Page 108 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

“It was great. We were working on me staying calm in the chaos, because Biscuit senses my anxiety and if I panic, he panics. But since I acted like I didn’t care about Tanya’s flapping, Biscuit didn’t care either. It’s like he and I were sharing a brain and a heart. The way he mirrors me is mind blowing.”

He pulls me in with an arm hooked around my neck, kissing my forehead with a loud smack. “I’m so proud of you, doll. You’re going to be great at this.”

His faith in me means everything, though I have imposter syndrome out the ass and want to crawl in a hole at least twice a day.

“What’s on tap the rest of the day, baby? I’m done at the stables. I need to take a shower before class.” He holds me tighter. “Wanna join?”

I laugh. “You know how much I like getting clean before we get dirty.”

He sweeps me into his arms and jogs the entire way to the truck.

We’re about to get very, very clean.

Reid and Tanya arranged for me to go to an equine therapy workshop in Fort Collins, and I was able to register for the breakout sessions I wanted. The workshop was transformative—two days learning how equine-assisted therapy can be life changing for people struggling with their mental health.

Connor had in-person classes for his farrier program, so Reid suggested Izzy go with me. We had such a great time exploring the city and having sister-time. Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.

I attend a session the second day hosted by a renowned equine-assisted psychotherapist. She’s brilliant and will no doubt be revolutionary in the field.

Someone asked an innocuous question about what she had to do to get where she was in her career, and her answer pulled the rug out from under my feet.

My head swam in a torrential storm as she detailed everything that must happen after graduating with a bachelor’s degree. Two to three years to get a master’s degree, thousands of supervised clinical hours, licensure exam, state application for licensing, and ultimately getting certified in equine-assisted therapy.

I’m not naïve, I knew equine therapy was more than leading a horse around a pen—but no one ever spelled out the additional years of schooling, clinical hours, and legalities. Maybe I missed it because I homed in on this specialty so late in my degree program, or maybe I assumed I only needed a master’s degree if I wanted to be a psychologist or social worker…

After all this time, I felt like I found my passion, where I belong, my chance to make a difference—and now it feels impossible.

I left the session nearly catatonic and when Izzy picked me up, she nearly took me to the emergency room for how listless I was. I numbly told her what I’d learned in that last session, and how my future’s destroyed.

I wanted to drive home immediately. Izzy tried to convince me to get some dinner in my stomach and get a good night’s sleep before we made the drive home, but I insisted. She only agreed after I promised to eat dinner in the car.

I managed half a chicken burrito before I couldn’t eat any more. We spent the drive in comfortable silence—my sister never prodding or prying—just letting me sit with my feelings in a safe space.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Connor all but shouts.

She brought me to the apartment but couldn’t get me up the stairs, so Connor rushed down to carry me. Now I find myself in my husband’s arms, being carried up the stairs to our home like I’m made of glass, and I can’t bring myself to care about anything.

Izzy helps us inside and Connor sets me on the couch with a glass of water. She pulls him aside and recounts the disastrous afternoon. She leaves at some point; I don’t notice.

“Let’s get you to bed. We can talk it all through in the morning. Everything looks better in the light of a new day.”

I never for a second doubted marrying Connor—not when I was a daydreaming little girl, and not when he proposed to me for a surprise elopement. His attentive care tonight proves why.

He carries me to the bedroom and gently sets me on our bed. Kneeling, he slides my cowboy boots off and rolls the socks off my feet. When he treats me to the same foot massage he always gives me, I dissolve into tears.

“Let it out, doll. Give me all your pain, I’ll gladly carry it for you,” he soothes.

And I do. I let my frustrations and sadness drip down my cheeks as Connor sweetly removes my clothes and dresses me in one of his shirts for bed. He brushes my hair and delicately removes my makeup, before tucking me in.

He closes up for the night and is soon wrapped around me, stroking my hair and kissing my tears away.

I’ve never been more grateful to receive Connor’s love.

46

“Hayes!” Reid barks.

Fuck. I must’ve fallen asleep in the office. I pop to my feet, scrubbing my hands up and down my tired face.