The Son & His Hope Page 7

  “Leg over,” I grunted, breathing hard as I waited until she did as I asked.

  “No, I don’t—”

  “Just do it.” I boosted her the final way.

  She cringed, hunkering into the saddle as Forrest pranced, making her clutch onto the pommel with white knuckles.

  “Let me down.” Her face turned colourless. “Please.”

  “Jacob, what the hell do you think you are doing?” Graham tried to grab Hope, but Forrest shied away, his metal shoes clattering on pebbles.

  Hope squealed, jamming her knees into the horse, the stirrups far too long for her.

  Graham glowered at me. “Get her off that thing. Immediately.”

  “No.” Clucking my tongue, I urged Forrest into a trot, whisking Hope away from her father and out of reach of Aunt Cassie as she jogged toward me, about to prevent me from doing something I most likely shouldn’t do.

  Hope whimpered, clinging to the saddle horn as she bounced.

  “Jacob. Stop!” Aunt Cassie shouted, angrier than she’d ever been. “This is insane. Get her off that creature!”

  Ignoring everyone, including Hope as she sniffled on top of my horse, I guided Forrest as fast as I could into the arena, made my way to the centre, then uncoiled the lunge line and looked at Hope.

  Her eyes met mine, terrified and wide. “Jacob—”

  “Just trust me.”

  Adults gave chase.

  Curses were screamed.

  I had only a few seconds to get things organised before they ruined this.

  Hope wasn’t wearing a helmet.

  She had no experience.

  She was on a horse everyone said would be better in a can than being ridden.

  But this was what she needed.

  “Ready?”

  She shook her head furiously. “No! Let me down.”

  “Can’t. Not yet.”

  “Wha-what are you going to do?”

  “Give you what you want.”

  “I want down!” Her cheeks flushed red with rage.

  “No, you don’t.” I stepped away, putting distance between me and Forrest’s legs. “You want this.”

  “No. Stop.” She squealed as I clucked my tongue, and Forrest immediately kicked into a lope. A nice easy canter, forward and smooth. “Ahhhh!”

  I didn’t let her screams stop me. I didn’t let the pressure of disappointing my dead father make me second-guess. He was all about pushing limits and being brave.

  This was Hope’s moment.

  “Jacob!” Aunt Cassie yelled from the arena entrance, knowing better than to run into the circle of a lunging horse. “Stop this before you hurt her!”

  “She won’t get hurt!” I yelled back before shutting her out and focusing on Hope and only Hope. “If you listen to what I tell you, you’ll be fine.”

  Hope merely shook her head in panic.

  “Sit deep. Push your heels down. Hold on to the horn. Ride the wave. Don’t fight it. You don’t have to worry about steering. I’ve got him. You don’t have to worry about speed. I’m in control. All you have to do is ask yourself if this is what you were looking for.”

  A full circle at a canter and she hadn’t fallen off or burst into tears.

  She was pale as milk and stiff as a door, and Forrest snorted at the strangeness of carrying her and not me. His ears flicked back and forth, getting pissy but obeying me to keep cantering.

  “Listen to me, Hope. You’re fine. He won’t do anything. You asked for this, remember? You wanted to be galloping by this afternoon. Well, it’s this afternoon, and you’re cantering. Three circles, Hope, and you’re still on.”

  A ghost of a smile twitched her lips.

  Another circle.

  Still hanging on. Still white.

  “Let your lower spine go loose. Rock your hips. Let the saddle swallow you up.”

  She dared look at me instead of keeping her eyes glued to Forrest’s wither. For a millisecond, she obeyed, unlocking her spine and riding with the horse instead of fighting it.

  But then she lost it, seizing up again, bouncing on his back. “Stop. Stop!”

  “I won’t stop. Not until you learn.”

  “I don’t want to learn!”

  “Stop this nonsense this instant!” Graham tried to get to me, but each time he charged forward, Forrest was there, cantering around me, blocking me in the circle.

