Page 157 of Wild Embers
Widening my eyes, I repeat her last two words. “Old man?”
Blake’s smile is wide from our banter, lighting up her face. “You’re the one going senile.”
“I take offense to that,” I return, faking my affront.
Her answering smile is all I need.
Urging Ace forward, I begin our distraction, and Blake follows behind with Shadow. Just like the first time she rode, Blake coaxes Shadow so we’re trotting side by side.
From the moment she saddled up, I could see the difference in her eyes. In the dining room, her gaze was troubled. Out herewith nothing but a horse, the earth, and the sky, her eyes are bright, and the tension in her shoulders is gone.
“Tell me about your life in New York,” I prompt her.
She shrugs, her eyes fixed forward. “Not much to tell.”
“I doubt that.”
Blake sighs, her gaze going far off. “I rent—used to rent—a studio. I canceled the lease when I came here. My best friend is Savannah. I miss her like crazy.” Her head tilts to the side as her smile becomes more subtle.
I understand Blake’s longing. She has spent a large portion of her life in New York City. Of course she’s going to miss it.
But I’m selfish enough to keep her here with me—with us.
“Why art?” I question.
Blake shakes her head, returning to our horseback ride. “What?”
“Why did you choose to pursue a career in art?” I ask again.
Blake flashes a contemplative frown, shrugging a shoulder. “I guess because it’s how I express myself.”
Wanting clarification, I inquire, “What do you mean?”
Blake nods her head as if the motion helps her find the words. “It’s cathartic. I started drawing after my dad died, then it just sort of stuck. I won a couple of awards in high school, and when I got to New York, I got my paintings in a few galleries, and it took off from there.”
“Do you miss it?”
She switches her attention to me, scrunching her brows. “What? New York?” Swaying her head from side to side, she seems to fully contemplate my question. “Sometimes. I miss painting more.”
It’s not hard to sympathize with Blake. If I had to walk away from my life at Falling Sky, homesickness would paralyze me.
Needing to see her smile again, I firmly squeeze my calves together, make a sound with my mouth, and tap Ace’s croup. Ace obeys my cues and widens his stride, quickening his pace.
“Santi!” Blake shouts after me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I shout back, “Come on,mi Cielo.” Lifting my face to the sky, I let out a loud, triumphant bellow and instruct Ace to run faster.
With the chilled wind numbing my face, I let a warm feeling spread through my chest. It’s moments like this that make the early mornings, little sleep, and grueling labor worth it.
In my peripheral vision, Blake and Shadow gain on Ace and me. I never taught Blake how to instruct a horse to run, but I’m not surprised she figured it out.
Blake’s hair whips behind her, and the expression on her face matches my own.
I direct Ace to pull back a hair, so I can watch Blake in this moment. She drops the lines to Shadow’s bridle and hesitantly spreads her arms wide. Her head tilts up, and the cheer she bellows is unleashed in the Wyoming air, dancing to a rhythm that is solely Blake Jennings.
This is whatIchoose.
Her.
