Something flickers in her eyes, then disappears as she moves to greet Ace. "Hello, boy," she strokes his face.
The horse leans into her touch as I offer her the reins. “Think you can tackle a mountain tonight?" I nod toward the Rockies.
Her eyebrows rise as she cocks her head. "Are you questioning my riding ability, Halloway?"
"Never," I say quickly. “Just not sure how much time you’ve spent riding in the hills.”
Something in her softens. "You got a point." she admits. "Ninety-five percent of my riding has been in arenas.” She checks the stirrups to make sure they’re her length before climbing on.
"Well then," I say, as we settle into our saddles, "you're in for a treat."
Soon we’re at the trail head, which leads up through aspen groves that shimmer in the late afternoon light, their leaves whispering secrets that only the mountains know. Kinsley’s shoulders unwind as Ace carries her with a steady gait, her gaze wanders as she takes in the scenery.
The colt beneath me is discovering himself with every step. His ears swivel constantly, taking in the sounds of wind through pine boughs, the distant call of a hawk, and the quiet creak of the leather. He’ll sidestep every now and again when he’s startled.
"You’re right," Kinsley says, her voice carrying clearly in the thin mountain air. "This is different."
I glance over at her, noting the way she's sitting deeper in the saddle now, more relaxed. "Different how?"
"Peaceful." She's looking around like she's seeing the world for the first time, taking in the vast sweep of valley spreading below us, the mountains that rise in every direction. “In the arena, I'm always thinking, analyzing. This..."
"This is just being," I finish when she trails off.
"Yeah." Her smile is soft, wondering. "I didn't know it could be like this."
The admission makes something ache in my chest.
"Your mom never took you trail riding?" I ask, guiding Bucky around a fallen log. He keeps one eye on it and turns his head in as we go around, like he's expecting it to rise up and chase him.
"Mom doesn't do anything that isn't productive," Kinsley says, and there's no judgment in her voice—just the matter-of-fact. "Every ride has a purpose; every training session moves toward a goal. This..."
She gestures around us, taking in the endless vista of wilderness that doesn't care about our schedules or our ambitions. "This doesn't produce anything measurable," she finishes.
"Doesn't it?" I ask, watching the way her face has softened, the way her whole body seems to be breathing deeper. "Look at your horse."
She glances down at Ace, really seeing him for the first time since we started riding. His head is low and relaxed, moving with the kind of loose-jointed ease that comes from being exactly where he wants to be.
"He's happy," she says, wonder creeping into her voice.
"You look pretty happy yourself." I lean forward to pat the colt's neck.
Kinsley smiles. “I am.”
We ride in comfortable silence. Minutes later, the meadow comes into view—alpine grass that glows gold in the slanted light, wildflowers scattered like colored stars, the kind of view that makes you believe in God.
"Oh my," Kinsley breathes, pulling Ace to a stop beside me. "This is incredible."
"One of my favorite spots on the ranch," I tell her, swinging down from the colt's back and loosening his cinch as she hops off Ace.
I tie both horses to a stunted pine with enough slack that they can graze, then retrieve the saddlebags I packed. Thepicnic isn't fancy—sandwiches, fruit, a thermos—but it's the thought that counts.
And the location. Definitely the location.
"This is very romantic of you, cowboy." She helps me spread out the checkered blanket.
"Figured if I'm going to be gone for a few weeks, I better give you something worth missing." I admit, settling onto the blanket and patting the space beside me.
The sun's getting lower, painting everything in shades of gold and rose that make her look like something from a dream.