Chapter Seven
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The call of the bit and bridle, once stirred within Charles, would not leave him alone. Tamera’s remark, “a magnificent ponyboy”, tempted Charles through his vanity. Before he fell asleep at night, he imagined what it might be like pulling a cart or wagon; the curved bit between his teeth, the drool on his chin, the leather tack encasing his head and chest. He’d lurch forward, feel the weight of the rider behind him, his thighs tighten, his legs pump and they would be away. The wind whistled past him, his transformation complete.
But the only person being transformed was Abigail. Each day in the corral her persona deepened into “Spirit”, as Tamera and Daphne called her during her steps. The women would switch off running Spirit through her paces, each one pushing the
