“You didn’t hold on!” Joshua shot back, hands fisting. “You had the mane, and I didn’t, you should have caught me, and you let me slide right off all the way down. You’re a sodding little pismire.”
Ethan lip’s twitched, to hear the word fired off with such vehemence. He gestured to Miller, who nodded and came to stand beside Ethan, then trotted off in search of more tack when he’d gotten his instructions.
“Gentlemen.” Ethan kept his voice quiet. “If you would kindly shut the hell up for one moment, I will tender my apologies.”
Joshua cocked his head. “Huh?”
“Papa is going to apologize,” Jeremiah said. “I think.”
“He is,” Ethan said, “for not warning you Argus sometimes kicks out when schooling piaffe in hand, and for putting you on double. Has no one taught you how to fall off?”
The boys exchanged glances when Miller appeared with a long lead line.
“No, sir,” Jeremiah said. “I thought one didn’t want to fall.”
“Sometimes one does,” Ethan countered. “For example, if Argus bolted with me and was heading for a low branch or a cliff, I might want to part company with him. Or if by chance I should become unseated and a fall is inevitable, then one wants to fall as safely as possible. I will demonstrate.”
“You’re going to fall off Argus?” Joshua goggled. “On purpose?”
“I am, but perhaps my waistcoat need not participate.” He shrugged out of it, removed the surcingle from around the horse’s belly, passed the saddle to Miller, grabbed a hank of mane, and swung up.
“How’d he do that?” Joshua asked Jeremiah. “Argus is tall, and Papa didn’t use a mounting block or stirrups or anything.”
Miller stood in the center of the arena, the horse circling him on the long lead, while Ethan got his seat at the trot bareback.
“All right, you lot.” Ethan kept his eyes front, settling into the rhythm of the trot. “Spook him.”
Miller nodded at the boys. “You heard your papa. Spook that big golden devil, and unseat your papa.”
“How?” Jeremiah asked as Joshua bolted past him.
“Pismire pony!” Joshua bellowed, waving his arms and charging right at the horse. Argus, true to his delicate sensibilities, shied mightily, giving Ethan the pretext he needed to slide gracefully over the horse’s shoulder. Argus came to an immediate halt, allowing Ethan to swing back on.
“Again.” Ethan nodded at Miller. “And put some effort into it, gentlemen. Argus will go to sleep otherwise, and so shall I.”
It took a few more tries before Jeremiah got into the spirit of the game, but Argus got into it too, spooking horrifically, only to stand stock still as soon as Ethan had decamped. Ethan demonstrated both an emergency dismount, which ideally left the rider on his feet, and the less graceful variations thereon.
Ethan beat at the dust on his once-pristine shirt. “I think we can commend Argus on a job well done and turn our attention to your ponies.” The boys turned to see grooms holding both ponies, and neither pony sporting a saddle.
“Up you go.” Ethan hoisted Joshua onto his pony, then Jeremiah.
“I don’t want to do this,” Jeremiah said, staring sullenly at his pony’s mane. Ethan considered his older son and those few brave words.
“C’mon, Jeremiah,” Joshua said. “We’ll get dirty, and we can scream like girls.”
“He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” Ethan said. “My intention was to have you practice only at the halt, and if you felt up to it, at the walk.”
“It’s stupid,” Jeremiah declared, defiant eyes raised to his father’s. “Why would you fall off on purpose if falling off is how you get hurt?”
“Am I hurt?” Ethan asked, holding his son’s gaze.
“No,” Jeremiah admitted. “But if Argus stepped on your head or your guts, you could be dead.”
Death. Again.
Ethan wanted to shake the boy but kept his voice calm. “Do you think I would do anything to intentionally put you in harm’s way?”
Jeremiah mumbled something then looked away.
“I beg your pardon?” Ethan’s patience was strained, but Miller had led Joshua out of earshot and was letting the boy get used to a bareback ride.
“You hired Mr. Harold,” Jeremiah said. “He was harmful. Langstrom wasn’t much better.”
“Mr. Harold caned Joshua. I know that, but it—”
“More than once,” Jeremiah interrupted. “He caned him lots, and he made me watch, and he would make Joshua try to do things that were too hard just so he could cane him. He called us names and said we were the shame of the neighborhood.”
“Ye gods…” Ethan’s physical balance wavered, as if he’d sustained a roundhouse punch or had too much cheap liquor. “What else did he say?”
“A lot of things.” Jeremiah sighed. “Mean things. I didn’t understand all of them. He called Joshua a slutterswipe…”
“Guttersnipe,” Ethan supplied, hauling back hard on his temper—for at whom ought he to be most angry but himself?
“Here’s my difficulty,” Ethan said. “I am sorry you ever had to deal with Mr. Harold. I wish I could thrash him silly. Bloody damned silly, in fact, and don’t you tattle regarding my language, Jeremiah Grey. But Harold isn’t here, and I want you to be safe when you’re riding. Knowing how to fall is part of being safe. I didn’t keep you safe from Mr. Harold, and I hate that, but I want desperately to keep you safe from a bad fall.”
“I’ll stop riding,” Jeremiah decided, giving his pony’s neck a wistful pat.
Ethan’s heart began to beat in a slow, hard rhythm in his chest. “You love to ride, and you’re very good at it. And then Joshua would have no one to ride with except me, and I’ll wager I am not half the fun you are.”
Jeremiah eyed his brother. “He gallops everywhere. You’re better at swearing.”
Ethan waited, heart thumping almost painfully, because the mysterious juvenile cogs in his son’s brain were clearly still turning.
“I fell before,” Jeremiah said. “It hurt, but Lightning didn’t do it on purpose. There was a rabbit.”
“Pesky beasts, rabbits. Always darting out and looking so cute while they do.” Ethan’s heart beat so hard he could feel it working… like a rabbit’s.
“Tell me,” Jeremiah said, fiddling with his reins, “if I were going to practice falling, how would I practice it?”
“Carefully,” Ethan said, his heart slowing a little, “and with people around who mean you only the best. You do it slowly, Jeremiah, in stages you can understand, and if you need to take a break, you insist on a break. If you were going to, that is.”
“How would I start?”
“You relax,” Ethan said, finding he needed to swallow a few times before going on. “You let your body relax, and you don’t fight the fall. If you’re traveling at speed, give up the reins, or you’ll just jerk your horse’s mouth before you lose them anyway. Try to slip down the horse’s side, but tuck up to protect your head. Your horse will never try to step on you, so don’t even consider it a risk.” He went on, his voice gradually becoming more even and his breathing easing up.
“I’m ready,” Jeremiah said, clutching the reins desperately and sending his pony in a plodding circle at the walk.
“All right.” Ethan stepped away, making sure to keep his own body and tone of voice relaxed. “When I say ‘pismire pony,’ you relax, let go of the reins, and curl down along Lightning’s side. He’ll probably stop and give you a puzzled look.”
Jeremiah nodded, his expression suggesting he contemplated the mental equivalent of a severe birching.