  “Jacob. Don’t do this. Teach her the normal way. You’re terrifying her!” Aunt Cassie commanded, her face red with rage.

  “The normal way sucks,” I called back. “She has to accept that riding is hard, it’s scary, and it’s not at all like the movies.” I narrowed a look at Hope. “She has to know this isn’t choreographed like the sets she lives on. It’s not point and shoot. If she wants to ride, she has to ride. It’s not fake or made up. She rides, or she dies.” I shrugged. “Injury versus staying on-board.”

  “Jacob…” Hope moaned. “Please.”

  I’d lost count of how many circles Forrest had cantered. He could go all day. The only way this was stopping was if Hope listened to me or if she fully accepted that she’d been lying to herself about needing this.

  “Listen to the horse, Hope.” I clucked my tongue, making Forrest go faster.

  She squealed, holding on harder, bouncing like a potato.

  “I’ll stop him if you can sit to the canter for two beats. Just two. Got it?”

  She clamped her lips together, yanking herself deeper into the saddle but not using any leg strength.

  “Clutch with your thighs. You don’t need your hands. It’s all in your seat.”

  “I’m not you!” Red patches glowed brighter on her cheeks. “I can’t do this!”

  “You can. Rock. Relax that spine. Ride, for God’s sake, don’t just bounce there.”

  Forrest pig-rooted as Hope’s legs dangled by his side.

  She screamed.

  Cassie yelled something.

  Graham bellowed.

  And I kept Forrest cantering. Placing the long lunge line on the ground, I tucked the end under a rock. The minute it wouldn’t drag behind Forrest, I sprinted toward girl and beast.

  “What are you—”

  Hope never finished that sentence as I vaulted up behind her.

  I’d leapt on Forrest many times while he was mid pace. Some I’d landed, some I hadn’t, all of them a gamble of faith.

  This time, I had something to hold on to, and I wrapped my arms around Hope as I settled behind the saddle on Forrest’s rump.

  He snorted but kept running.

  “Ride with your hips, Hope.” Clamping my hands on her waist, I pushed her down, stopping her bouncing, forcing her to rock with the beat.

  Instantly, her spine unlocked, her body swayed, and her tension unravelled like a seasoned rider.

  “Oh…”

  “Yes, oh. Feels good, huh?”

  I kept holding her, letting her feel the undeniable freedom and connection of riding with the horse and not against it.

  She was tiny and fragile in my hands but strong and steel-willed too. She was a kid who’d napped with her dead mother. A kid who was brave enough to ask a total stranger about death. A kid who didn’t have anyone else to talk to in her fake world of movies and actors.

  If she didn’t annoy me so much, I might’ve felt sorry for her.

  But then her tension came back, reminding me she sought me for a friend but she didn’t listen.

  “I want to stop now.”

  I smirked. “You didn’t say please.”

  “Please.”

  Chuckling, I nudged Forrest a bit faster. “Not yet.”

  My thumbs dug into the small of her back, forcing her to unlock her hips again.

  With a sharp breath, she relaxed and trusted, and the difference in her riding was night and day.

  The moment her body naturally lengthened and sought the pace again, I whistled under my breath, bringing Forrest to a complete stop.

  She breathed hard in
front of me. Her back touching my chest with each inhale. Her brown hair crackled from flying every which way and sweat glistened on her young face.

  But she was alive.

  And the look in her eyes was no longer defeat but utter awe.

  I leapt off, wiping heat from my forehead and looking up at her with the sun blinding me. “Now, tell me you didn’t feel that.”

  Her gaze was glossy, wistful, addicted. “I felt it.”

  “Good.”

  She swayed in the saddle. She looked as if I’d just gotten her drunk on illegal substances.

  And in a way, I had.

  Horses were pure addiction.

  “Wow.”

  I grinned, enjoying how the tightness and nervousness in her mellowed into shaky joy.

  Graham skidded to a stop, shoved me to the side, and yanked his daughter from my horse. Wagging a finger in my face, he snarled, “If you ever put my Lace in danger again, I’ll skin you alive.”

