The Bequest

I jog over to where they are, slowing down to figure out how to open the gate, and then again to close it. "Where's your brother?" I ask Izzy once I'm close enough that she'll hear me. "He's really slow at grooming," she says with a superior air.

Of course he is.

"He spent the whole time picking Ollie's hooves." Whitney's smirk is classic.

Ethan hates to be bad at something, so he's scowling when he finally walks out, his horse saddled, but still in a halter.

Steve hands me the reins to the dark brown and white paint gelding he's holding and crosses to check Ollie's saddle and girth. "Nice work, Ethan. You lined it up just like I said, and it's almost tight enough." He tugs on the girth one more time, with a practiced hand, and tucks the ends into a slit on the saddle. "You have the bridle?"

Ethan takes it off his shoulder and passes it to Steve.

I stink at bridling. After about the third time I banged the horse's teeth in my college course, one of my instructors just took over doing it for me. It's a stroke of luck that he got my horse ready while I was changing, but I'm worried about the next time we ride.

"Alright, let me show you how to get on." He loops the reins over Ollie's head. "If you're tall enough, you can just swing up like this." He sticks his toe in the stirrup and his leg moves up and over smoothly. He makes it look absurdly easy. "What if you're short?" Whitney asks.

"I'll give you a boost," Steve says. "Just let me make sure Ollie remembers his job first." He shifts the reins slightly and Ollie swings in a small circle. He backs up. He leaps forward, and Steve clucks. "Just a moment."

It's fascinating to watch him work. He doesn't look the least bit tipsy, which is a relief. Ollie tosses his head a few times, his lighter, almost blonde mane flying up in the air, but after a moment, he settles in, head down, and moves quickly, lightly, and smoothly. "There you go." He swings off and hands the reins to Ethan. "Need help getting on?"

"I don't think so."

To Steve's credit, he stands patiently and assists Ethan. My big boy is clearly a little stiffer and lot less coordinated than he'd like to be, but he's young and he manages. Steve's so matter-of-fact about everything that even Ethan relaxes. "Ollie will stand patiently for you-he's a cutting horse. They do their job, but they'll wait until it's time."

True to his word, Ollie stands, shiny brown head down, quiet and calm.

"It helps a lot to have horses that know what's expected," Steve says. "I trained all these myself, so you don't have to worry about them having bad manners. They all aced kindergarten." "What's mine called?" I ask.

Steve pats my paint on the neck. "This is Snoopy."

I smile. "Snoopy? He was almost all white, and he was a dog."

He shrugs. "I didn't name him."

I don't ask who did. It seems like something he'd offer if he wanted to share.

"Alright, do you need a hand?" His eyes are steady on mine. He must not have overheard much of my call, or he'd be angry with me, probably. I think.

"I'll be alright."

He stays close anyway, which is good. My boot gets caught on something and I nearly reverse directions and head back down. Only Steve's hand on my hip keeps me from complete embarrassment. "There you go."

Neither of the girls need help, which is promising, but also a little irritating. Like Ethan, I don't love looking silly. "Alright," he says. "Follow me over here. We'll head into this empty meadow that Jeff and Kevin already cleared. The ground will be a little hard, but these guys are used to it."

"What's your horse named?" I ask.

"This is Kronk," Whitney says.

"And mine is Maggie," Izzy says.

One mare and three geldings. I did hear that there are two men to every woman up here. I can't help smiling at my own internal joke. "Glad you're having fun," Steve says.

He's not really wrong.

But about half an hour later, I'm not smiling. My lesson, and even Izzy's, has been fine, but Ethan's struggling, and Whitney's on the verge of a meltdown.

"You can't yank on him like that," Steve snaps. "How'd you feel if I stuck a metal bar in your mouth and popped you in the face with it?" He shakes his head. "If you do it again, I'll pull you off." "I'm sorry." Whitney's eyes fill with tears.

