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What on earth had possessed you to let Marnie talk you into buying a horse?
Actually, you didn’t need to answer that. You knew the exact brand of fantasy running through your mind as you forked over the gold and asked her to find one who was gentle and “beginner” friendly.
Whatever the hell that meant.
You roll your eyes, because what did beginner friendly even mean for a horse? It’s not like you were picking up a new craft in your spare time like bird watching or needlepoint. This was another living being that you would now have to take care of.
It’s just that, you couldn’t ride the cows and pigs… and had always wanted a horse ever since you were a child.
Your grandparents had one on the farm when you were little. You can distinctly remember being taken on rides into town atop an old chestnut mare with the sweetest of dispositions. Such good memories for the first horse you ever experienced.
She was also the only horse you had ever experienced.
And yes, you probably should have clarified further when Marnie got excited when you admitted to having some skill (large emphasis on some). But then she didn’t question it further, because why would she? At this point in your relationship, you had purchased so many animals from her that she trusted you completely.
Questionable life choices aside, that leads you to today. To the grey dapple mare who arrived this morning, unassumingly carrying the moniker of Sugarplum, who is anything but. Currently the spiced candy confection was neighing and bucking around the small horse pen connected to your barn with a wild abandon you hadn’t realized horses could possess until just now. Part of you just keeps hoping that she’ll tire herself out on her own long enough for you to approach.
Fantasies of riding her through your meadow, hair braided with wildflowers are all but drying up before your eyes. Because how in Yoba’s name would you ever find the courage to saddle this rambunctious, snorting 1000lb wall of pure muscle and attitude that someone jokingly labelled ‘beginner friendly?’
You’re standing at the edge of the enclosure, watching as she charges the fence only to stop short, do a little spin kick of joy and gallop off again like you should be thankful for the free show she’s putting on.
Ok, forget riding through meadows. How the hell were you even supposed to get her into the barn at the end of the day at this rate?
You’ve completely lost track of the hour, having attempted to wander up to her several times now to middling degrees of success.
You’d hold your little apple out nervously to her like a peace offering. Only, Sugarplum clearly sensed your fear, realizing in the span of a single afternoon that if she spooked you, you’d simply drop the apple and run, leaving her with the tasty treat to pluck off the ground at her leisure.
You were running out of options – and apples – as the sun began to set. Too caught up in your head to notice Elliott wandering up the dirt path to your home. You don’t hear him until he’s right behind you at the fence, as small, delighted gasp escaping his parted lips as you turn to face him.
“What a magnificent creature!” he marvels as you glance back at Sugarplum just to ensure he’s referring to the same beast.
“Oh, Elliott, it’s you,” you smile before noting with dismay how low the sun is hanging in the sky. “I think I lost track of the time. We were supposed to meet for lunch hours ago, weren’t we? I’m so sorry,” you murmur, abandoning the training pen for the welcoming comfort of his arms.
“Hush now. These things happen. You’re running an entire farm by yourself,” he soothes, his eyes tracking the horse’s every movement. “I hadn’t realized that today was the day your new equine friend was set to arrive.”
“Neither did I,” you admit sheepishly. “But Marnie showed up at my door early this morning very excited. Said she’d found the perfect horse for me and if I acted fast, I could get her at a huge discount. Something about the old owner needing to ensure she was being sent to a good home…” you trail off, her words making a lot more sense now. “I don’t think I got the gentle mare I was betting on.”
And there it is. The thing you haven’t been willing to admit to yourself all day long. That perhaps this time, you have legitimately bitten off more than you can chew.
Your shoulders sag as you bury your head against his chest. “Elliott, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with her. I can’t even get close enough to make friends. I would need an experienced rider working with her daily to give her the attention she deserves. I…” you trail off, taking a deep, steadying breath as he rubs soothing circles along your back. You’re tired, frustrated, and yes, you realize, finally letting it fully sink in; you’re worried you won’t be up to the task.
“What is her name, my muse,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“Sugarplum,” you say, exhausted laughter dancing through your words. “The name doesn’t suit her at all.”
He hums knowingly, hands tracing down your sides until he finds what he’s looking for, producing an apple from your pocket with a grin. He gives you a quick peck before walking with purpose towards the pen. It takes you a moment to realize where he’s heading, your whole body tensing up in alarm.
“Oh, love, wait. She’s… she’s very high-spirited,” you ramble as he throws back the latch and walks in.
