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about it.”
    On the ground floor, he handed the crutch back and carefully released me, not letting go until I was completely balanced. “You okay?”
    “Yep.” I adjusted the crutch under my arm. “I hope it won’t be too much of an imposition to ask you to help me back up later tonight.” God. Just asking made me cringe.
    “Not at all.” He held open the front door and stood aside. Once I was outside, he pulled out his keys and gestured across the parking lot. “Stay here. I’ll bring the truck over.”
    “Thanks.”
    He returned a moment later in a small, beat-up pickup truck, and while the engine idled, he came around to help me get in on the passenger side.
    As we pulled out of the parking lot, I spent a moment taking in all the familiar scenery. After being cooped up in my apartment for five days, it was like seeing everything—the gross drive-in across the street, the rows of office buildings along one side, and the condos slowly encroaching on the affordable apartments—for the first time. From the mountains in the distance to the dilapidated Honda that would probably always be broken down by the dumpster, all of it was a welcome, refreshing sight.
    Ryan merged onto the interstate, and we headed for the foothills.
    “So you said you’ve ridden before, right?” I asked.
    He nodded. “Just, you know, goofing around.”
    “What is it you want to learn?”
    “I don’t know, to be honest. Maybe learn some of the finer points. Mostly, I want to get back in the saddle and remember what it’s like to ride.”
    “I know what you mean. Fair warning, Tsarina’s still a little green herself. She’s broke, and she’s incredibly willing, but she’s still young, and she doesn’t know a whole lot yet. If you think I’m going too slow with you, keep in mind I’m going slow for her benefit too.”
    Ryan nodded. “Duly noted. How old is she, anyway?”
    “Not quite five. I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t had any training, and she’s pretty solid under saddle, but . . .”
    “But she’s young,” he said. “I follow, don’t worry.” He glanced at me. “So how long have you been riding?”
    “Since kindergarten. A girl in my class had a pony at her birthday party, and all it took was one little walk around the yard on him, and I was hooked.”
    “Ever had one of your own?”
    I nodded. “I did 4-H when I was a kid. A friend leased us this Appaloosa gelding. God, he was the most cantankerous little shit I’ve ever ridden, but he was still fun.”
    Ryan chuckled. “My grandma had a horse like that. I swore that thing wanted to bite my head off every time I got near him, but he sure was a blast out on the trails.”
    I laughed. “Best kind of horse. I mean, I like to compete, but you’ll never keep me off the trails.”
    Ryan responded with a not-completely-comfortable laugh. “Not permanently, anyway.”
    “Right.” I glanced down at my cast. “Something like that.”
    He cleared his throat. “Well, hopefully it’s only for a few months.”
    “Hopefully.”
    We exchanged glances.
    Ryan kept driving.

It was probably the fact that the novelty hadn’t worn off yet, but so far, every time I’d seen Tsarina, I’d gotten that giddy, kid-on-Christmas feeling in my gut. Though I wouldn’t be riding her anytime soon, I still had that feeling as Ryan and I watched Cody bring her in from the paddock.
    She was gorgeous. Her previous owner had been horrible with a camera, and the photos had presented Tsarina as a disproportionate nag with zero personality. It was only her breeding that had convinced me to check her out, and my jaw had literally dropped when I saw her. She was nearly seventeen hands, and she was still young enough—about four and a half—that she might yet grow a little more. Her seal brown coat—mostly black and dark brown with some lighter brown areas—was gleaming and dappled, and she was in tip-top shape. She’d be spectacular in the dressage ring, and maybe someday if I