  Aunt Cassie penned in my other side, disappointment and anger all over her. “What were you thinking, Jacob?”

  I smiled wider, my eyes not leaving Hope’s as she gawked at me from her father’s arms.

  She might be a child of Hollywood, but for the first time in her life, she was more than what she’d been born into.

  She’d had a taste of freedom. And good luck to anyone who tried to tell her she couldn’t have more.

  Tipping my hand to the rim of my cowboy hat, I saluted my young student. “You didn’t die. Congratulations.”

  Her eyes flared. Graham’s jaw clenched. And I stepped the hell away from furious adults.

  “That was a stupid, stupid thing to do.” Aunt Cassie growled under her breath.

  As I backed toward the arena exit, I kept my gaze on Hope’s wild one. “Stupid, maybe. But at least she knows now. She knows what she wants.”

  I turned around, whistled for my horse, and didn’t say goodbye as Forrest trotted after me. Aunt Cassie yelled an obscenity, and Graham dragged Hope across the gravel, stuffed her into his flashy 4WD, and shot from Cherry River without a backward glance.

  Good riddance.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JACOB

  * * * * * *

  Sixteen Years Old

  MY FINGERS FUMBLED with the last piece of sticky tape as I finished wrapping the small gift.

  It wasn’t pretty or neat, but it would do. At least it hid the swirly silvery scarf I’d bought Mom and a new pair of sunglasses with diamante horses on the sides. They were cheap, but I hoped she liked them.

  After all, they were a thank you.

  A gift of gratitude for putting up with me…and for letting me drop out of school. She’d had a fight with the education board but she’d made me a promise and kept it—signing paperwork to officially free me.

  Finally.

  “Wild One, where are you?” Mom’s voice trailed down the corridor to my room.

  “Coming!” Launching off my bed where scissors, silver wrapping paper, and a black ribbon lay, I met her on the threshold just as I was closing my door.

  Her eyes narrowed, trying to look past me to the navy painted walls and blue bedspread. She’d let me decorate the room myself after Dad passed away and we both wanted a new start. She’d painted their bedroom a slate grey, which she said was calming but I called depressive, and I went all blue as that was my favourite colour.

  Or it was six years ago. Now, I leaned more toward greens, but I had no plan of repainting anytime soon because I wasn’t a student anymore. I wasn’t a kid. I was a full-time farmer as of Monday, and full-time farmers needed their own home.

  Not that I’d told her I was moving out yet.

  That would come later. I’d already pushed her further than I should.

  “What are you doing all secretive in there?” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Is there a girl in there with you?”

  I rolled my eyes, snorting under my breath. “A girl? Seriously? There’s a lot of things to worry about where I’m concerned, but girls? Not one of them.”

  Mom flinched. “You know…you can, um, date, right? I know I was strict when you were younger, but, well, you’re officially an adult.”

  I chuckled, lacing my voice with sarcasm. “Gee, thanks for the permission.”

  She sighed with a smile, knowing my sarcasm was for all the things I did without her permission, but she loved me anyway. The long weekend camping trips alone. The reckless riding I indulged in more and more with Forrest wearing no saddle, bridle, or gear whatsoever.

  I’d developed a taste for adrenaline, and she didn’t like me searching for it by soaring over fences and dangerous obstacles.

  Her nose wrinkled a little as if nervous to broach the next subject. “You know…if you had a boy in there, I wouldn’t mind.”

  My eyes flew wide. “A boy?”

  You know?” She coughed delicately. “If you’re more interested in them than—”

  “Whoa, Mom.” I held up my hand, keeping my room obstructed. “I’m not gay.”

  “Ugh, I know that.” She looked at the ceiling as if asking Dad for strength. “And really, you’re still too young for that sort of thing. I just…I just want you to know…I’m open to you having a girlfriend, boyfriend. Hell, even a friend at this point. You should really make more of an effort. You’re going to be working a lot on your own from now on. It’s important you have people your age to hang out with when you want to see a movie or party or whatever.”

