Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (2 page)

‘What happened?'

‘He took a dislike to the pigs.'

‘It's funny how some horses can't stand them.' The sunlight catches the rider's face, revealing strong cheekbones, a clean-cut complexion and a wicked smile. I can't help wondering if his long dark eyelashes might be enhanced in some way, and I'm pretty sure he's wearing a touch of pearlescent eye shadow and some lip-stain.

‘It isn't
that
funny,' I say fiercely, sensing that perhaps, amid his concern for my health, this man who's riding around the countryside pretending he's Ross Poldark is laughing at me. There was a time when my friends and I would have found the whole idea of Rafa disappearing at full gallop without me hysterically funny too, but I start work tomorrow and I need to be in one piece.

‘I'm sorry. My name's Robbie, Robbie Salterton.'

‘I'm Flick. It's short for Felicity,' I say, testing out my right knee as I look around for a convenient place from which to get back into the saddle.

‘You look as if you've taken quite a tumble,' Robbie goes on as I lead Rafa towards the bank. ‘Are you sure it wouldn't be safer to lead him home?'

‘No, really. I prefer to be on top.' Immediately, I wish I could unsay what I've just said …

‘Oh, so do I,' he says, his voice laced with humour and suggestion, as I turn Rafa to face the way we came from, as well as to hide the heat in my cheeks. ‘Let me give you a leg up.' Robbie is on his feet and at my side, his horse standing quietly without restraint. Before I can argue that it isn't strictly necessary, he's in position, ready to take my lower leg in his hands.

I take up the reins and bend my left knee.

‘On the count of three. One, two, three …' Robbie propels me back into the saddle with seemingly effortless force, almost sending me off over the other side.

I regain my seat with as much poise as I can muster and slip my feet into the stirrups. He vaults easily on to his horse's back.

‘Thanks again,' I say, as I'm planning a rapid escape to salvage the last remnants of my self-esteem. It's all very well falling off now and then, but why did it have to go and happen in the proximity of this gorgeous, capable and well-spoken stranger? All I want to do now is get away to check my wounds.

‘Anytime,' he calls over his shoulder as he rides off in the opposite direction. I notice how his horse has a loose shoe, making a double clink as its hoof touches the ground.

Now, I should have thought ahead. Rafa's coat is dark with sweat. He's in an emotional state, and looking for reassurance and safety in numbers, so why on earth would he want to leave the other horse and return to face the pigs alone? When I ask him to walk on, he refuses, and I wish I'd hung on to the hazel stick. I growl at him and flick the loop of the reins against his neck, hoping that Robbie isn't looking behind him, but he still won't budge.

There are times when I wonder if owning a horse is all it's cracked up to be, and this is one of them. Horse and rider in perfect harmony. Not.

I hear the sound of hooves and Robbie's voice behind me.

‘I should have thought to offer you a lead.' He chuckles. ‘Don't say there's no need for it – I'd hate to think of you standing out here all night.'

I have no choice as he walks his horse up alongside Rafa, our stirrups clashing as we move along the lane.

‘I'm sorry,' I say.

‘It's no problem. I was riding what we call the square, which is really more of a circle. I can go back home either way.' He pauses. ‘I haven't seen you around here before. What brings you to Furzeworthy?'

‘Work.' I try to get Rafa to leg-yield towards the hedge, but he's like a limpet clinging to the other horse's side.

‘Are you staying at Mel's?'

‘That's right. How did you guess?' When I arrived at the B&B today, Louise – my new boss's wife – told me the place was a hotbed of gossip, but I didn't imagine that news travelled this fast.

‘Actually, I saw the horsebox outside when I was driving by earlier.'

I glance towards my companion. He's grinning.

‘I'm the farrier who's taking on his round,' I say, smiling back.

‘I see. Mel did mention that he was sorting out cover for when he goes into hospital for surgery on his back. I didn't realise you were …' He hesitates.

‘A woman?' I finish for him.

‘I don't mean to sound sexist. I'm not like that,' he says, sounding somewhat bashful. ‘I'm just surprised. I don't know why, when I've had a female vet and saddler before.'

