Iris
"You want me to ride... that?"
I stare up at Buttercup, who suddenly seems to be the size of a small building. The chestnut mare looks down at me with what I swear is amusement in her big brown eyes.
"Oh,e on," Arthurughs, still holding Miles. "She''s the gentlest horse on the ranch."
"I don''t care if she''s the gentlest horse in the universe," I say, backing away slowly. "She''s enormous. And she just looked at me
like I was dinner."
The ranch hand chuckles. "Most first-timers get nervous, ma''am. But I promise you, Buttercup here is practically a pony, and she would never hurt a fly."
A pony the size of a truck, maybe. I shake my head firmly. "No, I think I''ll just watch you two go. I can take pictures from the
ground."
"But Mommy, you have toe!" Miles whines. "Come oooon!"
Arthur sets Miles down beside Thunder and approaches me with that damn determined look in his eyes. "Iris," he says softly.
"Trust me?"
Before I can answer, he''s scooping me up like I weigh nothing. I let out a yelp that''s embarrassingly close to a shriek as he carries
me over to Buttercup.
"Arthur! Put me down right now!" I cry out as I hammer my fists against his back.
"I''m about to," he says, grinning as he hoists me up and deposits me in the saddle.
I grab onto the saddle horn for dear life, my knuckles turning white with the effort.
The ground suddenly seems miles below me,
and the horse shifts beneath me, pawing the stable floor.
"Oh, Goddess," I whisper. "I''m going to die. I''m actually going to die."
Miles is doubled over withughter at the sight of me frozen in terror on the
horse''s back, which doesn''t help my dignity one bi
"You''re not going to die," Arthur assures me as he adjusts my stirrups. "Just rx. Buttercup knows what she''s doing, ever
you don''t."
"That''s not reassuring!" I hiss, still clinging to the saddle horn.
The ranch hand adjusts my posture, showing me how to hold the reins and where to put my feet. "Just sit up strai
hips, and follow her movements," he instructs. "It''s like dancing-you''ve got to move with your partner."
,rx your
Dancing. Right. Except my dance partner is a half-ton animal with a mind of its
own.
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Arthur mounts Thunder with impressive ease, like he''s done this a million times before, then the ranch hand lifts Miles up to sit
in front of him. Our son looks absolutely tiny on the big horse, and every
mothering instinct in me is telling me that he''s in grave
danger, but his face is lit up with excitement as Arthur''s arms encircle him to hold the reins.
"Ready?" the ranch hand asks, mounting his own horse.
"No," I mutter.
"Yes!" Miles cheers.
And with that, we''re off. The ranch hand leads the way down a well-worn trail into the forest, followed by Arthur and Miles on
Thunder. I''m still rigid in the saddle, refusing to move. But Buttercup doesn''t appear to need my direction, and simply begins to
"Oh-Oh, she''s moving!" I cry out.
The ranch hand chuckles over his shoulder. "That is typically the point, yes."
I feel like I''m going to vomit. But after about fifteen minutes, I actually do start to rx-just a fraction. Buttercup isn''t trying to
buck me off or bolt. In fact, she''s plodding along steadily, seemingly unbothered by my very presence.
Slowly, very slowly, I loosen my death grip on the saddle horn and try to follow the ranch hand''s advice, moving with the horse
rather than against her.
To my surprise, it actually helps. The ride bes smoother, and Buttercup snorts as if with appreciation. I''m still not
Up ahead, Miles is chattering away to Arthur, pointing at everything he sees-a
squirrel darting up a tree, a colorful bird taking
flight, an interesting rock formation. Arthur listens with endless patience, answering each question and sharing Miles'' delight in
the smallest discoveries.
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