  I kissed her temple fast, a flurry of affection that didn’t hurt me too much and gave Mom the contact she needed. “I’m fine, Mom. Honest.”

  She sighed again. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yep. Just need to change real quick.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave you to it even though I’m still suspicious. Gonna tell me what you’re up to?”

  “Nope.” I grinned, backing into my room and closing the door slowly. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Five minutes,” she warned as my door clicked closed.

  I darted back to my badly wrapped gift, finished tying the bow, threw on a pair of jeans that didn’t have grass stains on, sprayed some deodorant under my black T-shirt, then glanced warily at my door again.

  For moments like this, I wished I had a lock.

  My heart gave a little kick as I headed to my wardrobe, stepped inside the shallow cupboard, and dropped to my knees. There, I used the tip of my Swiss Army blade to ease up the floorboard I’d loosened and stashed things I knew would hurt Mom.

  Things like the letter Dad left me under my pillow the night he died, as if he knew he wouldn’t see morning. The stack of photos I’d taken on the old cell phone I’d had as a kid and begged Grandpa John to take me to the store to print off. Photos of me and Dad in the field, by the pond, cooking a barbecue, him hugging Mom in the kitchen, him laughing with Aunt Cassie on the deck, him kissing Mom as starlight kissed them both.

  A treasure stash that would only cause her more grief.

  And there, beneath the junk of old barn and gate keys, random pieces of hay, and a harmonica Dad tried to teach me to play and failed, was a plastic bag with four small packages.

  Packages that had kept me up at night with curiosity, begging me to open them but knowing I never could.

  Because they weren’t addressed to me.

  Tipping them out, I shuffled them around until the scribbled numbers on top faced upward.

  All four, wrapped in blue satin paper, glinted in the evening sunshine streaming through my windows. All were about the same size but with different numbers setting them apart.

  Today’s number would be the first I had to give.

  When I first found the bag, stashed in my wardrobe inside one of my old paddock boots a month or so after Dad had gone, I’d been desperate to grow older just so I could watch Mom open them. For a long time, it’d added to my desire to leave school. But then my own desires meant I couldn’t face going to class any longer and today was the day I
was both no longer a student and could finally give Mom her first gift from the grave.

  Putting the box with ‘number one’ inked in black pen onto my knee, I smoothed out the letter that came with the small bag.

  Hi Wild One,

  I didn’t know how to do this without hurting you. Should I have told you before? Should I not have done it? I still don’t know the answers to those questions. And I’m sorry if this is hard and unfair. But I know you’re brave and strong and such an awesome son that you will understand and be kind enough to do this for me.

  Enclosed are four packages for your mother. But she’s not to have them now. It’s up to you to hide them until things come to pass, okay?

  You’re to give them to her as gently as you can. No explanations. She’ll figure out the hows and whys for herself—she always has. Also, don’t make a big deal out of it, but if she hasn’t cut a piece of her blue ribbon lately, perhaps replace what I’m sure is looking pretty tattered when you give each of these.

  The only rule is this:

  Don’t, under any circumstance, give any of these to your mother if she has found someone who loves her as much as I do. If she’s with someone else, I’m happy she’s happy. If she’s not, I’m happy I still have her heart. But regardless if she’s married or dating or only just met someone who makes her smile again, do not, I repeat, do not, give her these.

  Bury them in the forest and forget about them. I hurt her enough when I left too soon. I refuse to hurt her more while she’s still living.

  Okay, Jacob?

  I know that’s a hard thing to ask of you, but I’m trusting you to do what I say. And I’m also trusting you to accept someone new into the family if that is where her happiness lies. Promise me you won’t make it hard for her. Yes, you and your mother will always be mine.

  Even gone, I’m not giving her up.

  But I can share her for a little while if that makes her life more bearable.

  With that uncomfortable rule out of the way, here are the instructions:

  Box number one is for when you graduate high school.

  Box number two is for when you meet the girl you’re going to marry.