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“Hey,” I say when she looks up.
“What happened to her?” Tilly’s brow is furrowed with worry.
“She hit uneven ground when we were out riding last week. Marty came out to see her. We were worried there for a day or two, but he says she’ll be fine. She just needs a lot of rest.”
She looks back at the mare. “She’s beautiful.”
I remember Tilly being a great rider in our younger years. She loved horses. That was another reason I was so surprised when she chose the city over country life.
“Yes. Yes, she is. It’s time to eat. Come on.”
I turn and retrace my steps; a minute later, Tilly catches up, and we walk across the yard to the house. Elsa has remained on the porch the whole time, enjoying the shade, no doubt. As we reach the steps, she jumps up and moves toward us.
Once again, Tilly stops in her tracks.
“You know, you could just say hello. She won’t bite. Unless I tell her to.” I grin.
Tilly pulls a face.
I wave a hand for her to follow me up the wooden steps. Tentatively, she does, and then I say, “Just wait right there.”
She obeys as though my commands are going to save her life, and still standing beside her, I look at Elsa.
“Come.”
With her tail wagging and her ears pinned back, she pads over to me. I reach out a hand and stroke her huge head.
“Sit.”
Elsa sits.
I then turn to Tilly. “Come on. It’s fine.”
She takes a cautious step forward, stopping a foot away.
I meet Elsa’s eye again. “Shake hands.”
Elsa lifts up a paw, and Tilly’s face creases into a soft grin. “Oh, my gosh. That is so cute.” She then reaches out her hand and takes Elsa’s paw. “Hello, Elsa,” she says in a soft voice, like she’stalking to a child. She then lifts her hand and softly rubs Elsa’s head. “Her fur is so soft.”
“You act like you’ve never been around a dog before. Don’t you remember Solo, our collie?”
“Of course, I do. But Solo never came flying around the corner like the devil on all fours, barking at my car like a crazy thing.”
“That’s because he knew you,” I say logically. “Right. Food. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
Once inside, Tilly follows me to the kitchen. “Well, this place hasn’t changed,” she remarks.
“It’s changed a bit,” I say over my shoulder as I head to the fridge.
She hitches herself onto a barstool at the island. “It looks the same to me.”
“The thing you’re sitting at is new,” I say, lifting bread and meat out and placing it on the counter beside me.
“Really?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “Maybe my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
I’m about to make yet another sarcastic remark when I bite it back. I don’t want a fight. I’m too hungry to argue. Besides, I haven’t mentioned how great the stables look yet. Wouldn’t that be better? To try and keep the conversation as positive as possible under the circumstances?
“You did a great job out there today,” I say, buttering the bread.
