Page 95 of Lost Trust

She blows me a kiss.

I turn back to the student in front of me and force my attention to the lesson. “Okay, Emma. One more time. Don’t pull with your hands. Sit deep, keep your heels down, and let him move underneath you.”

My mother’s presence is a distraction. I can feel her watching me. I can practically hear the commentary forming in her head.

By the time the lesson ends, I’ve resigned myself to whatever chaos she’s brought with her.

I dismount, hand the reins off to one of the assistants, and walk toward her.

“Mom? What are you doing here?”

Ginger pushes her sunglasses onto her head. “Nice to see you too, baby girl.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“You said you were working for Bryce Raintree. So, here I am.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I can’t come see my daughter and grandson without a reason?”

I stare at her.

She looks fantastic.

Her hair is shoulder length and tousled, every curl seeming to have a mind of its own. She’s wearing a fitted white top beneath a leather vest covered in just enough studs to make her look like she could either ride a motorcycle or headline a country-rock festival. Faded jeans hug her long legs, tucked into boots I know cost more than all mine combined. Several layered turquoise necklaces sit against her throat, and the giant silver-and-turquoise buckle at her waist catches the afternoon sun.

Ginger has never met a fashion trend she couldn’t make her own.

Or a man she couldn’t.

“You could have called.”

“Then you would have had time to make up an excuse for me not to come.”

“Well, I’m super busy. And it’s not an excuse if it’s true.”

She hooks her arm through mine. “Oh, please, you’re never too busy for your momma. Besides, Randy ended up following me from Palm Springs back to Arizona, so I needed an escape plan.”

“Of course you did.”

“And I haven’t seen my baby girl in forever.”

“You saw me on Mother’s Day.”

“That was practically another lifetime. Now where’s my grandson?”

I laugh despite myself. “He’s at day care. He’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I glance down at the bags at her feet. “So,” I say, “how long are you staying?”

She gives me an innocent look. “Long enough for Randy to take a hint.”

I sigh.

“Fine. Come on.” I grab one of her bags. “I don’t have another class until two. We’ll go get lunch.”

By the time we reach the dining hall, the place is busy with students, instructors, and academy staff. The room hums with conversation, clattering silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter.

Ginger slows as she looks around.