Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,27

paddock.

She rode Poseidon through the opening. “You alone extended the job offer. How was I to know you would answer to someone else for the decision?”

“Fair.” He gave a nod as he closed the gate but didn’t look at her. Nor did he say anything else as he turned and rode on.

That was okay. She didn’t need him to talk to her. He was providing her with a chance to demonstrate her abilities, a place to stay, money for the future, and, hopefully, enough food for both her and Jonas.

Expecting him to converse with her was asking too much.

The silence was nearly unbearable, and there were dozens of things she could have happily commented on. She’d ridden across miles and miles of countryside in the past two years, but the Heath was more marvelous than any of it. Perhaps it was because hope rolled across the expanse along with the sea of grass.

Everything looked bright, new, and fascinating. Even the horse beneath her, with movements that were far different from Rhiannon’s, was giving her a sense of newness.

The last time she could remember feeling like this was standing in the bow of the boat that had taken them from Ireland to England. Despite the turmoil they’d left behind, she’d thought that this country would bring bright new opportunities.

She’d been wrong then. She wouldn’t be wrong this time.

This time, she would create those opportunities instead of simply looking for them.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

Sophia jerked in the saddle, startling the horse beneath her into a rapid sidestep. She’d entirely forgotten about her companion as she’d watched a cluster of horses run along a distant ridge. “Pardon?”

He nodded toward a low, shadowy building in the distance. “That weigh house. Let’s see who gets there first.”

A race. He was proposing a race.

Her hands gripped the reins tighter, and the horse shook his head. She’d come here to do this—had expected to be racing this morning—but she still felt woefully unprepared for the moment.

Mr. Whitworth’s stoic face didn’t ease her sudden nerves. He didn’t intend to count this as her trial race, did he? That would certainly be a handy loophole. They’d ridden no faster than a brisk walk so far, and despite his claims, the horse she was on might be slower than a mule.

She could call him on it, but his honor was the only thing keeping her here. She would simply have to focus on winning. And pray that God kept him honest.

Both would be preferable.

“Who will call the start?” She shifted her weight, squeezing her right leg tightly against the pommel to ensure she didn’t end up in the mud the moment Poseidon started running.

“I’ll give you the advantage.” Mr. Whitworth lined up his horse beside hers, face devoid of any telling expression. “When you’re ready.”

She took a deep breath, resettled her seat, and called the start, nudging the horse with her foot as she yelled.

Wind filled her face and hair, whipping pins from their moorings and pulling tears from her eyes. Poseidon surged forward, legs eating up the ground at a pace Sophia had never experienced. His head bobbed with the rhythm of his stride, pulling against the tight hold she had on the reins and forcing her to hold them looser than she did when working with Rhiannon.

His smooth, supple movements didn’t prevent little tremors from passing through her body each time a hoof impacted the ground.

It was glorious.

She glanced to and fro across the ground in front of them, searching for obstacles or more advantageous pathways. A blur loomed to her left, creeping into the corner of her vision. Mr. Whitworth’s mount was close, but he hadn’t yet pulled ahead.

Afraid to push her foot deeper into the stirrup and knock the saddle aside, she shifted her hip and gripped the pommel tighter. She leaned forward and molded herself to the back of the animal as much as possible, focusing on moving with him—even breathing with him.

The weigh house loomed larger, becoming a building instead of a blur. Almost there. Did the horse have any more? Was there a last surge of effort in those muscles that could push them to victory?

If there was, she didn’t know how to find it. Train a horse to step elegantly and follow nearly invisible commands from talented riders? She was confident she could stand with the best of them. Urge an already galloping horse to go faster? She hadn’t a clue.

Mr. Whitworth did, though. As they approached the building, the