Once she could breathe without panting, she scooted across the top layer of hay. She lay on her stomach near the edge and propped her chin on her crossed arms. Anna was right—she could see the whole farm from here. The door to the indoor arena was open, and every once in a while she saw Myra walk past inside, gesturing and talking as she taught her two students. Ainslee wanted to be out there with them, but she’d needed the climb more than she needed the riding lesson.
The physical effort gave her a clarity she’d been lacking for a long time. She had traced the thread of her outburst in the grooming stall back to its source. She was relieved to finally understand the trigger and the course her emotions had taken, as if she finally figured out the logic behind tides instead of simply being tossed about by waves. Unfortunately, the revelations she was reaching were uncomfortable ones.
Myra was at the heart of it. Ainslee could only see distant glimpses of her now, as she walked by the arena door, but her mind conjured up the picture of Myra carrying bags of grain as she and Kate playfully raced each other to empty the truck. Ainslee saw every detail. Myra’s brown hair bleached gold by the sun, her strong forearms and elegant, work-roughened hands. She was everything Ainslee used to be. Everything Ainslee wanted. Not wanted to be, but wanted to have. She’d started to follow Myra on instinct, drawn to her beauty and her strength, before she remembered who she was now. Ainslee no longer had things to offer Myra like Kate did. She couldn’t play the same games or run the same races.
Ainslee clearly saw the progression of her emotions for the first time in ages. Watching Myra, brushing her skin when she took the saddle from her, walking out of the tack room and hearing doors slam on every aspect of her life. Ainslee understood why she had gotten to the point of throwing the hoof pick. She wasn’t proud of how she had reacted, and the memory of Myra smiling in the sunshine would taunt her for a long time, but at least she understood. She shifted on the hay, stretching muscles that were already beginning to tighten, and felt a small part of her old strength returning as she finally faced some of her new weaknesses.
Chapter Five
Myra jogged out of the barn after Drew and Blake had finished untacking and grooming their horses. Blake had trotted Frosty for several circuits around the ring, and she knew he’d be happy to share the exciting news with his daughter when she called tonight. Drew was still moving at Spot’s slow walk, relying on the support of sidewalkers until he regained more strength and mobility, but he had followed her instructions with a palpable intensity. She had originally thought he might be defiant and reluctant to listen to her, but she was quickly realizing that she’d need to rein him in instead. She admired his determination to improve, and it was up to her to temper it so he didn’t aggravate his injury instead of healing it. She had managed to lose herself in the lesson for the most part, drawn as she was to her students and their progress, but she had also been acutely aware of every car she could see driving in or out of the parking lot. Ainslee hadn’t left yet.
She skidded to a halt in the middle of the gravel lot and tried to decide where to look first. Kate, returning with a full wheelbarrow from the huge pile of shavings, tilted her head toward the hay barn. Myra waved her thanks and headed over there.
She slowed down once she was in the large, open-air structure. A mountain of flaked golden shavings towered over her on her left side. Behind the retaining wall that kept the bedding contained was a storage area for the tractor and miscellaneous equipment. Trunks containing winter blankets, extra poles and jump standards, and pots full of brightly colored plastic flowers that decorated the arena when Cedar Grove hosted horse shows were strewn about on the packed-dirt floor. Myra scanned the area. No sign of Ainslee. The right side of the barn was filled with bales of hay—timothy in the front and alfalfa in the back. Kate had just received a shipment of alfalfa, and the bales were piled twenty high. The timothy section was less full and looked more climbable, so Myra started there.
She reached up and tucked her fingers between two bales, scrambling for a foothold as she hoisted herself up. Some loose hay fell onto her face and hair when she pulled her hands out to climb higher, and she sneezed at the dusty smell. The woodsy scent of cedar shavings and the crisp, floral smell of grass hay were as familiar as her coconut shampoo and lavender soap. She couldn’t count how many hours she had spent in hay barns like this one, from teenaged years when she needed solitude to later when she had wanted privacy with a girlfriend or a lonely place to weep after losing Jeffrey. Just last week, she had been sitting up here near the rafters on a woolen saddle pad while she graded chemistry assignments.
