Sarge

Even the safe choice can throw you.

Friends,

That year, I’d been begging for a horse.

My grandparents had room, I reasoned, and plenty of feed in that hay field below their house. Why, the animal would be no bother at all! I’d brush it, ride it bareback (no need to buy a saddle), and pick its feet. Yes, I sure would, I assured them. Every single day. They’d never know the horse was there.

Oh, I lobbied hard. Hard enough that my grandmother relented. Partially.

Her compromise? All summer she would drop me off at Four Seasons Ranch in the valley below their home. There, for a couple of bucks, I could ride a horse for hours, unsupervised. Up-creek into the forested hills. Across pastures and over logs. Midstream with the creek’s flow all the way to the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

And I could usually choose my horse from three in the barn’s string: a tall pinto named Chief, who’d lost an eye in a fight for a mare; a sorrel, Lady, who was kind and light on my hands; and Sarge, a sturdy buckskin quarter horse with a kid-toughened mouth and no power steering.

Even pokey old Sarge was bliss. So when I arrived that August morning and he was the only one available, I climbed aboard eagerly, trotted and walked him happily. We were returning to the barn when I pressed him into a gallop.

Fortunately, it wasn’t much of one, so when he stumbled and pitched me, we both survived. Still, I saw comets as my head smacked earth. The impact emptied my lungs.

Sarge nosed me where I lay. Stood vigil beside me until I caught my breath and reached for his trailing reins. I don’t remember being afraid when I re-mounted, though I must have been shaky.

I do remember feeling . . . initiated.

I’d been thrown, and I climbed back on.

(Still try to—whether horses are involved or not. )

***

Top photo, above: I’m ten and riding Sarge. Next three, below: Trail rides on others’ horses at Pacific Beach (with my sweet Avie), Rehoboth, NM, and Bryce Canyon.

Final shot: Dressage work on my fifth and last and favorite horse, Weedy. He died years ago, at thirty. Still miss him.

Have an old story for me?

I’d love to hear.

📙 From my BOOKERY, a WINNER!

Congratulations, HEATHER SWANSON! You won a copy of Kristin Hannah’s The Great Alone from my library. Please reply with your postal address, and I’ll mail the book right off to you.

THIS MONTH’S DRAWING is for a copy of the inimitable Jaime Jo Wright’s novel Tempest at Annabel’s Lighthouse. If you’ve never read Jaime’s award-winning work before, brace yourself. This author of gothic, historical mystery novels is, in Library Journal ‘s own words, “in a class by herself.”

Here’s the retailer’s gist:

In 1874, a battered woman awakens atop a forgotten gravesite by Lake Superior. Identified only by the locket around her neck inscribed with the name Rebecca, she seeks refuge with an elderly lighthouse keeper named Edgar. But as Rebecca struggles to remember who she is, she finds herself haunted by the lingering memories of Annabel, a mysterious woman who perished in the unforgiving waves of Lake Superior years earlier. With the spirit of Annabel seemingly reawakened, and an unknown adversary on the hunt to silence Rebecca once and for all, there is more at stake than just reclaiming her own memories. Rebecca must reclaim Annabel’s as well.

In the present day, author and researcher Shea Radclyffe escapes to the lighthouse outside a historic mining town in Michigan, seeking clarity about her failing marriage. Instantly drawn to the lighthouse’s landlord, Shea contends with the vengeful legend of Annabel’s ghost and a superstitious community that has buried the secrets surrounding a decade-old murder. As the secrets harbored around Annabel’s lighthouse unravel, Shea must navigate a fight of torn loyalty, self-discovery, and the haunting forces of love and a vengeance that should have drowned a century before.

An acclaimed “expert in her element” (Booklist), Jaime Jo Wright once again delivers a bone-chilling dual-time suspense novel that will leave readers turning the pages all night long.

***
Reply with TEMPEST in your subject line by August 31 to enter. I’ll announce the winner here the first Saturday in September.

Finally, for you campers wondering how to stop bacon from curling in your cast-iron skillet, I have a solution that works every time:

You take away their little brooms.

Love,

Cheryl

P.S. For those of you who haven’t yet read my novel Sugar Birds, now’s your chance to get it for a SONG. Today, August 1, the Kindle version goes on sale for $2.99! You ‘ll find it HERE.