I bet you have, I think. Going on his good looks and confidence, I reckon Robbie's the type who's had many women.

‘This is the first time I've come across a female farrier,' he continues.

‘There aren't many of us about – not yet, anyway.'

‘I hope I haven't offended you.'

‘Not in the slightest. It happens all the time.' I smile again. ‘In fact, the most misogynistic clients I've come across have been women, and their attitude is more down to the fact they're disappointed because I'm not some fit guy with potential, rather than that they don't trust me to shoe their horses.'

‘I think you're going to have an interesting time. Not in a bad way,' he adds quickly, ‘but you know what horse people are like.'

‘The farrier I trained with says there are three types of personality. Type A, who are the stressy ones, type B, who are the laid-back characters, and type H, who are completely mad about their horses – the sort who always have hay in their pockets, buy nothing but corn oil and carrots at the supermarket, and spend most of their wages at the tack shop.' I pause. ‘Your horse has a loose shoe, by the way.'

‘I have noticed,' he says lightly. ‘Mel's been finding it hard to keep up. Nelson's overdue for shoeing.'

‘He's lovely. He's a Friesian, isn't he?' He's tall and well built, like a carriage horse, and about 16.2 hands high – my height, the equivalent of five foot six at the withers, the point just in front of the saddle. He has a magnificent crest to his neck and a mane that's almost as impressive as Rafa's. His veins stand out from his gleaming black skin, as if he's so full of life that it's bursting to get out.

I can hardly tear my eyes away from this double vision of masculinity, man and horse.

‘Yes, the Admirable Nelson – that's his full name – is a Friesian stallion. He's amazing, the best horse I've ever had.' Robbie's voice is filled with pride and affection as he reaches down to stroke his flank. ‘Yours is a Spanish horse, isn't he?'

‘My parents kept an Andalusian stallion at stud.' I have fond memories of the farm – I must have been the only child at school to think that it was perfectly normal to keep bags of colostrum next to the Mini Milks in the freezer. ‘They bred Rafa from one of their mares.'

‘They haven't got any more, have they?'

‘Sadly not. They sold up a couple of years ago. My dad's retired, although he and Mum still have contacts in Spain, if you're serious.'

‘I'll bear that in mind. I'm always on the lookout for horses like him. How old is he?'

‘He's thirteen now, old enough to know better,' I grimace as he tenses beneath me, having caught the scent of pig as we move closer to their field. ‘He was born the day before my sixteenth birthday. I was supposed to be revising for my GCSEs, but I knew from the way the mare was dripping milk that she was about to give birth. I couldn't go downstairs because my parents were entertaining, so I climbed out of my bedroom window and down the ladder I'd taken out of the garage beforehand.'

‘Did you get caught?' Robbie asks.

‘They found out when I crashed their dinner party, calling for help. Dad wasn't happy that I'd risked my neck, but Mum was more concerned about the foal.' I was remembering finding him lying in the straw, still wet from the birth. He'd been born black – he hadn't started going grey until he was a couple of months old.

‘I watched him stagger to his feet.' He'd had knobbly knees and his long legs had seemed out of proportion to his body. ‘When he went to his mother to feed, she went for him.' I remembered that too: the way she'd pinned back her ears and bared her teeth, her eyes filled with fury, while her baby had cowered in the corner of the stable, lost, confused and distressed. I hadn't been able to stop crying.

‘What did you do?'

‘I fed him colostrum from a bottle and then we tried him with another mare we had. She had a foal at foot, and wouldn't entertain taking on a second mouth to feed, so I took him on. I made him a rug and fed him with milk replacer from a bucket every two hours.'

‘What happened to the exams?'

‘I passed. I'd never have heard the end of it if I'd failed.'

‘I've been around horses all my life, but I don't have any experience of hand-rearing one. I imagine it's pretty challenging.'

‘Rafa had the other foal to play with. He was cheeky, but I made sure he had respect for humans. When he tried to kick out, I used to grab his hind legs and hang on to them so he couldn't do it. He was a quick learner. I put a halter on him, brushed him, picked up his feet, and did everything to make sure he grew up with good manners.'

