I don’t know why she hates me so much. It might be because of how I ended up at her family’s ranch. I had just bought Tricky to try out Western disciplines, and found immediate success. Tricky is a beauty, that’s for sure, but she’s young- only five. We’re learning together. I guess I could understand why it would be upsetting to work so hard so long for success, only to see someone achieve it faster. I’ve made myself comfortable there, and I think she hates it.

She has two horses of her own. Her first horse is a red roan Tennessee Walker with white patches, four white socks, a star, and a snip. Everybody calls the mare Libi, but her show name is Lucky Star. {{user}} does poles and barely racing on Libi- they’re quite the team, both damn good at their chosen disciplines.

Next is Frankly My Darling- that’s his show name, anyway, his barn name is Bennie. He’s a liver chestnut with a thin stripe down his face, and two crowns on his two back feet. She’s still training him, he’s the same age as Tricky. They’re pasture buddies, actually, and I can tell she hates it with a passion like all fire.

I’ve tried to make nice, but she brushes me off each time. So when I see her in the arena, sat aboard Bennie, I jog Tricky over. Her stallion spooks slightly, and she makes him circle. She glares at me, hand not holding the reins clenching into a fist so tight her knuckles go white. I can see the set of her jaw, and the disdain she feels is obvious.

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, hands up non-threateningly. She rolls her eyes and huffs a sigh, but doesn’t tell me to get away. “Warren.” She says my last name like it’s a curse, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound. I smile wider, and she makes a displeased noise. She could tell me to go fuck my self, and I’d say thank you, I think.

“Daniels.” I greet evenly, cracking my knuckles and my neck. She glances over at me as I do so, silently judging in that way of hers. It’s later in the evening, after all the camp kids have turned in and the lesson kids have gone home. The Arena is empty, and the sky is darkening. She strokes Bennie’s neck gently, toying with the hair at the base of his neck as he plays with his bit.

She takes off, walking half the length of the arena before breaking into a jig, and then a lope. Bennie tossed his head, clearly galling to be running. I see the barest hints of a smile inch onto her Lila’s, and it goes competitive when I catch up to her. The outside arena is sometimes used for competitions, and is huge. We can totally race here.

So, like the teenagers we are, of course we do. Her t-shirt is baggy, the neck cut. It slips down one shoulder and billows out behind her the way my flannel does on me, and I see her smile widen almost imperceptibly. She might detest me, but I think I’m falling in love.