gone. “Now what am I supposed to do?”
Hank gets up from the table and sets his dishes in the sink. “How about riding Blackfire?”
Suddenly I’m not so disappointed. “Seriously? Yeah!”
I ride bareback, and again Hank leads me around the pen. After the fourth round, I’m ready to move on. “Hank, you can let go now. We’ll be fine.”
He steps back and holds up both hands. “I haven’t led you for the last two laps.”
“Then scram. Blackfire and I want to be alone.”
“Guess I can take a hint.” Hank leaves the ring but watches from the side as Blackfire and I continue to walk around and around. Finally, even Hank seems to get bored. “I’m going to muck stalls,” he says. “Call me if you need me.”
After a couple more laps, I’m getting dizzy, and I think Blackfire must feel the same. He edges closer to the pen. This time, when we pass the open gate, it’s like Blackfire’s reading my mind. He tucks, turns, and walks out of the pen.
I don’t try to rein him back. I want to see where he’ll go. Unhurried, he crosses the barn to the barn door, then out into the beautiful sunshine.
This is riding. I breathe deeply, and the air smells clean. I glance around and see Kat waving at me from the front window.
Blackfire stops, and I wave back at Kat.
Out of nowhere comes a growl. Then a yap, yap, yap!
“Taco!” Wes comes running from the house. “Get back here!”
But the little dog keeps running, making a beeline for Blackfire’s hind legs.
Suddenly, Blackfire lets out a whinny. The dog yaps at his heels. I feel the horse gather himself under me. Then he lunges.
I grasp at his mane to keep from falling off. Blackfire takes off, and I’m thrown forward so that I’m hanging on to his neck. He takes this as a sign to speed up.
We thunder up the hill. We’re halfway through the next field before I remember to breathe.
I’m surprised to feel the reins still in my hand. Somebody’s yelling behind me, but I can’t make out the words. I scoot back into riding position and remember to grip with my thighs.
The rhythm of the gallop begins to take me with it, regular and steady. Up and back. I loosen my grip on his mane, feel the wind on my face, and move with Blackfire. He runs across the road, and I’m with him, beat for beat. I’m not afraid. I want us to keep running together. Forever. Just like this. No wonder we’re riding as if we’re one. He’s running away, and that’s what I do best.
Ahead of us, I see rocks piled high.
We close in on the mound. But the closer we get, I see more rocks. And something else. It’s a quarry—a deep, cavernous quarry.
And we’re headed straight for it.
Fifteen
I sit up as straight as I can on Blackfire’s back until I can see the giant hole in the ground, the quarry that’s getting closer with every hoofbeat. I picture us galloping over the side, flying, then crashing down . . .
“Whoa!” I shout, pulling back on the reins. I remember what Winnie said about ask and release. So I pull, let up, then pull.
Blackfire puts on the brakes so fast I almost sail over his head. But I catch myself. “Good boy!” I stroke his sweaty neck and ease my seat behind the withers. We’re both panting. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this alive. Even as I think this, I know it sounds like a soap opera, but there it is—that feeling. In my soul, like Popeye and his woodpeckers.
I lay the reins on Blackfire’s neck, and he turns around and starts walking back to the barn as if our ride were nothing more than a little exercise. Halfway there, I hear shouts. Hank’s running toward us, waving his arms. He stops when he sees us walking toward him. He leans over, hands on knees, like he’s trying to get his breath.
Wes catches up to Hank the same time I get there and frowns up at me. Then he turns around and heads back to the barn.
Hank inspects Blackfire and me. “You sure you’re okay, Dakota?”
I lean forward and hug Blackfire around the
Hank gets up from the table and sets his dishes in the sink. “How about riding Blackfire?”
Suddenly I’m not so disappointed. “Seriously? Yeah!”
I ride bareback, and again Hank leads me around the pen. After the fourth round, I’m ready to move on. “Hank, you can let go now. We’ll be fine.”
He steps back and holds up both hands. “I haven’t led you for the last two laps.”
“Then scram. Blackfire and I want to be alone.”
“Guess I can take a hint.” Hank leaves the ring but watches from the side as Blackfire and I continue to walk around and around. Finally, even Hank seems to get bored. “I’m going to muck stalls,” he says. “Call me if you need me.”
After a couple more laps, I’m getting dizzy, and I think Blackfire must feel the same. He edges closer to the pen. This time, when we pass the open gate, it’s like Blackfire’s reading my mind. He tucks, turns, and walks out of the pen.
I don’t try to rein him back. I want to see where he’ll go. Unhurried, he crosses the barn to the barn door, then out into the beautiful sunshine.
This is riding. I breathe deeply, and the air smells clean. I glance around and see Kat waving at me from the front window.
Blackfire stops, and I wave back at Kat.
Out of nowhere comes a growl. Then a yap, yap, yap!
“Taco!” Wes comes running from the house. “Get back here!”
But the little dog keeps running, making a beeline for Blackfire’s hind legs.
Suddenly, Blackfire lets out a whinny. The dog yaps at his heels. I feel the horse gather himself under me. Then he lunges.
I grasp at his mane to keep from falling off. Blackfire takes off, and I’m thrown forward so that I’m hanging on to his neck. He takes this as a sign to speed up.
We thunder up the hill. We’re halfway through the next field before I remember to breathe.
I’m surprised to feel the reins still in my hand. Somebody’s yelling behind me, but I can’t make out the words. I scoot back into riding position and remember to grip with my thighs.
The rhythm of the gallop begins to take me with it, regular and steady. Up and back. I loosen my grip on his mane, feel the wind on my face, and move with Blackfire. He runs across the road, and I’m with him, beat for beat. I’m not afraid. I want us to keep running together. Forever. Just like this. No wonder we’re riding as if we’re one. He’s running away, and that’s what I do best.
Ahead of us, I see rocks piled high.
We close in on the mound. But the closer we get, I see more rocks. And something else. It’s a quarry—a deep, cavernous quarry.
And we’re headed straight for it.
Fifteen
I sit up as straight as I can on Blackfire’s back until I can see the giant hole in the ground, the quarry that’s getting closer with every hoofbeat. I picture us galloping over the side, flying, then crashing down . . .
“Whoa!” I shout, pulling back on the reins. I remember what Winnie said about ask and release. So I pull, let up, then pull.
Blackfire puts on the brakes so fast I almost sail over his head. But I catch myself. “Good boy!” I stroke his sweaty neck and ease my seat behind the withers. We’re both panting. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this alive. Even as I think this, I know it sounds like a soap opera, but there it is—that feeling. In my soul, like Popeye and his woodpeckers.
I lay the reins on Blackfire’s neck, and he turns around and starts walking back to the barn as if our ride were nothing more than a little exercise. Halfway there, I hear shouts. Hank’s running toward us, waving his arms. He stops when he sees us walking toward him. He leans over, hands on knees, like he’s trying to get his breath.
Wes catches up to Hank the same time I get there and frowns up at me. Then he turns around and heads back to the barn.
Hank inspects Blackfire and me. “You sure you’re okay, Dakota?”
I lean forward and hug Blackfire around the
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