“Do you need a leg up or something?” I asked, but she shook her head.
She hoisted herself up easily, swinging a leg across his back and mounting up without a second’s hesitation. She shortened her stirrups, and took up the reins, and they were off, pacing back the way we’d come.
“Could you get the gate?” She pointed to the side of the wood-chipped arena. “That one.”
I dashed in front of them and did what she asked. She trotted on through, rising and falling in the saddle, her thighs so toned I could see the definition of her through her jodhpurs.
She pointed at the jumps laid out around the field. Poles of red and white, yellow and white. Some high, some doubles, some just poles on the floor. One of the arrangements had toppled.
I ran to it before she asked, propped it back up to height.
She thanked me. My suit definitely didn’t.
I leaned against the fence at a safe distance and watched. I watched everything, soaking her in. Samson’s easy gait as she warmed him up, long loops around the outside, figures of eight through the jumps. I watched the way she moved, the sophisticated freedom in her posture. The smile on her face, the concentration as she turned him, guided him.
She was a picture.
A swan on water, in her element, bursting with joy.
I could watch her forever.
My heart thumped as she took the first jump, but the horse leapt it easily. She rose and fell, freeing up the reins as he needed them, then patted his neck, squeezed her legs to his sides to encourage him onwards. They took another jump and it was magical. A third and I was addicted. Feeling the rhythm in his hooves, the duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh, and then the silence as he leapt, the thump of his landing, and back to the duh-duh-duh.
I was smiling as they jumped a double, two in quick succession. Willing her forwards, loving the way they moved as one.
I could love this, watching her.
I could fall in love with this.
She gave Samson a big pat when they’d done enough, and her cheeks were rosy as she walked him around the field, his head hanging low, reins long and loose in her hands. He was sweaty at the neck, and smelled of leather and beast as she walked him close by. I opened the gate for them, and they passed me close enough that I could feel the heat of him, heading back up to the stable block.
I followed, and she stared over her shoulder, leaning back on his rump.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Were we good?”
“Amazing,” I said. “Seriously. It was amazing.”
“It’s taken a long time.” She smiled. “He was green when he arrived, jumped too big. Nervous.”
“He didn’t look nervous today.”
“He’s not anymore,” she said. “He trusts me. He knows me.”
“The beauty of experience,” I said. “In becoming comfortable with each other.”
She dismounted and tethered him, taking off his saddle as he rummaged in the hay net. “We’re competing in the Cheltenham Chase in August,” she said. “The only course this summer.”
“I’m sure you’ll do very well,” I said, and I meant it.
“I hope so.” Her eyes met mine. “Verity is doing it, too, on some posh fancy horse her daddy paid a fortune for.”
“And that’s why you’re doing it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe a little. I want to win.”
“It’s a slippery slope,” I said. “Competing with just one person. It never ends up pleasantly, even if you win.”
“Still,” she said. “I want to win.” A rumble of a truck sounded in the distance and she dashed along the path. “It’s Jack,” she said. “Finally! I haven’t seen him in aaages!” She picked up Samson’s saddle, handed it to me with his bridle. Sweaty leather slammed into my suit jacket, but she didn’t notice, she was too keen to go. “Can you put this in the tack room, please? And keep an eye on Samson? I won’t be long.”
I nodded, but I doubt she even saw me. She was already rushing away.
She was gone a while. Long enough that the furry brute finished up his hay, even the scraggly bits that had dropped to the floor. He blew out a sigh and looked around the place, straining on his rope as he looked towards the farmhouse.
“Steady,” I said. “Don’t go breaking that twine.” As though the beast would understand me.
His eyes met mine and they were dark and curious, and hostile. Still hostile.