Stable Mates

Mick had been brought up by a traditional Irish farrier, and was trimming feet by the time he could hold a knife. The fact that it wasn’t safe or probably legal was by the by. He only hit a problem when he started experimenting with something other than traditional shoeing and his father termed him an ‘eejit who should know better’. But it had left one of his terminally lame horses sound enough to compete again, which was good enough to make him consider that maybe his father didn’t know everything. Mick was wise enough though to keep the fact to himself, continue to shoe in the way he’d been taught and to spread the word only to the few that sought him out. He rubbed out the kinks in his spine and watched as Pip trotted the horse up the yard for him.

His move to Cheshire had been totally unplanned. But had stopped him dissolving into a bottle of whiskey and self-pity after Niamh had waved an airline ticket in his face and told him the time for ‘fecking about’ was over, he could put a ring on her finger and fly with her, or rot in Ireland on his own. He’d chosen Ireland and his horses. And then, after a week of drinking too much, and a day out hunting with Rory, he’d booked a one-way ticket of his own and taken the boat over to Liverpool. He’d been fond of his girlfriend, in a way he’d never been fond of anyone before. But ultimatums didn’t do it for him. And the thrill of setting foot on foreign soil could never beat the adrenalin rush of galloping across country on nearly half a ton of barely controlled horseflesh. And Rory had some very attractive horseflesh on his yard.

Mick tore his gaze back from the easy-to-look-at Lottie onto the challenge that was Pip. The girl was attractive enough, except she never stopped asking questions long enough for you to appreciate it, and she was the bossiest female he’d come across in his life, with the possible expectation of his very Irish, very interfering mother. Now she was staring at him expectantly and all but tapping her foot.

‘I’d stop that, unless you want me to nail it to the floor, treasure. She trotted up fine, but no haring about the countryside or we’ll be back to square one. And don’t you go taking her to the last drag hunt meeting of the season.’

‘I don’t believe in hunting. It’s an archaic tradition.’

‘It’s not hunting, it’s drag hunting.’ His tone was mild, as though talking to a child, but Lottie suspected that any minute now Pip was going to launch into a tirade. ‘And it’s a test of courage.’

Pip narrowed her eyes and glared at him, obviously torn between the desire to say something and the need to keep on his good side. She might not have been around horses much, but she already knew that good farriers were few and far between, and good farriers who could be bothered to turn up on time were even rarer. She bit down on her bottom lip and scowled, which brought a lazy, and to Lottie’s eye, very sexy smile to his face.

‘I bet you enjoy a rough ride across country, don’t you Lottie?’ He winked.

Lottie opened and closed her mouth, not wanting the thoughts that he’d conjured up in her head to come tumbling out. She didn’t quite know how to take this sex god that had been dropped in their midst. Did he have some weird kind of Irish sense of humour that she didn’t quite understand?

‘She does, the rougher the better, don’t you?’ Rory pulled her into a bear hug of possession. Observing Mick from a position of safety, Lottie decided he was probably dangerous. He was making her nervous without even doing anything, and he was intent on winding Pip up, as though he needed some kind of stimulation, danger. Which figured, if he was a drag hunt enthusiast. A game player, and it would really have been better if she hadn’t been dying to find out more about him.

‘So, you’ll both be riding out on Sunday then?’ He was swinging the heavy metal file from side to side and the youngest of the terriers stood transfixed, her eyes following its route. A route to being brained if she wasn’t careful. Then abruptly he stopped the motion with a swift toss in the air before he caught it and dropped it in the heavy wooden tool box at his feet. ‘Both of you?’

Lottie nodded nervously and looked up at Rory, wondering why she was asking him. She never did normally. ‘I think so.’

‘Yup, if you’ve not lamed all the horses with your fancy new ideas. Isn’t it beer time yet?’

Lottie glanced at her watch. She’d already had G&T time with her gran, whose idea of a weak drink was a double gin with a waft of tonic, and was feeling slightly off centre. Carrying on drinking, mid-afternoon, with no food in her was probably a bad idea.