Myra crawled over the topmost bale, careful not to pull too hard on it and send both herself and the hay to the ground. The thought of Ainslee maneuvering up here with her new leg and her uncertain balance made Myra squeamish. She exhaled in relief when she saw Ainslee sitting on the top of the hay pile with her back propped against a bale. She had bits of hay stuck in her dark hair, and Myra wanted to pull it free from its rubber band and run her fingers through it, removing the green stems. She imagined what the wavy strands would feel like against her sensitive wrist and palm as the hair brushed her skin, curled away, and touched her again. A curving helix with intermittent contact. Myra swallowed and sat on a bale several yards away from Ainslee.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” Myra said. She sniffed as the dust stirred up by her arrival settled around them. “I’m so—”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize. I deserved it and I’m the one who should say sorry.” Ainslee shrugged and turned away. Her eyes were red rimmed, but dry. “I can’t believe I acted like such a baby!”
Her exclamation ended on a high note, and Myra covered her mouth to hide a laugh at the match between words and tone. She was so relieved to have found Ainslee still at the barn—and had been proud when Vanessa told her Ainslee had stopped to apologize even in the midst of her sullen exit. She’d been convinced that Ainslee would walk out the door, out of the program and out of Myra’s life. The worry had overwhelmed her, and she had tried to dismiss it as a normal reaction she’d have with any of her students. Even if she hadn’t truly known better, she’d have realized it when she climbed up the stack of hay bales and felt unaccountably giddy at the sight of Ainslee sitting here.
Ainslee glared at Myra, but her mouth turned up in a smile and the rest of her sour expression cracked bit by bit, like dominoes falling, until she was laughing along with Myra. The release was as potent as the earlier tension had been.
Myra wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sighed as her laughter died down. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Ainslee had flopped into a prone position while laughing, and she tucked one elbow behind her head. “It was you,” she said, her voice serious and quiet now.
“Something I said?” Myra asked, replaying their conversation in the tack room. “Or because I was walking slowly?”
“No.” Ainslee waved her free hand. She paused. “I saw you outside, carrying grain, and you were…”
Her gaze skimmed over Myra’s chest and up to her face and Myra felt it like a rough caress. She inhaled with a barely audible gasp and self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. Ainslee looked up at the ceiling of the barn.
“You were strong, playful. You made me think about the woman I used to be.”
Did Ainslee mean she used to be like Myra? Or that she’d have been interested in someone like her? Myra let the silence stretch between them like a rubber band, ready to snap. Finally Ainslee started talking again.
“Before…this”—she gestured toward her right leg, the metal gleaming incongruously against the dull green hay—“I was different. I’d have been the first to jump on a horse and gallop into the woods, even if I didn’t know what I was doing. Crazy. Now I can’t get close enough to brush a sweet old guy like Deacon. I’m not used to being afraid.”
“So it comes out as anger,” Myra said. She gave in to some of her yearning and moved across
the hay to sit by Ainslee’s feet. She put her hand on Ainslee’s left ankle.
“Right. I don’t know how to be me anymore. I’m scared of the horse, scared of hurting my leg more even though it’s gone. Scared of being attracted to someone because I have nothing left to offer.”
The last sentence was spoken so softly Myra barely heard it. Ainslee’s admission frightened her, too, but for the opposite reason. What did she have to offer someone like Ainslee? Myra would always be afraid, always expect Ainslee to make the decision that life without a leg yet with so many painful memories was too much to bear.
They stayed there, unmoving, with only the tentative connection of Myra’s hand and Ainslee’s confession between them, until a blue Ford drove past the hay barn and parked under a stand of fir trees.
“That’s my ride,” Ainslee said. She put her hand on the hay bale she’d been using as a backrest and pulled herself to her feet. “Sasha. A neighbor who’s been chauffeuring me around. I didn’t want to call and tell her to come early because I’d been booted out of class like a delinquent.”