‘So what went wrong?' Robbie laughs, before sobering up quickly. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you by criticising your horse.'

‘No offence taken,' I say, although I do feel a little hurt.

‘I know what horses are like. One minute, you're on top of the world, the next you're on the floor.' Robbie stares at me – intently, covetously – and I wonder what he sees in me; a woman of twenty-nine with hazel eyes, slim yet fit, with killer guns that are well defined, but still feminine … then I realise he's looking at Rafa.

‘These two would look amazing in an arena together. Can he do any tricks?'

‘I do a bit of dressage with him, if that's what you mean.' I smile to myself at my mistake.

Rafa slows his pace and comes to a stop a couple of metres from the gateway, while Nelson walks straight on past. Robbie pulls up and waits. The pigs, which have been digging in the mud around the trough, come wandering across to investigate. Rafa puts himself into rapid reverse, stops and rears up, refusing to go forwards.

Robbie trots his horse back down the lane and manoeuvres him so he's alongside Rafa and facing in the same direction. Without warning, he leans across and grabs my reins.

‘Do you mind?' I exclaim, but we're already on our way past the gate, with Nelson shielding Rafa from the sight of the pigs. Robbie releases the reins, letting me take back some kind of control as Rafa breaks into a jog.

‘Thanks for that,' I say, bringing him back to walk. ‘I feel really stupid now. No one's done that to me since I was about ten.'

‘I didn't mean to make you feel bad. My father used to do it all the time with my mounted games pony, and in front of my friends.'

‘I suppose it had the desired effect,' I say ruefully, as we hack side by side along the wide grassy verge that opens out ahead of us. I change the subject, not wanting to dwell on the fact that my horse appears to have transferred his allegiance to Robbie, temporarily at least. ‘Have you had Nelson long?'

‘Since he was a yearling. I backed him and brought him on. He's been a star ever since. I have other horses, but he's the best. He'll do anything for me: play dead; jump through fire …'

‘Oh?' I'm not sure whether or not to believe him.

‘I'm a stunt rider, qualified, insured, and a member of Equity. My brother Dillon and I are masters of Roman and liberty riding.'

‘Enlighten me. I haven't a clue what that means.'

‘It's where you control a team of horses, standing on their backs and using your voice.'

‘What? No reins?'

‘That's right. I can manage up to twelve at once.' His eyes flash with humour as he continues, ‘That's on a good day, at home, when there's no wind to get under their tails. Dillon and I usually run displays with a team of eight. We travel to some of the agricultural shows, and we're booked to perform at an international event next year. We train every day. I'll show you sometime, if you like.'

Like, I think? I'd love it.

‘A stunt rider? That's amazing. It explains a lot – the shirt, for example. Are you wearing make-up?' I have to ask.

‘Do you think I've overdone it?' he teases.

‘It's a little weird. I'm all for guys being in touch with their feminine side, but that seems a bit much.'

‘It's part of the act. A reporter for the local newspaper came out to interview me and take some pics today. The
Chronicle
is filled with stories of rescued animals and local non-events, but any publicity is good publicity as far as I'm concerned. I'm hoping the story will get picked up by the nationals, to spread the word about what we can do with our horses.'

‘Have you been in any films or on TV?'

‘I've been a stunt double for –' he mentions an actor that everyone, even my mother, will have heard of – ‘and my brother and I have provided horses for a few TV ads and a couple of one-off dramas. It's top secret, so I probably shouldn't be telling you, but I'm talking to a production company about a contract to provide horses and riders for a TV series.'

‘Don't worry. I won't say anything.'

‘I'm crossing my fingers that I'll have good news soon, because we could do with the money to build up the team. We need more horses.'

‘How many have you got?'

‘We have nineteen between us at the moment, plus my old games pony, but we could always do with more for our various equestrian activities. We train aspiring stunt riders and run confidence-building courses. We also break and school horses for trick riding, and I'm developing the concept of horses as therapy. I volunteered at a centre in Wiltshire to see how we could offer it at our place.'