‘Well…’ There was a sudden outbreak of ‘Your Sex is on Fire’ from somewhere in the region of Lottie’s knickers, and Mick gave her a smouldering look that nearly ignited other parts of her, or that could just have been because part of her brain had taken off on a fantasy she couldn’t control. ‘Shit, oh, hang on.’ The burn hit her face, he must think she was so immature…or up for it with absolutely anyone. Maybe he thought it was an open invite? ‘It’s my phone.’ State the obvious. Which was firmly stuck deep in a pocket that didn’t really have room for a hand, let alone a phone. Lottie could feel herself slowly incinerating as she fought against the fabric. The phone stopped ringing. Then started again, ‘Sex on Fire’ gradually increasing in volume to match face on fire.

‘Dad?’ She was shocked to see his number; Billy seldom, if ever, rang her.

‘You need to get over here. Now.’ Billy was normally as easy-going as they came, but if he was ever going to be short-tempered it was with his daughter. And he was bossy, and said exactly what was on his mind.

‘But I’m—’

‘It doesn’t matter what you’re doing. You sent them here, so you can damned well come and entertain them. What do you think I am, a children’s entertainer?’ He was hissing, his voice low as though he didn’t want to be overheard.

‘Sorry? Dad I—’ But Lottie had been left with a ringtone in her ear, which was less embarrassing than ‘Sex on Fire’. Marginally. They were all staring at her.

‘So, that was Daddy, was it? I take it you’re not allowed out to play?’

God, that Irish burr was having a funny effect on her. She clung on to Rory’s arms, which were still draped round her, with one hand, and her phone with the other.

‘He’s hung up.’ What was it with people hanging up on her while she was in the middle of saying stuff? Was she really getting that boring?

‘So what did old Billy the goat want then?’ Rory rested his chin on her head.

‘I haven’t a clue, he was jabbering on about kids and my fault, and stuff.’ She paused and looked at Pip. ‘Do you think he’s lost it? You know, the whole Amanda thing? I mean, he must be stressed even if he’s not saying anything.’

‘Billy boy, stressed?’ Rory was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. ‘Now that’ll be the day. About as likely as Dom getting his leg over with one of the WAGs from Kitterly, I’d say.’

‘Nah.’ Pip grinned back. ‘He’s made of sterner stuff than that. So what’s with calling him a goat?’

‘Billy goat gruff?’ Mick seemed amused, but still managed to sound like he was issuing an invite to bed.

‘Nothing that deep. Eats anything, shags anything and jumps anything.’ Rory was definitely grinning now, well, pretty much chortling.

‘Don’t talk about my dad like that.’ He knew she didn’t like it. She’d had too many years of jokes about her dad to find them funny, shame everyone else did.

‘So, this Amanda is his latest shag?’

Pip burst out laughing, and Kis, her horse, threw her head up, nearly dragging her arm from its socket. ‘Shit, stop that you stupid mare.’

‘She’s not stupid, that one.’ Mick cast his eye over the horse. He’d seen the mare out with Rory in the past, she was talented but lame more often than she was sound. So she’d been out at grass when Pip had arrived and announced that she would look after her. Looking after her was one thing, but everyone, including Pip, knew that she was seriously outclassed by the horse and was as likely to take her to a drag hunt as she was to take a vow of celibacy.

‘And nor is Amanda. We’ve decided she needs a new man, but I’m not sure she’ll fancy Billy, she thinks horses smell, and Billy spends most of his life on one.’ Kismet bit her shoulder, and Pip, who believed in a non-punishment regime, tried her best not to retaliate.

‘Sex on Fire’ set off again and Lottie stared at it resignedly before jabbing at the answer call button.

‘If you’re not here in five minutes, girl, Marcus won’t be the only one they’ll be burying next week.’

Chapter 5

Lottie spotted the brand new Jaguar F-type the moment she got through the imposing gates that flanked the entrance to Folly Lake Equestrian Centre. It was yellow. As in bright canary yellow. Which in her eyes was a gross travesty of a car that (a) was sleek and gorgeous and (b) was named after a cat. It was the type of car that should have said old money, or at least new money with a modicum of taste, but she’d never particularly liked yellow – unless it was daffodils.

The sudden indigestion-like pain in her chest didn’t have anything to do with the half baguette that she had crammed down in two minutes flat as she drove the short distance from Rory’s, because she was starving and needed to soak up Gran’s gin, it was panic. What if it was someone who’d already heard Marcus was dead? Who was here to buy the place, or sell the place, or… Crumbs, she tried to park her car as far as she could from the other one, knowing it made her old banger look even older. Surely Amanda couldn’t have moved that fast. And her father had said it was her fault. Which was a bit confusing. No way could she have arranged for a developer to visit the place and then forgotten about it.

