Page 25 of Stick Around,
“Yeah, of course.” I needed to do the same instead of staring at her and imagining her under me.
She headed back toward the empty stalls, and I busied myself with checking the bridles hanging on the wall. They needed oiling, and it was as good a task as any to keep my hands occupied while my thoughts refused to settle.
As Quinn moved around the stable, however, I noticed something that pulled me from my mental spiral. Her stride was relaxed and nothing like the stiff, cautious movements I’d expected after her first riding lesson. Most beginners could hardly walk the day after, their thighs and backs protesting with every step, but Quinn moved with surprising ease, bending and lifting without wincing.
“Looks like the hot tub helped,” I commented before I could think better of it.
Her bucket clattered against the concrete floor. When she turned to face me, her eyes were wide with surprise before she quickly schooled her expression.
“Oh, yeah, I guess it did.” The way she suddenly found the ground fascinating told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t ready to talk about last night and whatever parts of it she thought I might be referencing.
The silence stretched between us, and I cleared my throat. “So, I haven’t seen you on your hobby horse yet.”
Her head snapped up, a different kind of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “It’s, uh, hiding in my trunk. I haven’t even ridden it yet.” Her lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. “April made me buy it. I’m still working up the courage to use the damn thing.”
I set down the bridle I’d been pretending to inspect. “What’s stopping you?”
“You mean besides the very real possibility of looking like a complete idiot? I’ve seen a few of the online comments about it. People can be... cruel.”
I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. I’d seen the comments with grown adults mocking people for having fun in a way they deemed unworthy. “How does it make you feel when you do it?”
The question seemed to catch her off guard. She paused, considering, and something vulnerable flickered across her face. “Free and playful. Like I’m not overthinking everything for once.” Her eyes met mine briefly before darting away. “Unfiltered, I guess.”
I knew that feeling; it was why I’d started working with horses in the first place.
“Then that matters more than what anyone else thinks.” I stepped closer, closing some of the physical distance between us. “Look, if you want, we could work on your form or... I don’t know, getting more in touch with your horse side. As a break from cleaning horse shit.”
Her smile this time was real, lighting up her face in a way that made my pulse quicken. “I’m under no obligation to continue with using a stick horse,” she said, but the protest lacked conviction.
“At least give it a shot without alcohol in your system.” I couldn’t help the teasing grin that spread across my face. “Go get it out of your car.”
She hesitated, uncertainty warring with a spark of interest in her eyes. For a moment, I thought she might refuse. Then she straightened her shoulders, chin lifting slightly.
“Fine.” She turned toward the parking lot, a challenge in her step that hadn’t been there before. “But I reserve the right to never speak of this again if it’s a disaster.”
Walter lifted his head from where I’d put him in the carrier on a bale of hay. I scratched behind his ears as I watched Quinn walk away. “This should be interesting.”
Quinn returned a few minutes later with a brown stick horse with a blonde mane tucked under one arm and a sheepish look she tried to hide.
“So this is Thunderbolt.” She held up the hobby horse with a self-conscious laugh. “April named him for me.”
“Solid name.” I gestured toward an empty training area outside the stables. “Why don’t you warm up by walking a few laps? Get a feel for it.”
She hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Do I just... hold it between my legs and walk?”
“Whatever feels natural.” I didn’t know the first thing about training with a stick horse.
Quinn stepped into the open area, tucking the stick between her legs. Her first steps were tentative, and her body was rigid with self-consciousness. She glanced back at me, clearly expecting to see judgment or mockery.
I leaned against the railing, keeping my face neutral and arms crossed. No different than how I’d observe any new rider getting the feel of their mount.
She took a deep breath and continued, her movements gradually loosening as she realized I wasn’t about to criticize.After completing a full circle, her steps became more fluid and confident.
“Remember to breathe,” I called out. “Your horse can sense when you’re tense.”
That got me a laugh, the sound warming something in my chest.
“Try adjusting your posture a bit.” I uncrossed my arms and demonstrated, mimicking the balanced stance of an experienced rider. “Spine straight but not rigid. Shoulders relaxed.”