At the base of the small vertical jump, he lifts and flies over it with room to spare. On landing, he tosses in a little buck for good measure. I laugh.
“What a clown.” Willow appears in the entrance with a client’s mare. In no time, she’s got this big horse taking light steps, moving in half pass, and almost cantering in place for a ten-meter circle. I give Tucker a loose rein to watch the pair, moving like they’re performing a ballet. She makes it look easy. Meanwhile, Tuck and me are more like a downhill skier racing through a slalom.
I give his sweaty neck a pat. “He’s a hell of a jumper,” I shout over the rain. “I’d love to show him.”
Willow checks her position in the mirrors lining the long side of the arena. I see a frown on her face in the reflection. “Maybe Trey will let you.”
We both know that’s not likely. Not likely that we’re ever going to hear from Trey again. But we keep up pretending.
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