She smiled, and the arch of her lower lip gave her a rueful air. Myra was happy she and Ainslee could joke about the incident. She followed her to the edge of the bales.
“Can I help you get down?”
“Seriously?”
Myra held up her hands in surrender. The instinct to take care of Ainslee was a stubborn one. “Sorry. I’m sure you’re fine on your own.”
Ainslee lowered herself over the edge of the bales without another word, and Myra took a parallel path. She reached the ground first but let Ainslee jump the last few feet on her own.
“I’m glad you stuck around,” Myra said as they walked to the parking lot.
“Me, too. I’m sorry about the lesson, and I hope you’ll let me back next week.”
Next week. When they’d be surrounded by the other riders and the volunteers. A regularly scheduled lesson, with Myra as the professional instructor. That’d be the best way for them to meet.
“Of course. As long as you promise to behave.”
“Not a chance,” Ainslee said as she opened the passenger door.
Myra grinned, even as warning signals coursed through her mind. The lesson today—as usual in this program—had aroused too many conflicting emotions in her. She’d be a fool and hold on to the moments of happiness and laughter she’d felt for a short while, even if they didn’t have a chance of lasting.
Chapter Six
Myra buckled Dragon’s girth loosely around his belly. She’d tighten it once she and Ainslee were ready to ride. She gave her bright bay gelding a pat and went over to where Deacon stood in the crossties, groomed and ready for his tack.
She had planned family rides for all her students this week, and so far she had been proud of the headway they’d made in such a short time. She had put Blake’s children on two of the barn’s ponies and had led them along a tree-lined bridle path while Blake and Tracy walked behind. The weather had been perfect—warm, but breezy—and everyone seemed relaxed during the visit. Blake was improving remarkably after only six lessons, but Myra was even more pleased to see progress on the ground, with his family. She scratched Deacon’s neck while she remembered Blake and his daughter laughing together while they groomed Frosty. The horses were doing their good work again, providing a conduit for conversation and a connection with nature.
Drew’s mother and girlfriend had come by after lessons on Wednesday. His stout, shy mom and willowy girlfriend, in her cutoff jean shorts and midriff-baring tank, had seemed to share little in common, but they had stood side by side and cheered him on while he rode Spot. Chris had stayed late to lead the pinto while Myra supported Drew, who was relying less on his sidewalker every week. His attitude had steadily improved, and he’d formed an unlikely friendship with hippy throwback Chris. Myra was glad to see him more at ease and patient as he hung out with Chris or groomed Spot, but his physical accomplishments were greater than either Blake’s or Ainslee’s. He could walk using only a cane and he supported himself for short times with just a hand on Spot’s shoulder for balance.
Ainslee was another story. She’d had neither emotional breakthroughs like Blake nor physical ones like Drew. She had come to each lesson since the day she’d thrown her hoof pick, and she was unfailingly polite and compliant. Myra had come out of the hayloft determined to keep her distance from Ainslee. She’d be polite but professional, and avoid being alone with her. She hadn’t needed to bother, though, since they never were caught in private without either one of the other students or a volunteer nearby. Was this merely the result of chance, or was Ainslee avoiding her, too? Myra wasn’t certain. She should have been relieved at the lack of intimacy, but she instead had offered to take Ainslee on a secluded trail ride this week since she didn’t have any family close enough to offer her support in person.
Myra couldn’t deny her attraction to Ainslee no matter how much she tried, but her suggestion about today’s ride had as much to do with her role as Ainslee’s instructor in a therapy program as it did with her personal desire to spend more time with her. Ainslee was in her lessons but not really present in them. She did what was asked of her, but without the addition of a true drive to get better, she was stagnant. Myra was torn between hoping she could break through Ainslee’s passive resistance and a reluctance to approach her because she saw shadows of Jeffrey in Ainslee’s detachment from the bustle of the world around her.
