Lynna Banning - Wildwood

Or even in Rome, Jessamyn thought with a shudder. Still, she wasn’t beaten yet. “Gus, I’m going to ride that horse if it’s the last thing I do. I want you to tell me how.”

The wrangler nodded. “Now, Miss Jessamyn, just keep in mind you’re gonna get this horse to walk. He already knows how to run. First thing you do is talk to him, call him by name.”

Jessamyn moved toward the animal. “H-hello, Dancer Jack,” she breathed.

The horse tossed his head and moved a step away.

“Don’t be afraid, now. I’m not going to hurt you.” She edged forward. “What now, Gus?” she said softly.

“Now you touch him, all over. Let him smell you, get your scent.”

Jessamyn reached one hand toward the gelding’s moist black nose. “Dancer Jack,” she murmured. “It’s me, Jessamyn. Or maybe for you it’ll just be Jess.”

She ran her palm up the front of his face, then spread both hands along his jaw. “Good boy,” she said. “Good horse.” Under her fingers, the warm hide twitched.

The horse stood still. Jessamyn smiled at Gus, who gestured for her to continue.

She drew in a breath and laid her forehead against the gelding’s dark head. Please, please let this horse like me! she prayed. When the animal didn’t move away, she slowly smoothed her palm over the neck, then stepped to one side and rubbed its hard, warm shoulder and withers. Next she ran her hands down each leg. The horse’s limbs trembled as violently as Jessamyn’s did.

“You’re doin’ fine, ma’am. Just fine. Here’s his lead now. You hold him while I adjust the stirrups and go get a mounting block for you.”

Frozen, Jessamyn stood motionless as a statue until Gus returned with a portable wooden step. He took the rope from her, tossed the reins over the saddle horn. “Climb up on the step and put your left foot in the stirrup. Grab the saddle horn and swing your other leg up over his rump.”

Jessamyn stood on top of the block, raised her left foot until she thought she’d twist her thigh right out of the hip socket, and jammed her toe into the high stirrup. She reached for the saddle horn and pulled herself up to a nearstanding position. She clutched at the saddle for support and tried to swing her right leg over the horse.

She couldn’t get her leg high enough to clear the gelding’s backside. On her third attempt she slipped out of the stirrup, breathing hard. Behind her, she could hear the raucous laughter of the crowd.

“Try it again,” Gus urged. “This time, you give a little spring and I’ll boost you on up.”

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