Maris Soule - Paternity Lessons

From the first time he met her, he’d been aware of a gracefulness in Shaunna’s movements. Seeing her on a horse, he was stunned. She wasn’t just a rider but a part of the horse. She sat straight in the saddle and moved in unison with every turn and stop the horse made.

The horse spun to the right, then to the left, his hind legs barely moving from one spot, and Tyler shook his head in disbelief as he realized the horse had no bridle or reins. The only sign of any control mechanism was a circle of rope hanging loosely around the horse’s neck, but Shaunna’s hands weren’t on the rope.

The horse dashed forward, then came to a sliding stop, the dust kicking up behind him. Again, there was a turn to the left. Then to the right.

Tyler wasn’t sure how, but Shaunna was communicating with the horse. Watching her, he remembered the stories he’d heard when asking around for someone to take on Magic. Each of the stable owners he’d contacted, once they heard of his situation, had told him the one he needed to see was Shaunna Lightfeather. They’d spoken of her with awe, said she could talk to horses and that horses understood her.

Tyler was beginning to believe they were right.

As far as he could tell, however, she wasn’t using words. Though she was concentrating on the horse’s head, her lips weren’t moving. No part of her body seemed to be moving.

“Stick ’em up,” a small voice piped up behind him.

Tyler looked away from Shaunna and her horse, then around and down. Behind him stood a little boy about six years old. In his hand was a plastic water gun.

“Jeffery Arnold Prescott!” a woman’s voice called sternly from the barn door.

The boy turned away from Tyler and looked toward the barn. So did Tyler. Coming toward them was a woman in her mid-thirties dressed in Western apparel. She held out her hand as she neared.

“What did I say about that gun, Jeffery? Give it to me.”

The boy immediately hid the gun behind his back. “I wasn’t going to shoot him.”

“Give it to me,” his mother repeated firmly. For a moment, Tyler didn’t think the boy was going to obey, then the hand behind the child’s back moved and he held the gun out to his mother. She shook her head at him, then looked at Tyler. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” After everything else that had happened that day, being held up by a six-year-old seemed appropriate. “I’m discovering kids don’t always do as you tell them.”

“Tell me about it.” Again, she shook her head, then extended her hand to him. “I’m sorry. I’m Chris Prescott. I think I’ve seen you a couple of times. You’ve got a daughter, haven’t you. Lana or something?”

“Her name is Lanie,” he said, and shook Chris’s hand. “I’m Tyler Corwin.”

“Glad to meet you, Tyler,” Chris said. “Shame about that Mustang of yours, but don’t you worry. Shaunna will bring him around. She can do anything with a horse.” She looked beyond Tyler. “Can’t you, Shaunna?”

“We’ll see,” Shaunna said from a spot nearby, and Tyler turned to find she’d left the arena and was now sitting on her horse only a few feet away.

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