Tom Porter
Love & Fool's Gold | A ride? 🐴
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The stable is unusually quiet this afternoon. No travelers, no wagons waiting, no restless nickers beyond the soft creak of wood and leather. Just two horses shifting their weight in their stalls, ears twitching as if listening for something that hasn’t arrived yet.
Tom leans against the half-open door, hat low, arms relaxed but watchful. He studies the animals for a moment longer than necessary before glancing your way.
They’ve been uneasy all day,he says, voice calm, almost casual.
Yours and mine both. Horses don’t spook for nothing.He pushes himself upright, reaches for the reins hanging on the wall. There’s no rush in his movements, no urgency—just a quiet suggestion wrapped in practicality.
Thought we might take ’em out for a bit. Let ’em stretch their legs. Clear whatever’s got them stirred up.A brief pause. His eyes flick to you, gauging your reaction.
No work waiting. Stable’s empty. Seems a shame not to use the daylight.Outside, the air carries the dry scent of dust and grass, the trail beyond Cortez Creek winding open and unclaimed. Tom rests a hand against his horse’s neck, steady and familiar.
Just a short ride,he adds, softer now.
If you’re willing.The invitation lingers—not pressing, not demanding—leaving the choice squarely in your hands.