She made a move out of the car, nearly strangling herself in the process, and realised she still had her seatbelt on. Calm, she had to be calm. It wasn’t her fault Marcus was dead, and she couldn’t be blamed for telling anyone. She hadn’t, had she? What if she’d said something when she was drunk? What if she’d told someone to come round and buy the place when she was at the dressage? Or after that bottle of bubbly with Tom? What if she’d danced on the table and announced it to the whole restaurant?

No, she couldn’t have. Could she? No, no way. Definitely no way. And Billy had been ranting on about not being a children’s entertainer, she definitely wouldn’t have sent someone who wanted to open a kids’ theme park.

The arena doors were wide open, and she raced through and practically fell over… Tom.

‘Hi.’

‘Err, hi.’ She threw an apologetic smile, and an arm out to stop herself falling, and nearly collided with the floppy fringe. ‘Sorry, I just… Dad?’

Billy was sat astride a horse, and had obviously been in the middle of a schooling session when Tom and Tabatha had turned up. The horse had a sheen of sweat on its coat, the bay turned almost to black, the froth around its bit flecked with the deep green of new spring grass. He still had his phone in his hand, no doubt so he could call her again if she didn’t turn up in the allotted five minute window.

‘Here she is. Well, it was nice to meet you, after all I’d heard.’ And he’d launched the horse from stand still into a trot, then within a stride into a canter and straight at the nearest poles.

Here she is. Who? What? Lottie glanced over her shoulder at the bemused Tom, then back the other way to his daughter, who appeared as star-struck as she was dumbstruck.

Tabatha gazed after Billy with the look of adoration that Lottie had grown up with. ‘Gosh, he really is your dad, really your dad, so cool.’

‘And being a model is old hat?’ Tom spoke offhandedly, obviously used to being dismissed as useless by his daughter.

‘Being a model is so gay.’ She threw him an assessing glance. ‘Not that you are, but, you know, when I tell people you’re a model, well, they just assume.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, love you too.’

‘Well, y’know.’ She shrugged. ‘Billy is just SO cool. Do you think he’d let me ride his horse, Charlotte?’

‘Lottie.’ She corrected her automatically, then stared blankly over in Billy’s direction. ‘No, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let you ride that one, and believe me you wouldn’t want to. So?’ She looked from one to the other. It had been a relief to see them here, and not some money-waving developer with a contract and pen in his hand. Not that the equestrian centre was Billy’s to sell of course. But… Billy seemed to think she’d invited Tom and Tabatha here, so what had given him that idea? She folded her arms and frowned, at a complete loss as to why she was there.

‘You said we could pop down and arrange some lessons, for Tab?’

‘Did I?’ It should have been getting clear, but it wasn’t. ‘Sorry, err I did, of course I did. Yes…’ She must have done, at some point over that meal, when he’d been pouring the champagne for her and Pip as though everyone drank it by the magnum.

‘Great place here.’ Obviously he wasn’t going to be put off.

***

Tom gazed around the indoor arena and couldn’t believe his luck. Fate had brought him to exactly the right place. Tabatha actually looked interested for the first time in weeks. He wasn’t quite sure why, as he watched Billy canter around the arena. I mean the man was portly, to put it politely. Or was stout more the word? He was all short arms and legs, though he undoubtedly knew how to stay on a horse. Even if at take-off he looked like he was going to get to the other side before the horse. And he’d been nice enough, but keener on riding than passing pleasantries. When he’d lifted his hat, it was to show off a mop of unruly sandy curls, damp with sweat and flattened to his skull, with the first trace of a thinning patch in the middle. His face was weathered, the crinkle around his eyes had to be from squinting not smiling, and the way he grunted at the horse reminded Tom of a grumpy farmer herding cows. But Tabby had said he was a medal winner, one of the best, so who was he to argue?

‘I’ll err, show you round, shall I?’ Lottie was still looking at them as though she hadn’t got a clue why they were there.

‘Can I stay here?’ Tab looked hopeful and Tom wavered. ‘And watch? That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Lottie?’

‘Lazy cow.’ Billy cantered a tight circle in front of them, scattering rubber as the horse fly-bucked bad-temperedly. He gave her a swift crack behind the saddle, which made Tom flinch. ‘Put that pole back, Lots.’ Lottie clambered over the small wall and put the pole back in its cup. ‘Now you’ll fucking do as I say and pick those feet up, you bloody donkey. Jesus Christ.’

