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Not with Lunar, of course. He’s an old, retired boy these days.
But she started training at a local barn with their horses, and she did it with such determination and grit, I don’t know that I’ve ever loved anyone more. I’m so fucking proud of her because although she’s fiercely confident in her skills, she’s still nervous, and this is making her confront her fears.
“How are you not a ball of nerves?” my mom asks. She and my dad met us in Kentucky to watch Abby’s return to the show ring.
“Because Abby’s got this,” I say. Truthfully, though, I’m a little anxious. I’ve watched enough of her rides over the past several months, including her training, to know that dangers lurk all the time with these animals. Saddlebreds are spirited and sometimes spook easily. I’ve not seen Abby take a fall, but I’ve seen her stick to her saddle when a horse has gotten wily. It’s one reason I’ve declined her invitation to ride them.
Frankly, I find them a little crazy.
My dad consults the class sheet he’s holding and has been ticking off with a pen. “Abby’s up next.”
None of Abby’s siblings are in the stands with us. They’re at the facility barns where all the competing horses are kept. Competitions stretch over three days, and the Blackburn clan will all be helping Abby prepare. Trey and Kat will also be showing, but their classes aren’t until tomorrow.
The speakers crackle and music starts. The announcer’s voice echoes throughout the indoor arena, “Let’s welcome the riders for Five-Gaited Pleasure division. There will be seven riders in this class.”
The gate at the far end swings open, and horses come in at a trot. The outfits the riders wear are elaborate, bespoke, and expensive as I’ve come to learn. Abby’s is the third horse in, a six-year-old gelding the color of midnight from Blackburn Farms. He’s stunning with an arched neck, long, pluming tail, and an incredibly high step.
He doesn’t hold a candle to Abby, though, and my heart swells with pride as she directs the horse around the arena. She’s wearing a pair of dark navy jods, a mint green coat with tails and a silver vest underneath. Her Windsor-knotted tie is a deep plum, and her derby matches the color of her jods. Her boots are shiny black patent leather, and she carries a whip with a silver emblem on the end of the cherry-wood handle, engraved with her initials.
A present from me.
A large crowd is here from Blackburn, as they have several riders showing, and there’s a lot of hooting and hollering for Abby. We’re sitting in the front row, and I yell at her as she rides by. “Go, baby, go!”
She doesn’t look at me, but she smiles, and it’s full of confidence and joy. She may have been nervous before getting out there, but that woman is in her element.
“Riders,” the announcer says, “put your horses in a canter. Canter, please.”
I’ve learned a lot about these horses and how they train, and I know Abby at this moment is issuing a simple one-word command to her horse, along with a pull on the left rein and a slight pressure with her left leg, to put him into the proper gait.
Glancing down near the gate, I see Abby’s family standing there. Mom, Dad, three brothers, and Kat. They look like they’re about to burst from pride.
Abby maneuvers her horse like she was born to do this, and in a way, I suppose she was. I know I’m biased, but she’s the best out there, and when they call the riders into the lineup and she’s awarded the blue ribbon, I’m out of my seat and cheering the loudest.
Abby takes a victory lap, winking at me as she trots by.
My parents and I exit the stands and head over to the stables where the Blackburn horses are. Wade is leading Abby there as we approach, and she’s talking to her dad as the entire family walks beside her and her horse. She sees me and grins, and I give her a thumbs-up.
A photographer appears, and Abby poses on top of her horse, the blue ribbon clipped to the side of her jacket at her hip. Her family crowds in for more photos.
Then Thomas Blackburn motions me over, and more pictures.
Finally, Thomas shoos everyone away, and it’s just the two of us.
With pictures done, Abby swings her leg over the saddle and hops to the ground. She doesn’t need my support, but my hands go to her hips to steady her landing.
When she turns into me, I don’t hesitate.
I go down on one knee as Wade moves the horse out of the way. This was all planned, of course. Her family and my parents crowd in to watch, and Abby’s eyes double, she’s so shocked.