"And Ethan, use your feet. They aren't supposed to dangle, and they should never bump into him unless you mean them to. If you can't get him to turn, press on him with your foot with purpose." "Which foot?" Ethan's not usually this patient or calm. I'm proud of him.

"Off," Steve says, but he's not looking at Ethan. He's staring right at Whitney.

She sits back in her saddle like he taught us at the beginning, and Kronk stops dead. Tears are running down her face. "I'm sorry." Her words are barely louder than a whisper. If I weren't right behind her, I wouldn't have heard them at all. "I told you if you did it again, it was time to get off."

She slides off, pulling Kronk out of the small pasture. I swing off Snoopy as well and walk alongside her. "It's alright, sweetheart."

She shakes her head.

"Look at me."

When she does, the hurt in her eyes fills me with fury. Steve is still teaching Ethan and Izzy as if nothing happened. I'd like to throttle him. Wasn't he listening when I said Whitney had only been taking lessons for a year? She's ten, for heaven's sake. "I'm going to "

"Please don't say anything, Mom.” Her eyes plead with me.

"Fine." But I need to kick something. Hard.

After we cool the horses down by walking around the barn a dozen times, and after we tack them down, I'm still simmering.

"Go into the house and check on Gabe, will you?"

Whitney nods and walks toward the house, still dragging. She went from so happy to so upset, all because of how awful Steve was.

They're just finishing, it seems. "You know how to tack down?" Steve asks.

"I can help him," Izzy says. "You don't have to babysit us."

He gives them a few extra directions. "I think we should try to do another lesson tomorrow. If you're going to ride out in two weeks, we'll need to meet pretty often." "Thanks," Ethan says.

"Yeah, thank you so much." Izzy smiles.

"Let me write you a check," I say.

He shakes his head. "My fee is $120 per group lesson, but you can just write me one check at the end of the week."

I fall into step next to him. "Are you sure?"

Once we're far enough away that Ethan and Izzy can't hear us, he stops. "Are you sure you want another one?"

I wasn't expecting him to ask that.

"You look pretty upset." He crosses his arms. "Do you have something to say?"

"She's only ten." I'm a little deflated by him bringing it up head on.

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"If you want that ten-year-old to go out on a trail ride for several days, I can't treat her differently."

I look upward, searching for patience. "You can't mean that."

He frowns. "You disagree?"

"It's my job to build my children up, Mr. Archer, not to tear them down. Yelling at her? Kicking her out of the lesson? That's hardly helpful."

"Your hands were quiet." He holds his left hand in front of him like he's holding the reins. "Your seat isn't perfect, but it's natural enough, and you listened. Whitney's hands were bouncing around already, but when I asked her to tell Kronk to turn, she did this." He pops his hands back. "If I let her keep doing that, if I don't yell, what do you imagine will happen?"

"I'm not sure."

"Nothing the first time. Probably nothing the first twenty times." He leans closer, and his smell washes over me again. "But I'm sure that by the twenty-first, or the twenty-second, it's going to be ugly. This is literally my job. That horse is a patient, hard worker and that's why I chose him for your ten-year-old. But even sweet Kronk will get sick of being abused eventually and buck her off."

I swallow. "Okay."

He softens. "I don't want to make your sweet little girl cry, but I do want to make sure she doesn't break her neck. If she can't control her hands, she can't ride. It's not safe."

I still don't like his methods, but I suppose I can't argue with his reasoning. "You'll let me know when we're closer to it whether she needs to be left at home?" "Of course."

"Alright. Are you available tomorrow?"

"I am if you can do afternoon again, but it needs to be at my place. I won't have time to come here."

I nod, still upset.

"And Mrs. Brooks?" He's got quite a confident stare, for a drunk layabout.

"Yeah?"

"Feel free to use my front porch anytime you want."

And he's back to nice again. I cannot figure him out, but once we get past this dumb cattle drive, hopefully I won't need to anymore.