definitely, then maybe a pair of boots.”
“Style or comfort first?”
“Both?”
“Ariat,” Torie decided. “Justin or Abilene might work for you, too, but let’s start with the Ariats, as they have killer arch support.”
“Got anything on sale?”
“Ah, a woman after my own heart. We’ll get you hooked up.”
Torie was as good as her word, supplying them both with cowboy clothes and all the trimmings, to the point that it was getting on to dinner by the time Shelby and Lizzie emerged from Bootsie’s, hauling bags and feeling all Westerny.
Lizzie would’ve done the Easter Bunny proud in a sparkly pink belt, purple kid-size boots that Torie assured them would be great for riding, and a straw hat with a bright pink band. Shelby, on the other hand, had kept it pretty subdued on the theory that she was
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