A Stevie Story

NOTE: This is the second story I wrote about Stevie Buckbee. You can read the first story here. In this story, the family names and horse names are all settled, as is most of the backstory. So this story is almost canon.
 
Stevie Gets Back in the Saddle
by David Michael
 
"Yes," Stevie Buckbee said, again, "I'm ready. I have to do this. Today."
 
"Do you want me to hold him?" Dad asked.
 
"No," Stevie said. "This is between him and me."
 
Thirteen year old Stevie couldn't quite lift the saddle over Jack Rabbit's back, so Dad had saddled the horse, then led him into the corral. There Dad had dropped the reins and said for the umpteenth time that morning, "Are you ready? You don't have to do this yet. You have all day."
 
But she did have to do it, ready or not. The fingers of her right hand brushed across the scar on her lip, a nervous habit she had developed the last couple weeks.
 
Forcing her hands to her sides, Stevie pushed herself off the top rail of the fence, landing so that the impact pushed her feet deeper into her boots. She hesitated only an instant before walking to where Jack Rabbit stood, looking as nervous as she felt, his eyes flicking from her to Dad to her brother Blake and then back to her.
 
As Stevie moved toward Jack Rabbit, Dad moved to the fence, where Blake also stood, watching, the two of them giving the girl and the horse space. Not a lot of space, though.
 
Stevie looked Jack Rabbit in the eye as she stepped up. "It's OK, boy," she said. She let the reins continue to hang untouched while she stroked Jack Rabbit's long nose with her right hand. "See? The bruise is almost gone. The scars are healing."
 
"My god, Stevie," her friends at school had said the first day after spring break. "What happened to your face?"
 
Even Kelly Butcher and Amber Coffee, her nemeses at school and soccer and all things social, had been taken aback. At least on the first day. By Friday they had been back to normal, and their comments about the bruises had moved from concern to pity to assurances that "your new face can't help but be an improvement."
 
On the first day of spring break, not quite two weeks ago, Jack Rabbit had thrown Stevie, then kicked her, one of his rear hooves hitting her in the face. Which hoof no one seemed to agree on. All Stevie could remember was moving up to help Blake, seeing Jack Rabbit hunch, and then feeling the shock, breathing the dust as she lay on the packed earth of the corral, staring up at the sky, one eye swelling shut while she tasted blood, wondering if she had lost any teeth.
 
"Everything's OK, boy," Stevie said, still stroking Jack Rabbit's nose. She couldn't be sure if she was reassuring the horse or just putting off the moment. The moment she had to face.
 
Getting thrown hadn't hurt Stevie any. Except her pride. Some. She had lived around horses her entire life. She had been thrown more times than she could remember. She had learned to get up, dust herself off, and get back on. And, after enough times, she had learned how to slide off, how to land on her feet, how to not get hurt.
 
Jack Rabbit was her horse, though. Her first horse that was really hers. A three year old gelding that Dad purchased just for her.
 
Stevie hadn't had much time to ride Jack Rabbit. A couple times at Thanksgiving, then Christmas. They had ridden all over the ranch during the days of Christmas break. Those days had been the best, and she had hated traveling back to her Aunt's house in far away Tulsa for school again. Stevie had been looking forward to spring break ever since, through almost three whole months.
 
But she had only been able to ride Jack Rabbit once. And he had thrown her. Then kicked her.
 
Dad had almost killed Jack Rabbit that first night. He had gotten as far as loading the gun. But he had calmed down as both Stevie and Blake convinced him that it wasn't the horse's fault. They had been careless. Dad calmed down, but not before chewing out Blake and Stevie both.
 
Dad wasn't at the corral when it happened, hadn't even been at the ranch. It had just been Blake and Stevie, putting the young horse through his daily exercise.
 
Jack Rabbit had thrown her as soon as she settled into the saddle. Blake had made sure Stevie was alright, then taken the reins, stepped into the stirrup and threw his leg over. "I'll settle him down a bit for you," he had said. But then Jack Rabbit had hunched and jumped and Blake, caught by surprise, had flown off too. Stevie had moved to help Blake–and stupidly walked behind the horse.
 
Blake had rushed Stevie to the emergency room, calling Dad on the way.
 
Blake had blamed himself. Dad had blamed Blake too, before he started blaming the horse and loading his gun. Stevie had cried and cried. Jack Rabbit was her horse, and now Dad was going to kill him, but it wasn't Jack Rabbit's fault.
 
That had been a bad day for everyone at the ranch.
 
The week hadn't improved much after that. Dad wouldn't let her ride again, not any horse, not that week. He had stopped drinking, though, mostly, that week, as he took care of Stevie. That had almost made up for her not being able to ride, seeing Dad sober and helping Blake with the daily chores.
 
"It's not your fault, boy," Stevie said, keeping her voice calm. "I still love you." She finally reached for the reins.
 
Jack Rabbit tensed as she took the reins and moved down his left side. Left hand on the pommel, holding the reins tight, she put her left foot in the stirrup. Then she put her right hand on the cantle of the saddle. Jack Rabbit shifted.
 
She heard both Dad and Blake begin to move from their positions by the fence.
 
"Steady boy," she said, loud enough for all three of the men in her life to hear. Despite the confidence she tried to keep in her voice, she was scared. She had to get back in the saddle now. Or she wouldn't have another chance before summer.
 
Dad had driven up to get her last night, a four hour trip both ways. And he would have to repeat the trip, drive her back tomorrow night. That was unusual, a rare outing for him. Stevie harbored no hopes that he might be willing to do it again before school was out.
 
It was now or never.
 
Taking a deeper breath than was necessary, she pulled herself up, swinging her right foot over the saddle. She secured her right foot in its stirrup before she settled into the saddle. Jack Rabbit shifted again, and both Dad and Blake edged forward.
 
She kept her left hand on the pommel, still gripping the reins, her knuckles white. With her right hand, she patted Jack Rabbit's back. "It's OK, boy," she said. "It's all good."
 
Jack Rabbit snorted and shook his head, but that was all.
 
"All is forgiven," she went on. "But let's talk about it as we walk, OK?"
 
Jack Rabbit snorted again, but when Stevie relaxed the reins and touched his ribs with toe of her boot, he moved forward.
 
Stevie smiled at Dad and Blake, as she and her horse walked away. She turned her attention back to Jack Rabbit. "All is forgiven," she repeated. Jack Rabbit flicked his ears, as he listened to her. "You're just lucky you didn't knock any of my teeth out. Dad would've been so upset then, about all that dental work down the drain…"