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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

“It’s really no trouble, no trouble at all.” He tilted his head, gesturing back toward the barn. “Come on, what do you say?”

Amy didn’t need to deliberate for long. “All right, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll come. As long as you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Positive. I’d be glad for the company. Now, let’s choose you a horse.”

Amy returned with him to the barn, perused the stalls, and selected Snowflake, a fourteen-year-old gelding with a white coat, friendly eyes, and a relaxed disposition. Ryan tacked him up, and in no time at all they were ready to ride.

“Step forward,” he said.

Nervous but excited, Amy took Ryan’s hand, slid her left boot into the stirrup, and launched herself into the saddle.

“You should know it’s been a long time since I last rode a horse,” she said with a dash of uncertainty as she took a moment to acclimatize to the height. “I’m not sure I remember what to do.”

Ryan smiled as he bent down to inspect the length of the stirrups.

“We’re not going for a gallop,” he said, “just a slow walk along the trails. I’ll show you some basic tips once we’re underway: stop, go, left, right. But for the most part, Snowflake’ll be following my lead, so all you need to do is keep a loose hand on the reins, relax, and enjoy yourself.”

After checking both sides and shortening the leathers of the stirrups, Ryan slid the heel of Amy’s boots in a little farther so that the ball of her foot was comfortably resting on the iron. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” she said, wriggling around. “I think.”

“Ready to go?”

She laughed. “You tell me.”

Ryan put a finger to his chin. “Actually, wait, there’s one more thing.”

He disappeared into the tack room and returned a moment later with a hat, one of his favorites: diamond style, ruddy brown with a pinched front, the kind John Wayne liked to wear. He offered it to Amy. With a bashful smile she slid her hair tie out from her ponytail, shook out her hair, then fit the hat snugly over her head, adjusting the brim while at the same time invoking her best cowgirl impression.

“How do I look?” she asked, unable to contain her grin.

Coolly and casually, Ryan gave her a thumbs-up and told her that she looked good, which was a lie.

She looked better than good.

She looked perfect.

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