Chapter Nineteen

The ranch stunk. I don't mean it was lacking in fun, I mean that it literally stunk. We could smell the horses and other livestock before we'd even pulled off onto the dirt road that would take us to the stables out back of the large house. We emerged from the RV like kids from a nap, stretching a cranky. I was the only one who hadn't slept. Even knowing everyone else was asleep didn't let me feel the comfort I needed in order to fall asleep myself.

Dr. Crimm waited patiently as a tall figure made his way from the stables to our motor home. He wore tight jeans—not skater-kid tight, but more like a cowboy—and a button-up shirt. His boots looked old and work-worn and his hat completed the look. Flies buzzed around us and he chuckled as we tried unsuccessfully to bat them away.

"They don't bite," he said. "Well, not you, anyway. They do annoy the horses." He gave Dr. Crimm a big, warm hug and then stepped away to get a good look at us. "My name's Scott. Tell me a little bit about yourself and I'll pick a horse that fits you."

Damien laughed. "I doubt you have one that will like me. I'm not a big fan of horseback riding. Maybe we should skip the introduction and go straight to the part where you put me on the worst-behaved animal so I can suffer through this ride like all the others I've been on."

Scott, who reminded me of the cowboy from the old cigarette ads in our textbooks, adjusted his stance and rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he studied Damien. "I'm giving you Frank. He's our oldest and most stable horse. He's been around a long time and knows how to lead the group, even though he'd much rather follow. He's smart, though, so you're going to have to keep praising him if you want him to work for you. No one suffers through rides on my watch."

Next, Scott looked at Marco. "What's your name, kid?"

"Marco." Marco stood nearly at attention, looking Scott right in the eyes as he answered his question. He had courage and confidence, two things many of us were lacking.

"Well, Marco, it looks like you have a wild streak. Maybe you like to be in control when really you should cut loose. I'm giving you Geronimo. He's a mustang I broke in a year ago. He's well-behaved now, but in his younger years I'll bet he was a real hellion."

Scott walked over to Ken so he could see his injury better. "What's your name and how high does that cast go on your thigh?"

"Ken and halfway. Maybe I should sit this one out. I haven't been on my horse since I broke my leg. Doctor would want me to heal properly." Ken began backing his wheelchair away from Scott, but Scott moved quickly and stepped behind him, rolling him forward and facing the stables.

"Actually, Ken, I agree with the doctor." Scott pointed across the way to a black horse. "I want you to heal properly, too. Not all broken things are bones, though. Riding is good for your soul. That horse out there is Lucky. He came here with a break in his leg that should have had him put down, but we gave him a chance at healing. You know he is one of my strongest horses now? Used to work the farm up the road, but now he just likes to show up the other horses and beat them back here for the treat. He'll be yours for today."

Dr. Crimm smiled as she watched Scott sidestep our excuses. In the end I found myself on Jubilee, a beautiful mare who was the shiest of the lot. "Stay in front of Yonder," Scott warned as he pointed out Shima's horse. "That horse is helpful. Only problem is, she's happy to help you off your horse mid-ride." Aideen's mount would be the last, with only Dr. Crimm and her horse behind her. Aideen was given a horse named Mor, a Dutch word for mother, since she had been rescued along with her calf at the end of winter three years ago. I was highly suspicious of Scott and his horses, but even if Dr. Crimm had prepped him about us, his obvious love for the animals gave me some comfort in trusting him to guide us along the trail.

Ken was the last to attempt to mount. We tried not to watch in case he fell off or was embarrassed about not being able to just stick one foot in the stirrups and swing a leg over like everyone else. Scott didn't bat an eye. He grabbed a step stool from the stable and walked it over to Ken's horse. Ken stood up but looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Are you sure about this?" Ken asked.

"Sure about what? The horse? He'll be fine. You're not going to hurt him." Scott spoke casually, seemingly ignoring the fact that Ken's leg was covered in a large cast.

Ken just laughed and shook his head like he couldn't believe this was happening. I thought Scott would help him up, but it was as if he knew Ken needed to do it on his own. Ken climbed up the two steps and grabbed onto the saddle. He stayed there at the top of the stool for a minute, most likely planning the best way to get on without hurting himself or the horse.

"It all comes down to trust," Scott said as he busied himself adjusting something on Shima's saddle that probably didn't need adjusting. "If you feel like your leg is healing, then trust it with the cast to hold your weight. If it's not, I'm sure we can figure out something else."

Ken held on so tightly to the saddle his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes and sweat beaded on his forehead. Finally, he exhaled a large breath and lifted his good leg over his horse. The cast wouldn't fit in the stirrups so he had to depend on his bad leg to get him on, and his good leg to keep him there. The smile that stretched across his face was contagious. The moment he was on, his hands took the reins and his body moved in a way that made it obvious he'd spent a good deal of his life in a saddle.

"I didn't think I'd ride again for a long time," he said, giving Lucky a little nudge with his heels. The horse obeyed and moved where Ken was directing. "It feels good."