“It’s quite all right my muse. Let me do this for you,” he replies, flashing you a winning smile. You just stand there, watching with complete bewilderment as the man – the writer you love – starts taking slow, non-threatening steps towards your horse.
She snorts, flicking her tail at him, but doesn’t prance away. Just watches and waits, her ears swivelling towards him as he begins to talk in low, soothing tones.
“Such a strong will,” he coos. “You are truly remarkable and know it. A mare befitting royalty.”
There’s another snort before Sugarplum turns her head to face him. Elliott slows, making a show of looking at the apple, but not holding it out just yet. He wants her to come to him.
You hold your breath as the horse trots over, worried he’s about to get bullied or nipped or any number of small catastrophes your brain doesn’t have the capacity to fully latch onto just yet.
But nothing happens.
Elliott stands his ground and continues to talk in the same low, soothing tones as before, as Sugarplum closes the distance and begins nosing around, looking for her treat.
“There’s a good girl,” he murmurs, catching the bridle in one hand and presenting the apple with the other.
You stand there, stunned, as she takes it from him. Allowing him to lean in close and pet down the front of her face, all the while whispering words of encouragement more like old friends catching up after years apart than horse and fiancée.
“H-how did you do that, Elliott? I’ve been trying to approach her all afternoon.”
He turns his head slowly, still talking in that low, calming tone. “Riding was one of the few acceptable pastimes my parents actually approved of,” he says by way of explanation. You make a mental note to ask him about this later tonight as he holds out his free hand to you. “Approach slowly and come meet the second being on this farm who’s managed to ensnare my heart.”
You approach tentatively. She really is a beautiful horse, you think as you adopt that same, easy stance that Elliott is using. He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before guiding your palm gently to her muzzle. It’s soft, velvety, and tickles as a breath of hot air dances across your palm. You can’t help it; you’re smiling under his guidance.
“See now, that wasn’t so hard, was it, my good girl.”
You know he’s talking to the horse, but stars, the way he says it has you feeling a certain type of way.
“Elliott,” you whisper. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”
Even as Elliott tries to downplay his abilities, his whole face lights up, the dimple on his left cheek visible in the golden afternoon light.
“Truly I am no one special. Only your devoted Elliott, as always,” he murmurs.
The two of you spend time acquainting yourselves with Sugarplum before Elliott leads her into the barn and her stall. You continue watching intently, as he begins to brush her down until her coat shines.
It feels like you’re watching an instructional video. His entire demeanour changes. Every movement feels practised, ingrained. If you knew nothing about Elliott, save for this moment, you would think this man a professional equestrian.
“You’ll want to put a pad down first, my muse,” he hums, as you snap back to reality. He’s showing you how to saddle her. Walking you through every step as he goes along.
“The comfort of the horse is of utmost importance. After that, any decorative…” he trails off, searching through the supplies that Marnie laid out earlier before his eyes land on what he seeks. “Ahh, yes. Any decorative blankets or additional padding like this can always be placed overtop.”
He finds a striped saddle blanket and rests it atop the pad on her back. Elliott never stops stroking down her neck, offering quiet words of encouragement as he gets her saddled, making quick work of ensuring each component is laying flat and even across her back.
Then, in one seamless motion, he lines himself up and hitches the saddle over her in a perfect, practised arch.
“You’ll still want to walk around her to ensure everything is laying exactly where it needs to,” he instructs patiently, straightening out the blanket underneath as he goes. “Then we just tie the girth up front before tackling the back strap like so.”
His words are damn near hypnotizing as he goes through the motions with the quiet confidence that only comes with years of built-in muscle memory. Elliott looks happy, content. Completely in his element.
“And there we have it. Would you like to do the honours, my muse?” he smiles, leading her out to the middle of the barn, bridle in hand.
“No, my bard. This is your moment. You’ve more than earned it.”
Elliott leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “Are you absolutely certain?”
You nod, can barely contain the easy smile spreading across your face. “Show me how it’s done, my heart.”
“Thank you. It feels like a piece of my soul has been restored,” he whispers, before mounting. Hooking a foot into the stirrup and throwing his leg up and over. Elliott makes a click click sound with his tongue, and walks her out of the barn with an air of confidence you’re starting to see more and more as he continues to let his walls down around you.
The last thing you hear as Elliott brings her to a trot in the open meadow is his laugh. It’s so free, so unguarded, that your fantasies of riding Sugarplum off into the sunset are completely restored.
And as you watch, you can’t help but wonder what other surprises this man has in store for you, thanking Yoba every day that you found him.