If I were to indulge in my feelings for Ryah, kiss her, take her to bed, and something went wrong, she’d have nowhere else to turn. She’d have to leave and face the cruel, uncaring world on her own and it would be all my fault. If anything happened to her out there, I would never forgive myself. Anyone can see how vulnerable she is just by looking at her. To some men, vulnerability is like a flashing neon sign. An invitation to unleash their inner monster.
No one is fucking doing that to Ryah.
If she’s here with me, I can keep her safe and watch over her from afar. She needs the circus around her, protecting her. I can be her friend, and no more, and that’s the end of the matter.
In the spirit of friendship, I find Ryah first thing in the morning. She’s sitting on the bottom step of her wagon, lacing up some ankle boots. They shouldn’t really go with her short, periwinkle blue summer dress, but they do and she looks adorable.
I clear my throat and stare at a point just past her shoulder. “I have to take some of the horses to the farrier. It’s easier with two. Would you like to come with me?”
As she looks up, an uncertain expression flashes through her eyes. Jesus, I really handled the catsuit situation badly last night. As soon as she realizes what I’m saying, she brightens. “Yes, I’d love to. When would you like to leave?”
“Fifteen minutes? Grab yourself some breakfast. I’ll saddle up Jareth and Dandelion.”
Once our horses are ready, I rope the twelve horses that need to be reshod in a chain, two by two. Dandelion stretches up to lip Jareth’s nose and he gives a snort of surprise. He doesn’t seem to know what to do for a moment. Then stretches his neck over Dandelion’s withers and rests there a moment, careful not to crush the smaller, daintier horse.
Jareth glances at me as if to say, Don’t tell anyone about this.
I grin. “Don’t worry, you big bastard. I won’t tell a soul you’re secretly a softie.”
Ryah comes over, and she’s changed into some stretchy tan pants and a white blouse, and her hair is in a neat plait. Golden tendrils dance around her face and my fingers itch to smooth them back behind her ears.
Instead, I grasp the saddle and throw a leg over, calling to Ryah, “I’ll lead, and you bring up the rear. Sing out if you hear a car coming up behind us on a bend. I’ll try to keep them over.”
“You got it.” Ryah puts a foot in a stirrup and mounts up.
I can’t help but notice the way her behind settles snugly onto the saddle. Angry with myself, I grasp the reins and turn Jareth quickly away.
We clatter off at a walk up the lane leading east out of town, me holding onto the reins with one hand and leading the twelve horses with the other. It’s a cool morning and the sun is just filtering through the trees on the horizon. We can’t move fast, but that’s fine. We’ve got nowhere to be except the farrier, and then back again by late afternoon in time for the show.
I look around now and then at Ryah to check she and the horses are all right. She keeps
Dandelion close on the tail of the last pair of horses and seems to be watching the birds in the hedgerows and the clouds overhead with a dreamy, happy expression on her face. Every now and then she checks over her shoulder for a car.
I stop at a T-intersection and look up and down the road, trying to remember which way it is. My sense of direction is pretty good, but on these windy lanes it can get confusing. I choose left, and we set off again.
It turns out left was the wrong way, but I figure out where we are and it only adds an extra mile or so to the journey. By ten we reach the farrier, and he and his assistant get to work trimming and reshoeing the horses.
Ryah and I admire some dressage horses which are standing in the yard. They’re probably some of the most expensive creatures to ever grace these muddy and utilitarian farm buildings. Dressage horses are nimble and light on their feet, like ballerinas, and these two probably belong to some well-off family and their daughters. I’m sure they win plenty of ribbons at events. They’re dwarfed by Jareth, though I feel his coat is glossier. Dandelion is just as sure-footed, but her shape isn’t as elegant and her color is plain. Our horses love us and we love them, though, and that’s what matters.
Ryah finds a fluffy black cat sleeping on top of bales of hay and climbs up to pet it. I go over and lean against the stack, listening to her tell the cat how sweet it is, smiling to myself. After the misery of last night, the simplicity of the morning is soothing. Ryah and our horses. What could be better.
A woman in her late forties with peroxide blonde hair and heavy gold earrings pulls up in a Land Rover with a horse box. I would guess that she’s here for the dressage horses.
“Morning,” I say as she passes, giving a polite nod of my head. She stares first at me, then at Ryah, unsmiling, and doesn’t say good morning back.
As she walks away, Ryah mutters, “That was rude.”
The cat has rolled onto its back and is stretched out luxuriously while Ryah pats its belly.
“We’re not her sort of people. To that woman, a man should either be at the office earning money for expensive horses, or in the yard there reshoeing her horses.”
“Not idling against a hay bale with their hair too long and their boots dusty?” Ryah teases.
I reach up and stroke the black cat, feeling the rumble of a purr against my fingers. “What do you think, should I cut my hair and get a desk job? Sell paper and printer cartridges perhaps?”
“Much safer than throwing knives around.” The cat is so transported by all the attention that it rolls over into Ryah’s lap.
The blonde woman has her dressage horses in her horse box and her car keys in her hand. She heads for the driver’s door of the Land Rover and catches my eye, as if she can’t help herself. Pushing my hand through my hair, I nod at the woman again and smile, and just before she turns away, I wink. Her eyes widen and her expensive shoes catch on the cobbles. I look away quickly and bite the inside of my cheek before I can burst out laughing.