Not unusual to get thrown by a new horse. Common sense to get back up on it. Best to do it under your own power. But if you haven’t got the smarts to refuse someone’s help, at least make sure he’s your own kind, because a man’s pride is a delicate thing and where his woman is concerned, there's no room for forgiveness.
They said her husband put a bullet through his skull on account of her accepting a stranger’s assistance. The local sheriff said that if he’d been smart, he’d have spent the bullet on her. Now, three months later, it was all she could do to hold onto the farm. Last week, she’d sold her saddle to buy grain for the horse, though it was a foolish luxury, since the animal was the next thing the bank would seize.
The roan mare was the only thing that kept her sane. Late afternoons, when the breeze kicked up and the sun hung low, she'd ride out to check fences, watch hawks and listen for the swift drumming of hooves. He’d ride up over the ridge, lean and bronze and proud, the paint stallion prancing beneath him.
They never spoke, just rode the line, each on their own side of the fence. These last few days, he’d had a glint in his eye and spurred her to give the horses free rein. They'd raced down the line just as wild and free as any other creature under the sun, but she always reigned in at the corners, and he always circled around, head tipped, horse restless, waiting.
Just how long was she supposed to pay penance before jumping that fence?
This is my (ineligible) entry for the Forbidden Love Blog Hop that I'm co-hosting with Lillie and Janelle.