Riding on Air Read Online Free Page A

moment of fear clamping my guts when I thought she’d busted me. I didn’t have to take risks like this at home. I kept a few extra pills hidden in a bottle out in the tack room for emergencies. But she didn’t accuse me of anything, just told me to take it easy and not to hesitate to come see her if I had any pain.
    â€œDon’t ride if you feel dizzy or weak,” she’d cautioned me and I had promised not to. I went out to saddle Jinx, feeling a little wobbly in the legs (and a lot guilty) at the risk I’d taken. Never again. I wasn’t cut out for this sneaky pill-palming stuff.
    Now sweat slid down my face in sticky trails and the muscles in the front of my thighs quivered as I circled Petra Hein in sitting trot. The beautiful morning had continued to heat up, shooting past fine and tipping over into scorcher about half an hour ago. We were all getting tired and were all way past hot as the dressage session drew to a close. Then Petra had started pulling us in for individual work.
    Jinx strode out, back swinging rhythmically beneath me, and I forced myself to keep breathing regularly, striving for a sort of attentive relaxation that allowed my body to move with his, ready to act but never hindering his movement.
    â€œYes, Melissa, good, good. Now ask for a bit more,” Petra called out and my stomach clenched. I didn’t think I had any more in me. I’m pretty fit thanks to all the lap swimming I do as part of my joint mobilisation program, though it doesn’t help that much for riding. But when an instructor asks, you try. And I wanted this, didn’t I? I wanted to impress Petra with how talented Jinx was so she’d pick him—us—for the squad. I lifted my ribcage just a little bit and wrapped my legs around Jinx’s swinging sides, squeezing my legs against him with a pulsing motion in time with his strides. Being Jinx, he went faster.
    â€œYes, Melissa, now half-halt, block with the hands, sit tall and then release and drive him on.”
    I did as she demanded, breath rasping my throat, simultaneously trying to keep track of the fifty other things you need to make your body do when you’re actively trying to shape your horse underneath you. I closed my fingers on the reins—barely an ache there, yay for the painkillers—and squeezed my upper arms against my sides, giving Jinx a ‘stop’ message through the reins, feeling for the hesitation in his stride as he responded to the signal, and then opened my fingers a little to allow him to continue on, in theory with his speed checked, redirected into more impulsion, more ‘oomph’ in his stride.
    I almost laughed out loud when it worked.
    â€œYes, yes, that’s it!” Petra yelled, her enthusiasm thickening her German accent and sending a flush of happiness through my body.
    I felt Jinx’s back lift me up, as he rounded himself, his weight transferring a little to his hindquarters as he thrust himself forward and up from the ground with more energy. It was amazing .
    â€œWonderful Melissa, yes, good! Now back to walk, when you’re ready, and give him a stretch and a pat.”
    Oh, I was ready. For all the magnificence of that moment on Jinx, I could sense how fragile it was, how close I was in my exhaustion to losing it, and I gratefully let my weight sink into the saddle, stretched down into my knees and closed my fingers on the reins. Jinx made an unbelievably smooth down transition into walk, soft and willing in my hands, sweetly on the bit and going forward into a rhythmic, swinging walk. I fed the reins through my fingers, offering him more freedom, and he took it happily, following the contact with my hands and stretching his neck, just like he was supposed to.
    I was going to really feel it in my knuckles a few hours from now, but I didn’t care. It was worth it. My throat squeezed tight with the sheer wonder of it, the magic of that brief moment of