Belief in her obligation as Ainslee’s teacher had won. Or rather, the belief that this new program wouldn’t work without the full commitment of the students, the volunteers, and Myra herself. She smoothed the green saddle pad over Deacon’s back and gently placed her dressage saddle on top. She’d keep the conversation focused on Ainslee today. What she needed from the program and how Myra could help her. Maybe they could tailor a new set of goals that would serve her better. Light a fire in her to reconnect with life, missing leg or not.
Or, perhaps Myra could set the goal of ripping Ainslee’s shirt off her. She sighed as Ainslee came through the side door of the barn, wearing a red-and-black checked top and faded jeans. Gorgeous. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her forearms—though pale—showed a beautiful curve of muscle. The deep red emphasized her angular, dark brows and gave her the impression of humor and intelligence. Myra had only been privileged to see flashes of Ainslee’s wit—at unguarded moments—but every time they talked she was struck by the contrast between Ainslee’s sharp mind and her dulled participation in her own recovery.
“Hey, Deacon, I’m behind you. Hi, Myra,” Ainslee said before walking into the grooming stall. She had taken to entering and leaving the barn by the walkthrough situated halfway down the aisle. It brought her directly into the crosstie area, but Myra had a suspicion that Ainslee chose this entrance because then she had to do less walking on the concrete inside the barn. Her hesitant gait was aural, not just visual, on the cement floor.
“Hi, Ainslee. Are you ready to ride?”
“Sure.” Her short response was the same as the one she used each time Myra asked her to do something in class. An affirmative answer, but one carrying in its tone a mental shrug, as if Ainslee didn’t really care. Myra, anxious to get Ainslee on the horse and out on the trails, hurried with Deacon’s bridle. She knew all too well how crucial her job was right now. Ainslee had to care. As much as Myra knew the feeling had to come from Ainslee herself, she felt responsible for triggering it.
Myra—not daring to slow her pace to accommodate Ainslee—led Deacon to the mounting block inside the arena and tightened his girth while they waited for Ainslee to catch up to them. He stood quietly as Ainslee used the handrail to climb the ramp, and then mounted him from the right side. Tradition dictated riders mount from the left side of the horse, but Kate and Myra didn’t let a custom from medieval times interfere with the differing abilities of their students. Ainslee balanced on her right leg, with her hands braced on Deacon’s withers, and swung her
left leg over the saddle. Deacon was too well-trained to care which side his rider used, and he stood still until Ainslee asked him to walk.
“Stay in here, and I’ll be right back,” Myra said. She sprinted back to the barn and got Dragon, swinging easily into the saddle from the ground even though her draft horse cross gelding was over seventeen hands high. Ainslee had been riding on her own for two weeks now, but Myra didn’t relax until she was back in the arena where Deacon and Ainslee were sedately circling the ring.
“Come on, Ains,” she called. Ainslee guided Deacon over to her, and they walked across the parking lot toward the trail system that circled and crisscrossed the Cedar Grove housing development. “Some of the trails are wide enough for us to walk side by side, but we’ll have to go single file most of the time. When you’re behind us, be sure you’re far enough back to be able to see Dragon’s back hooves when you look between your horse’s ears. Dragon isn’t a kicker, but it’s better to be safe and have plenty of room between us.”
“Okay,” Ainslee said. Yet another one-word answer. This time, though, Myra heard a tinge of worry in Ainslee’s voice. Even though they’d be walking on calm horses, the move outside of the arena held more risk than an indoor lesson. Myra never wanted Ainslee to feel fear with her, but she was almost relieved to sense Ainslee’s awareness of the new situation instead of her usual non-caring attitude.
Once they crossed the tree line and were separated from the barn by a row of slender pines, all four of them seemed to relax. Myra was accustomed to her own sigh of relief every time she rode deep enough to be surrounded by nature and away from any sign of civilization beyond the manicured path and the small jumps she and Kate had built. The horses changed as well, pricking their ears as they looked around and walking with more energy. Even Ainslee relaxed somewhat. She looked around the small clearing they were crossing on the way to the deeper woods.
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