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“And the color? Does white signify anything?”
Shaking my head, I say, “My hats growing up were white because Chuck always picked black and then we’d never fight over them. So, when I turned eighteen, my dad picked this one out for me. It’s a little cooler than everyone else's, which is nice in the summer, but I have to do a little more maintenance to keep it clean.”
“But a cowboy hat has another…meaning when it comes to who wears it,” she phrases it almost like a question.
I glance back and see her eyebrows pinched together in concentration. “Is your brain working in overdrive at learning rules you weren’t aware of?”
Sam blinks and relaxes. “You can read me well, Tommy.”
“I’d like to think I’m learning.” I clear my throat and continue, “The big thing to remember is that these hats are more than just something we throw on. They’re a part of us. We take care of them and they can last a lifetime. For someone else to take it is a bold move and for another person to wear it is a big deal. Now, some people might try it for attention or to state intention, but if you see someone wearing a hat that isn’t theirs…well, I guess we covered that.”
“That makes sense. Now that I think about it, the more instances I can recall where their importance played into what someone did with their hat. It just wasn’t enough to prompt a question I didn’t realize I had.” She flushes and looks around the corral. “We did a full lap already?”
Holding back a smile so she doesn’t think I’m mocking her, I say, “We have. You’re a quick study, cowgirl.”
“I happen to have a great person guiding me, who better not let go of that rope.”
“Not until you ask for it, we’re going at whatever pace feels good.” That earns me one of her unguarded, unpracticed smiles that lights up her face, making her eyes sparkle, and her nose scrunch. I mean it in every way with her, too. Whatever pace she needs, I’m willing to take it with her. Whatever reassurances she might need along the way, I want to give her. Whatever bumps come up, I hope to smooth out. No one else has held my heart like this. I’ve been wrapped around someone else’s finger, but I see that now for what it was, and what it wasn’t, and with how critical I’ve been about anyone to even consider one date with, I know I’ve done more than my own due diligence in trying to find Samantha’s faults in the months before I decided to see if she might be interested.
But her faults aren’t deal-breakers, they’re simply things that can be balanced. And I can only hope that mine fall under the same category.
“Do I need to steer in here?" she asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Does she just keep going in circles because we're in the corral?"
“Are you telling me you're ready for me to step away?" I look back at her studying the reins but looking comfortable on Bella.
“Maybe in a minute, I'm not sure that I'm going to be able to slow her down if she runs, though, but I think I might be able to get her to go in the right direction."
“This corral isn't very big," I remind her. "I promise you she won't be galloping in here. But if she spooks, which is unlikely, I'll jump back in here to calm her and keep you safe."
She nods resolutely. "Okay then. What's next?"
I hold back a comment about her trying to make sure she gets a perfect grade out here, but she's determined to get this right. "I undo the tether and can keep walking next to her for as long as you'd like."
“Won't you get tired?"
“Are you questioning my stamina, Samantha Davies?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. That seems to completely fluster her as a perfect blush spreads across her cheeks. "A few laps in here aren't going to wear me out, I can promise you that."
She lets out a little squeak when I throw her a wink and I shift so I'm looking ahead again. Bella lets out a little snort and I rub her snout, unsure if she's judging my flirting techniques, or if she's praising them.
“I haven't managed to scare her off so far, Bella," I say under my breath. "I must be doing something right."
Chapter 33: Sam
Nope, I need to focus on the giant horse that I’m riding and not think about Tommy’s stamina. Or the desire he didn’t try to hide in his eyes. There are too many details to catalog and unpack while sitting on Bella.
I notice the way the reins feel in my hand. The leather is soft, well-worn, and well-loved. It’s mostly smooth, but there are little nubs that I trace with the pad of my thumb. Next I wiggle my toes in my turquoise boots. I wasn’t sure how safe I’d feel relying on these two stirrups to anchor myself, raising up and down with Bella as she walks, but it’s surprisingly secure. Even through the saddle and my jeans, I can feel her body heat seep into my legs and, when she’s still, each breath expands her massive ribcage, lifting me just a hair. The seat is wider than I expected, which is odd, because the only thing I’ve really noticed about horses is how massive they are. But their size always seemed more about their height.
A cleansing exhale leaves my lungs as I’m fully back in the moment and focused on this horse, this experience.
“I think I’m ready if Bella is.” I refrain from running a hand down my face in embarrassment by squeezing the reins tighter without pulling on them.
What a silly thing to say. Why wouldn’t this horse be ready?
“You ready for Sam to lead, Bella?” he asks, rubbing the horse’s nose.
And she gives one of those little snorts where her lips flap, tipping her head up for a moment. Like she understood and is saying yes.
Tommy looks back and smiles at me. “I think we’re all set. I’ll unclip and can stay in here for the first few laps if you’d like.”
