Stable Mates. Zara Stoneley
close quarters as a consolation prize, but the only time she’d ever spotted Amanda down at the stables was when she’d been searching out her errant husband – who had no qualms about mentally undressing every groom and female rider on the yard. Lottie reckoned he was totally shameless; he’d have shagged anything with a pulse. Even the podgy dishevelled Tiggy, or the bad-tempered Fliss.
Maybe Amanda was frigid? But she didn’t seem like that; she’d been a bit of a laugh at the parties they’d held in Folly Lake Manor, or Follyfoot funny farm as Rory and his mates often referred to it. To them it was a majestic home for misfits, to others, like Billy, her father, it was a necessary evil in the village.
Either way, Marcus and Amanda were regarded with amused suspicion by some, and as generous benefactors by others. But everyone agreed they threw a bloody good party.
Maybe, Lottie thought, Amanda had married Marcus for his money, and he’d married her for her looks and that was it. A shiver ran down her spine as Flash nibbled at her collar.
‘Now you are going to behave for Rory, aren’t you?’ She knew how much he hated events like this, but Flash desperately needed some smaller venues to persuade her that dressage arenas weren’t inhabited by lions. The mare was a dream in the stable, and had a jump as big and brave as her heart on the cross-country course, with flicking heels that respected the flimsy show jumps, but in the vast emptiness of the dressage arena she was like a firecracker about to go off. Lottie knew how she felt. It was like being dropped on a fashion runway in uncomfortable shoes and being told not to trip up, not that she knew much about fashion shows, but she imagined it was the same. Hushed silence, everyone watching and an acre of space poised to make a fool of you.
But in the few three-day events Rory had entered her, the cricket score of the dressage section had meant any hope of being on the leader board was doomed. Even when the fiery, fearless chestnut jumped out of her skin in the other two phases of the competition.
Lottie dropped the white pad and elegant black saddle onto the mare’s iridescent back just as an out of tune whistle announced Rory’s arrival.
‘Some of those plaits look like a poodle’s topknot.’
‘You’re very lucky you didn’t have to do them yourself, mate.’ She bent down to tighten the girth and took the time to admire his toned thighs on her way back up. ‘I’m only here because there wasn’t anything else to do, and if I’d stayed on dad’s yard for another five minutes I’d have screamed and hightailed it back to Barcelona.’
‘Why go all the way to Spain, when I’m here?’ His lazy gaze drifted over her body as the soft drawl made its way straight between her thighs. Charlotte loved Rory for many reasons, his sense of humour, easy-going nature, fit toned body, but most of all because he didn’t mean a word he said. No expectations. Just fun. Which was exactly what, she’d decided, she needed after leaving her shit of a boyfriend on a Spanish beach and heading reluctantly back to Cheshire, because she had nowhere else to go. When Lottie had left Tippermere, one of the reasons (and there had been several) had been Rory and his complete inability to take anything, including relationships, seriously. But now she was back she’d concluded that it was actually a bonus.
‘Because it’s sunny there and no one gives a damn about Billy bloody Brinkley, and,’ she paused in her list of some of the other reasons as she got to the crux of the matter, ‘there aren’t any horses.’ Which was, she told herself, why she’d run first of all to Australia, then somehow ended up in Barcelona after hooking up with an adventurer who had itchier feet than she had. Todd.
It was slightly ironic that in the search for a soul mate who didn’t want to be tied down, or committed to anyone or anything, she’d managed to end up with a serial adulterer who also happened to be a bigamist. Spreading it around was bad enough, but the arrival of a platoon of police armed to the teeth, on the beach of all places, had been the ultimate in humiliation. It wasn’t like she’d even had her best bikini on. Todd the hunter could, as far as she was concerned, go screw himself. Which might be the only option left if he got deported from Spain and stuck in the slammer.
‘How boring.’ Rory grinned and ran a large, capable hand through his messy curls before checking the girth. ‘What the fuck do you do then, apart from drink?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Now, do I risk working her in and scaring all the other riders out of the warm-up area, or shall I just enter at A?’
Knowing Rory as she did, she guessed it was probably a rhetorical question, but answered it anyway. ‘And exit three seconds later?’ She patted the docile Flash, who was looking like a tired donkey. ‘I suppose it might give you a chance of getting in the top twenty if you manage to scare all the others off.’ She worked on keeping a thoughtful face, but one glance of the sexily frustrated look Rory shot at her tickled her somewhere deep down and brought a grin to her face. It was hard to stay serious with him around, you either laughed with him, or, as he was so funny when he got angry, you had to laugh at him. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, call yourself a horseman, you could put a baby on her.’ She gave the mare a dig in the ribs as the horse was now resting a leg, and leaning half a ton of horseflesh against her. ‘Come on you old nag, let’s go bust some balls.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about, busting mine.’ Rory gave the mare a hearty slap on the rump as they walked out of the stall past him and flicked some shavings out of the long tail. ‘Call yourself a groom.’
‘No, I don’t actually. Remind me not to come to your rescue again you ungrateful sod.’
Lottie watched as he buttoned up his jacket and straightened the cravat. He was the type of man she couldn’t resist coming to the rescue of. One flash of that wicked grin and she came running like a bloody lapdog, well like his army of terriers. Which reminded her… ‘Are the dogs okay in the back of the lorry?’
‘They were trying to dig a hole in the floor when I left them, hope the floorboards are more solid than the rest of that rust bucket.’
‘At least that rust bucket,’ Lottie tried to look haughty and was pretty sure she’d failed, ‘is one up on your posh purple passion wagon, which wouldn’t even start.’ The wagon was nothing like the lorry that had been gifted to Rory by one of his rich owners, who liked only the best for their darling horse. But it was the only thing Billy would lend her. This one didn’t have shiny livery, full kitchen area, shower and double bed. It had space for three horses at the back, a narrow tack room with just enough room to swing a very small cat in the middle, and an ‘almost double bed’ squashed above the cab.
‘I suppose well used and dirty,’ he winked at her, ‘but in full working order, is better than immaculate and good-looking but can’t rise to the occasion.’
She followed his line of sight, straight to the upright and correct figure of her uncle, Dominic Stanthorpe. Dressage rider extraordinaire, or so a certain gushing woman’s mag had once labelled him. ‘Are you having a go at Uncle Dom again? And how do you know he can’t rise to the occasion?’ She raised an eyebrow, then held up a hand as he opened his mouth to answer. ‘No, on second thoughts, don’t go there. I don’t want to know what the latest trailer trash gossip is. I like Uncle Dom.’
‘You like everyone, darling. Which is why you call so many shits your friends.’
‘And are you one of those many shits?’ She checked Flash’s bridle as she spoke, straightening the bit, running a finger along the curb. Trying not to be concerned whether he answered or not. ‘Maybe you should try her in a hackamore?’
‘Maybe I should put my name on the suicide watch.’ His tone was dry. ‘And no, Charlott-ie,’ his firm, dry lips came down lightly over hers, ‘I try not to shit on my own doorstep.’ He pulled down the stirrup leathers and Flash, who’d gone back to resting a leg, nearly fell over as he landed lightly in the saddle.
Lottie grinned as they staggered sideways. ‘Never seen a half pass performed half-mounted before. Can you do them when you’re in the saddle too?’
‘Smart-arse.’ Rory gave her the finger and straightened his hat. ‘Maybe