Tom looked slightly alarmed. ‘Maybe not, better if you come with us, darling. I think Billy is busy.’

He felt better when he got his daughter away from the slightly alarming, very sweaty and profusely swearing Billy. And back on a par, when Lottie led the way into the calm and orderly yard. It was a pleasant surprise. After watching the gung-ho Billy, scruffy polo shirt flapping with every jump and saddle soap-stains on his breeches, he’d half imagined that the yard would be in disarray, with startled horses in every corner. But it was an oasis of calm. Which reminded him that, whatever his appearance had suggested to the contrary, the man was a world-beater. A champion. And Tab instantly looked grumpy with boredom, until Lottie started to introduce them to the horses.

‘This is Monty Jack.’ She stroked the velvet nose of a dark bay horse, the soft wicker echoing round the silent yard.

‘Gosh,’ Tab had her mouth open, ‘not the, not, this isn’t Monty as in…?’

Lottie laughed, and Tom felt himself smiling with her. ‘Yup, it’s the Monty.’

‘Wow, awesome. I saw him at Olympia, do you remember, Dad? Wow, when he did that last jump he was so amazing.’

Tom shrugged, trying to avoid saying no, Olympia had just been another day out, but Tab wasn’t listening anyway. ‘He was so brilliant in the Puissance. I mean, I was way back in the stands, but he’s here now. Mega, just, he’s… can I stroke him?’

They’d lost him, but his daughter was back to being interested again, which was good enough for him.

‘And this is Monty’s Mistake.’ Lottie had strode on to the next stable, obviously in tour mode, and got much the same reaction as before from Tabatha.

‘This place is just so cool.’

Who’d have thought anyone could be so interested in something four-legged that had big teeth at one end, hard hooves at the other, and excreted great piles of waste and smelly air constantly? But his daughter was transformed, so mission accomplished, even if it was easier than even he, with a bucketload of optimism, could ever have expected. Lord, if he could only keep her in this mood all the time. His concentration lapsed, a horse was a horse, all the same except they came in a variety of colours and sizes.

Apart from the odd wisp of hay in front of the stables, where horses had stood to chew and watch their neighbours, the concrete was as clean and tidy as if it had been constantly brushed, but there was no one in sight. The soft rays of spring sunshine filtered over the low roofs of the stable blocks, burnishing the old red tiles, dancing over the fading daffodils and the jaunty primroses and pansies. For some strange reason, Tom felt at peace. At home. Like he hadn’t felt since he’d walked out of the house they’d lived in since Tab had been born.

Even Lottie was relaxed here, she wasn’t looking at him like he was some alien that she was expecting to grope her with a third arm at every turn. In cut-off denim shorts, a faded polo shirt that had seen better days and her hair pulled through the back of a baseball cap, she looked the picture of health and a thousand times sexier than any woman he’d seen in a long, long time. She was also young, he reminded himself. And he wasn’t going to get involved with anyone. And definitely not the girl he was courting into taking his daughter in hand. Even if, with horse slobber on her shoulder, she still looked good enough to make him feel the first stirrings in his groin he’d felt in a long time. It must be all this bloody country air, he must have overdosed on oxygen and it was making him light-headed.

‘The thing is.’ The woman in question was staring at him with a clear, and unnerving gaze, and biting the inside of her cheek. ‘Well, I don’t usually give lessons.’ She sounded apologetic, like a doctor forced to give bad news. ‘I don’t know what Pip told you, but all these horses are, well…’

‘Unsuitable?’ Tom spoke gently, sinking down on to the worn bench outside the stable. Crossed his ankles and tried not to stare at her long legs, at the perfect dip of a waist. Which led to softly rounded breasts. ‘I could close my eyes.’

‘Sorry?’

She was staring, wide eyes with a hint of alarm. Shit, he’d said it out loud. ‘Nothing, sorry, just thinking out loud.’ If he’d been smarter he could have thought of something witty that sounded the same, but he’d need a week and a thesaurus.

‘Oh, right. Well. It’s not that I’m not saying Tabatha isn’t a good rider, well I don’t know, but, well, even if she was really good… Well, the thing is, Dad won’t let anyone on his horses unless he’s seen them ride, and I’ve only got the one horse and she’s very green.’

