After the Fall

resented for keeping him here.
    “To be honest, I’m not really interested in why .”
    Deep breath. Stiff upper lip. Ryan was gone because I needed him to be, and eventually, I’d get over him. I had to. I couldn’t do this right now no matter how much I liked him.
    I sighed and closed my eyes.
    Self-preservation could be a real bitch sometimes.

Nothing had ever been as liberating as the moment the cast came off my leg. I couldn’t move my leg much, and none of the soft tissue was interested in bending or anything crazy like that, but having the damned thing off was like being released from a ball and chain.
    Minutes later, the second one was off too. I gingerly flexed my fingers for the first time in almost twelve weeks. Ahh, freedom .
    I couldn’t walk without limping, but at least I could walk . The joints were stiff, the muscles aching furiously now that they had to work again, but whatever. Just being out of that cast meant freedom.
    I left the doctor’s office and drove straight to the barn. The excitement in my stomach rivaled the first time I’d gone to ride Tsarina after I’d bought her, though hopefully this time would have a better outcome.
    It didn’t help that I hadn’t been to see her in a week. Not since . . . don’t think about that day. Just don’t . I’d had Cody lunge her for me to keep her exercised, but I hadn’t been here myself.
    My boots—two this time, not one and a crutch—echoed weirdly as I walked down the aisle. The barn was full of activity. At least a dozen people were here to work their horses, and Cody and a few others were standing around talking.
    Still, the place was eerily empty. Like something was missing.
    “Tsarina?” I said as I approached her stall, and when her head appeared over the door—ears up and eyes wide—I couldn’t help smiling. “Hey, sweetheart. You miss me?” I held out my hand with a treat on my palm, and she munched on that as I patted her neck.
    A weird ball of apprehension formed in my stomach. I was here. I could walk and use both hands. Everything was back the way it needed to be.
    I took her halter off the hook and unbuckled it. When the buckle jingled, I froze. I’d heard that sound hundreds of times over the years, but this time, it brought to mind a familiar pair of hands maneuvering the strap through the buckle. The phantom vibration of a low, playful voice talking to Tsarina while the halter slipped onto her head.
    And that was when the lump rose in my throat. Ryan’s absence was suddenly as conspicuous as the missing cast around my leg and completely incongruous in this place. He had become as much a fixture in this barn as the country music playing unobtrusively in the background and the cats wandering the rafters.
    I put the halter back on the hook.
    I had told myself all week that I’d stayed away because I couldn’t ride or groom Tsarina. Being able to see her but not do anything beyond petting her over the door was too damned frustrating, so in spite of my guilt, I’d avoided the barn and promised myself I’d make up for it once the casts were off.
    But now the casts were off and I was here, and the guilt burned deeper because Tsarina hadn’t been the one I’d been avoiding after all.
    I missed the easy banter. I missed watching Ryan play with Tsarina while she stood in the cross ties. Teasing her with the end of a whip as she tried to eat it. Laughing at the faces she made when he scratched her withers. Carefully putting on her bridle so he could ride her.
    I cleared my throat and patted Tsarina’s neck. I’d come back another night. I wasn’t ready to ride yet anyway. Not for at least a couple of weeks, until I’d regained some of the strength in my leg. Maybe sooner than that, according to the doctor, but caution would keep me on the ground until I was absolutely sure I was ready.
    Not afraid to get back on, are you?
    I shook away that thought and walked faster toward my car. The incident with Tsarina wasn’t the first time I’d been thrown. The first time the horse had come down with me, yes, and the first time I’d broken any bones, but I’d been unloaded a few times before.
    Except after every one of those falls, I’d been able to get up and get right back on. The harder the fall, the longer it took to catch my breath and get my wits about me, but damn it, I’d always gotten back on.
    Always, except this last time. Now weeks had gone by. The fear had had a chance to cool, but instead it had