Page 75 of A Bittersweet Summer

“I know.” I nod. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No, it’ll be fine,” she asserts. “You don’t have to do that.”

I put another slice of toast on the plate before turning off the stove. “Of course, I don’t have to,” I say. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

Roe chews on her cheek, her voice lowering to a whisper. There’s so much vulnerability here, I’m almost taken aback. Rosemary is the strong one between us—the one who doesn’t let opinions or rules get in the way. It’s jarring to see her like this. “She thinks I’m a fuck up,” she confesses. “I mean, she’s our mother. She didn’t use those words, but the sentiment was there. I’ve wasted my potential by refusing to grow up. A real Peter Pan syndrome.” Roe blinks. “You know, she didn’t evenaskwhat things were like in Nashville.”

“If she did, do you think she would have even listened?”

She rolls her tongue along her cheek where she’d bitten it. “No.” Rosemary heaves a long sigh. “I know you love it here,” she says, “And I’m so proud of you for all you’ve done with this place, but this isn’t home for me, Wes.” One more harrowing look. “This is a cage.”

I nod, doing my best to be some kind of support.

Roe’s eyes flick to the plate again. “You sure I can’t have one of those?” she asks.

“You can have mine,” I offer, but she just shakes her head.

“I’m just joking,” she says. “I already got my breakfast.”

Rosemary scoops up her bowl of yogurt and takes it deeper into the house—to the sunroom, I’m assuming. “Next time,” she shouts over her shoulder. “You are going toherhouse. And stay away from my sourdough.”

“The sourdough counts as your rent!” I shout back, sensing the middle finger despite her disappearance.

Twenty-One

Cassidy

“We are absolutely not doing this today!”

I grunt, pulling the lead rope tighter. Wes started working with the colts last week, and if it weren’t for the daily lunch dates, random forehead kisses, and exactly three nightsin the past two weeks that I’ve slept at my own house, I’d start to think he was using orgasms so I wouldn’t curse him out for making me work with such headstrong animals.

“Cassidy, stop pulling on that lead rope.” Wes’s gentle voice seems completely at odds with the amount of urgency and stress going on in my body right now. My muscles ache, and the horse I once calledmy favorite of all the yearlingshas planted himself firmly on my shit list. I fight him, somewhat embarrassed by how I can’t figure this one out. I’m good with horses.

At least I thought I was.

I ease up, and he swings his head a bit higher, forcing me to back up. Luckily, he doesn’t make a move to rise up on his hind legs. I guess I haven’t pissed him off enough, yet. “Are you sure he’s not a donkey?” I ask.

Wes chuckles, pushing off the stall wall. “Positive,” he murmurs, moving to stand right behind me, his presence easing some of my stress. “You have to walk with him.”

“I am!” Unfortunately, I sound like a whining pre-teen. “I’m sorry. I’m an adult. That is what IthoughtI was doing, but it’s a little difficult when one party involved won’t move a muscle.”

Wes pats the colt’s neck before placing his hand over mine on the lead rope. “This one has a good temperament,” he says. “But he’s a teen right now, and if you get into a battle of wills, the thousand-pound animal will win no matter what you do.” His fingers flex around mine, sure and ready. “Walk with him, encourage him on, keep a firm grip, but don’t pull unless he needs correcting. You want to reward this horse for doing the right thing so he gets the hang of it.”

I take a deep breath. Wes turns his ballcap backward and plants a kiss on my cheek before stepping out into the aisle of the barn. “Go on,” he encourages. “Believe he’s going to do it, and he will. And Cass?”

“Yeah?” I sound somewhat defeated, but Wes only smiles.

“You’re doing a great job. Your instincts are good; there’s just a lot of nuance to these young ones. I wouldn’t give you the same advice for Otis. That colt is a whole different ballgame.”

With another deep breath, I encourage the horse forward, using more of a gentle press and release when he gets stuck. Eventually, he lowers his head in a relaxed position and follows me out.

I know he’s the easiest to work with, and Wes is using him to teach me. Ishouldfeel humiliated by that, but I don’t—not this time.

I’m struggling to decide how much force is too much force—afraid that if I’m too gentle, I’ll be bulldozed and create bad habits. But if I’m too harsh, it’ll result in the same thing. Bad habits all around.

The colt perks his head up when we exit the barn, bright light from the sun beating down on us. His ears prick forward, and he starts quickening his pace. I follow along, wondering what it is he sees. I can feel the tension in his body.

“Keep his focus,” Wes reminds me. “One sharp yank on the lead. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to show you’re serious. He needs to mind you no matter what he sees out there.”