Tom held a hand up. ‘It’s fine. Honestly. We’ve arranged to get a horse on loan for the summer, from the stables that Tab used to go to. It’s arriving tomorrow. Actually, I was wondering if you had a spare stable.’ He glanced around, there seemed lots of empty stables.

‘It’s not a bleeding livery stables.’ The gruff tone announced Billy’s arrival and dispersed that last lingering of Tom’s erotic musings.

Tom had heard, on good authority, well, from Pip, that Billy was as easy-going as they came. ‘He’s a right laugh, everyone loves Billy’ had been her exact words, he remembered. Either, they’d caught the man on an off day, or his idea of a right laugh and Pip’s were on different planets. And he had thought, or hoped, he could trust Pip’s judgement.

‘She is, like, totally amazing.’ Tab was staring at the horse that Billy was perched on, and for a moment Tom thought he saw a softening of the man’s features.

‘She needs taking in hand, like a lot of females.’ There was a hint of a crooked smile, which Tom wasn’t that keen on. ‘So, you’re not here to put in an offer then?’ The question came out abruptly.

‘Sorry?’

Billy took that as a no. ‘Well, that’s okay then. Lottie be a darling and get her untacked, Tiggy seems to have gone AWOL.’

‘Dad, I need—’ But he’d jumped off the horse and strode off, tapping his crop against his boot. Lottie grabbed the horse’s reins, just as she started to wander after Billy, which was an annoying habit most of his horses developed. The need to follow him.

She needed to talk to Tom, then she needed to get home and changed so that she could get to the pub before Rory, Pip and Mick were too drunk to miss her. The last thing she wanted to do was run round after her dad just because the vague and unreliable Tiggy had wandered off again. Why her father had employed the woman, Lottie really didn’t know.

‘You have got spare stables though?’ Tom found that the further away the man was, the more relaxed he became.

‘I err.’ Lottie stared at him. If she didn’t get rid of them soon she wouldn’t have time for a shower before she headed to the pub, and all of a sudden she didn’t want to be smelly.

‘Great, I knew it. How about we just try it for a week or two? I’m happy to pay the going rate, I mean you’ve got everything here.’ He named an amount that made Lottie’s stomach jolt. Was that monthly or weekly? ‘Then, how about a lesson next week so you can assess Tab?’ She felt her head nodding, which it really wasn’t supposed to be doing. Amazing what the need to get rid of someone could do to your common sense.

‘Brilliant, see you tomorrow. Come on Tabby, I can see Lottie’s busy.’

He winked, put a fatherly arm around his daughter and was heading for the eyesore of a car before Lottie got the chance to ask what was supposed to be happening tomorrow.

***

Amanda James stood, a picture of restrained elegance, and stared out of the window at the vast expanse of immaculate lawn and felt a sudden pang for a vision of concrete. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it here, she loved it. But everything was so raw, animal-like. Even Lady Stanthorpe was as sharp, assessing and brusque as they come. These ladies might play golf and have afternoon tea, but their homes were freezing and their furniture passed on down so many years each piece had its own ten generation pedigree.

And an Aga was fine, when it bloody worked. That was the trouble, everything was such damned hard work. Even the talking, unless you had a degree in equine studies. God, how she hated horses sometimes, they were impossible to escape. Totally impossible.

It hadn’t bothered Marcus, he had a totally unshakeable self-belief that carried him through life untouched by the scathing comments and put-downs. He had loved being a part of the ‘country set’, as he termed his neighbours. And he didn’t care that he’d just bought his way in. That he was as much a part of it as a palm tree in a park. He had been there, and that was all that mattered.

Amanda missed him. She missed his confidence, missed the way he bellowed for more sugar in his tea, despite the fact that the sugar bowl had been a matter of inches from his cup, missed the fact that he looked after her in his loud, brash way, like a father.

She was being stupid.

Amanda just sometimes longed for convenience, for a meaningless chat about the latest fashion. She didn’t understand most of the people here, apart from Pippa. She picked up her mobile, paused for a moment with the contact list open. A flash of yellow down by the yard caught her eye, and the tall slim figure caught her attention even more firmly. Whoever had been visiting Billy Brinkley was far different to the normal, scruffy, bow-legged characters, and the car was enough to make her feel her prayers had been answered. She hadn’t realised until now just how much she’d started to loathe the sight of 4X4s and long for leather and sleek. She needed a distraction, and she needed one now. Before she made the biggest mistake of her life.