"They don't say 'get back on the horse' for no reason." Scott laughed. He moved the stool back to where it had come from and then quickly mounted his horse in a fluid way I'd only seen in the movies. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slid one out. I'd only seen a cigarette one other time in my life; my father brought one home to show me when I got the "Don't do drugs" speech. Scott set it on his lip, letting it rest there as he talked around it. The image was so striking I wanted to take a picture. He was the Marlboro Man come to life, like he'd just ridden out of our history books. I could see why the image of a cowboy had sold so many cigarettes—it was intriguing and made me want to taste one myself.

We had always been taught that smoking kills. Only one tobacco company remained in business, but the price of cigarettes was astronomically high with all the taxes that had been put on them over the years. I thought Dr. Crimm might tell him not to smoke around us, but she just ran her hand over the shiny mane of her horse and smiled up at us as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"Let's go." Scott spun his horse around and led us to the trail along the back of the stable. At first the movement of the horse beneath me felt awkward, but soon the slow rock felt second nature. I looked out over the open green field and thought about what it might have been like to be a cowboy back in the days before cars had taken over as the main method of transportation. Every so often the scent of smoke found its way back to me.

I kept my eye on the riders ahead of me. At first, they looked cautious, hanging on tightly to their reins and keeping their backs rigid. After nearly twenty minutes on the trail, the stiff spines gave way to relaxed shoulders and gentle smiles that beamed from faces as they turned to say something to the rider behind them. We laughed. Maybe not the kind that made your stomach hurt, but the kind that made your cheeks tired and your heart lighter with each burst. And for a moment, I was young again.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, letting the sun shine down on my face. How long had it been since I could pull a full breath of air into my lungs?Had it been six months? Longer? I released it and then grew greedy for more. The scent of grass and dirt filled my nose and I focused on the sound of the horses clomping along the packed path. I wished every moment of my life could be so simple. Dr. Crimm had her phone, but none of the other riders did so the usual sounds of messages and calls were notably absent and the chirp of birds and the rustle of the wind through the leaves of the trees lining the trail created a symphony of nature.

There was the sound of water rushing ahead of us and the trickle of a stream as it danced over rocks in the distance. The click of my horse's hoofs seemed to fall in time with my slow and steady heartbeat and I wanted to pause everything and stay there forever. Was it really just yesterday I'd thought a moment like this would never be possible for me again? As the warm light of the bright sun filled my vision, I wondered if that passing moment was a promise of more, or a fleeting dream slipping through my senses that would be gone the second we returned to where we'd started.

Voices drifted back to me from the front of the line: Damien chatting with Ken, and Marco teasing Aideen about her horse's need to keep its nose in his horse's butt. On any other day at any other time, the six of us would be scattered across this country. We'd all be connected to our phones, earpieces in place so we could be connected to everything and everyone. Out here it was just nature and each other. No one was posting to his or her social media, and we weren't being given news announcements for our area on the hour. We were off the grid.

We reached the top of a hill and Scott gathered us into a group to look down on the field below. Our world was so connected through technology that we could quickly communicate with someone on the other side of the world in a matter of seconds, watching their images on our screen if we wanted. Businesses were never held back by location, daily discussions and meetings easily attended by employees from all over with just a screen. It had shaped the way we lived, our once-connected cities no longer needing that physical connection, and now pockets of people formed communities we rarely left unless we wanted to for the sake of exploration.

I looked out over the rolling green grass and the babbling brook below and saw the world the way my grandmother must have. A few houses seemed to have dropped at random from the sky and dotted the green with gray and shades of brown. No one out there was living on top of anyone else and the congestion of our overcrowded communities suddenly seemed toxic in comparison to the vastness of the space between each of the residences below us. It felt like we were looking at a ghost town, a quick image that captured a moment in time from decades ago.

"Do people still live there?" I asked as I pointed out a large house in the distance with a stone driveway that climbed from the street up to the front door.

"Sure," Scott answered. His cigarette was much smaller now, but it still hung in perfect balance on the corner of his lip. "That house there is owned by a genius. She wrote the code for some of the technology your peers all wear. She's retired now, but in her day she was sought out by all the big communications companies."

"Nice," Damien said as he adjusted in his saddle. "What about that one?" He pointed to a house much farther away that seemed to be built right into the mountain.

Scott's face lit up. "That one always gets a lot of attention."

"How does the owner even get to it?" Damien asked.

"On horseback. There's a stable out back you can't see from this angle." Scott finally stubbed out his cigarette on the horn of his saddle and then tucked the butt into his pocket. It made me respect him even more; I think if he had flicked it into the beautiful grass I would have been heartbroken.

"Why wouldn't he want a driveway?" Marco asked.

Scott shrugged. "I think sometimes you have to be committed to a certain way of life. You find out what makes you happy, what heals you from the little injuries and the big ones. And then once you know the antidote, you make it a part of your day, every day." He lifted his chin in the direction of the house we were all studying with curiosity. "Some fancy businessman offered the owner five million dollars for the property last year."

All of our heads whipped around to look at Scott. That was a lot of money for a house with no driveway built into the side of a mountain in horse country. Scott chuckled at our reaction and gave his horse a small kick to get him moving again. "He turned it down."

"How do you know?" Ken asked, kicking his horse, too, in a way that seemed as natural to him as tucking my hair behind my ear seemed to me.

"Because it's my house," Scott answered.

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