of hands. “I appreciate the invite, though.”
“Maybe next week.” Stace winked. “There are a few single guys there I bet would love to meet you.”
No, thanks. I’m sticking to Rule Twelve
. “How about we meet some ponies, instead?”
“The good news is that horses and men aren’t mutually exclusive. At least not out here in cowboy country.” Stace led the way into the barn, gesturing for Shelby and Lizzie to follow. Once inside, she held out a hand to Lizzie. “So, what do you say? You want to learn how to halter Peppermint and lead him out of his stall?”
Lizzie hesitated, but at an encouraging nudge from Shelby, crossed the short distance to Stace’s side. She glanced back a couple of times.
“I’ll be right here,” Shelby assured her.
“I love your helmet,” Stace said, getting Lizzie’s attention. “How about you put it on? It’s a good idea to wear one all the time when you’re around horses, not just when you’re riding them.”
Shelby started forward to help, but Stace held up a hand to stop her. “No. No offense, but she needs to do this on her own.” To Lizzie, she said, “I get that you’ve got SM, and I won’t pester you about talking. But I do need to know that you can follow my instructions, because that’s how you’re going to learn how to ride. More, you’re going to have to communicate here—not with me, but with Peppermint. You need to tell him when to stop, when to go, when to turn, and what direction to go . . . not with words, but with your reins and your legs. So . . . do you think you can do that for me?”
Shelby held her breath. She didn’t remember the last time Lizzie had “talked” to a stranger, even just with yes and no. But maybe—hopefully—the horses would be the key.
After a pause, Lizzie put down her brushes, put on her helmet, and fumbled to click the chin strap into place.
Stace grinned and rapped her knuckles on the top of the helmet. “That’ll do, Lizzie. That’ll do just fine. Okay, let’s get Peppermint out of his stall. Please hand me the halter and lead over there, hanging on his door.”
Shelby hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it came out in a whoosh, along with the relief of realizing that Gertie was right. Stace was as good as any of the aides who had worked with Lizzie back home. Maybe better, at least in this context. That should’ve been a given, because Gertie was awesome, but still, Shelby had been harboring doubts.
Now, finally feeling like things were getting under way, she leaned back against the wall, a little surprised to find herself right beside Sassy’s stall. Attracted by the conversation, or maybe the hope of a treat, the chestnut poked her nose through the bars. Shelby stroked the soft nose, feeling the long whiskers tickle her fingers, and said conversationally, “How are you doing, Mama? About ready for that baby to be born, I’m guessing.”
“Any time now,” Stace put in. “She’s at three hundred and twenty days. The average is three forty, but it’s a pretty big range. It’s more about development than actual timing with horses, as foals cook until they’re done, and then they come out. I’ve seen some mares go over the year mark.”
“Ouch.”
“They didn’t look too happy about it, that’s for sure. And a couple of those babies were huge.” Turning back to Lizzie, Stace showed her how to hold the halter. “Okay, now we’re going to open the stall door, and you’re going to put the halter on his head. Ready? Here we go.” She opened the stall door fully to reveal Peppermint. Just as he had every time they patted him through the stall guard, the fat roan pony stood like a statue, ears pricked forward as if to say, “Ooh. I like little girls!”
But suddenly, Lizzie’s face went rigid and her knuckles whitened on the halter.
Shelby’s stomach gave an
uh-oh
clench.
Come on, baby. You can do it
.
“That’s it,” Stace said brightly. “Just put the
“Maybe next week.” Stace winked. “There are a few single guys there I bet would love to meet you.”
No, thanks. I’m sticking to Rule Twelve
. “How about we meet some ponies, instead?”
“The good news is that horses and men aren’t mutually exclusive. At least not out here in cowboy country.” Stace led the way into the barn, gesturing for Shelby and Lizzie to follow. Once inside, she held out a hand to Lizzie. “So, what do you say? You want to learn how to halter Peppermint and lead him out of his stall?”
Lizzie hesitated, but at an encouraging nudge from Shelby, crossed the short distance to Stace’s side. She glanced back a couple of times.
“I’ll be right here,” Shelby assured her.
“I love your helmet,” Stace said, getting Lizzie’s attention. “How about you put it on? It’s a good idea to wear one all the time when you’re around horses, not just when you’re riding them.”
Shelby started forward to help, but Stace held up a hand to stop her. “No. No offense, but she needs to do this on her own.” To Lizzie, she said, “I get that you’ve got SM, and I won’t pester you about talking. But I do need to know that you can follow my instructions, because that’s how you’re going to learn how to ride. More, you’re going to have to communicate here—not with me, but with Peppermint. You need to tell him when to stop, when to go, when to turn, and what direction to go . . . not with words, but with your reins and your legs. So . . . do you think you can do that for me?”
Shelby held her breath. She didn’t remember the last time Lizzie had “talked” to a stranger, even just with yes and no. But maybe—hopefully—the horses would be the key.
After a pause, Lizzie put down her brushes, put on her helmet, and fumbled to click the chin strap into place.
Stace grinned and rapped her knuckles on the top of the helmet. “That’ll do, Lizzie. That’ll do just fine. Okay, let’s get Peppermint out of his stall. Please hand me the halter and lead over there, hanging on his door.”
Shelby hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it came out in a whoosh, along with the relief of realizing that Gertie was right. Stace was as good as any of the aides who had worked with Lizzie back home. Maybe better, at least in this context. That should’ve been a given, because Gertie was awesome, but still, Shelby had been harboring doubts.
Now, finally feeling like things were getting under way, she leaned back against the wall, a little surprised to find herself right beside Sassy’s stall. Attracted by the conversation, or maybe the hope of a treat, the chestnut poked her nose through the bars. Shelby stroked the soft nose, feeling the long whiskers tickle her fingers, and said conversationally, “How are you doing, Mama? About ready for that baby to be born, I’m guessing.”
“Any time now,” Stace put in. “She’s at three hundred and twenty days. The average is three forty, but it’s a pretty big range. It’s more about development than actual timing with horses, as foals cook until they’re done, and then they come out. I’ve seen some mares go over the year mark.”
“Ouch.”
“They didn’t look too happy about it, that’s for sure. And a couple of those babies were huge.” Turning back to Lizzie, Stace showed her how to hold the halter. “Okay, now we’re going to open the stall door, and you’re going to put the halter on his head. Ready? Here we go.” She opened the stall door fully to reveal Peppermint. Just as he had every time they patted him through the stall guard, the fat roan pony stood like a statue, ears pricked forward as if to say, “Ooh. I like little girls!”
But suddenly, Lizzie’s face went rigid and her knuckles whitened on the halter.
Shelby’s stomach gave an
uh-oh
clench.
Come on, baby. You can do it
.
“That’s it,” Stace said brightly. “Just put the
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