about to leave. My question halted her at the door.
“Nothing I shouldn’t,” she assured me virtuously. “He and Mr. Call are friendly. And Mr. Reed is good with animals.”
Her manner told me she might know more, but I didn’t think it right to press.
“Thank you,” I said. “I won’t keep you from your duties.”
~
My initial thought when I saw Mr. Reed atop Damien’s horse was that he must be good with animals because he was one himself.
The paddock was large, with a dirt track around its perimeter similar to what thoroughbreds raced on. Mr. Reed wasn’t racing. He rode his mount alone and wasn’t going fast enough. Cantering , I believed was the term for the horse’s gait. Mr. Reed didn’t bounce in the saddle, though he wasn’t motionless either. His body seemed to roll naturally with his steed’s, as if he and the beast were extensions of each other.
My attention arrested by his skill, I took a moment to notice how beautiful the horse was. Even to my inexperienced eyes, the creature was elegant. Its hide was dark brown and glossy, its mane and tail ebony. Its hooves drummed the track as they rounded the paddock’s curve. Damp soil flung up behind its strides, and I heard its breath blowing.
Suddenly, Mr. Reed made a clucking noise, rose slightly in the stirrups, and brought his seat out of the saddle. It was a nice seat, but this wasn’t the reason my breath caught. The horse stretched full out as its rider shifted, its whole body lengthening. The stallion was galloping. Its mane and tail whipped like flags. As Mr. Reed inclined forward over the horse’s neck, his white shirt and tan breeches clung. The shape of his rangy body was obvious. Perhaps it was a strange comparison, but it struck me that the stallion’s build was similar to its rider’s. Both were lean, both their strength wrapped closely to their frame.
No wonder Mr. Reed’s suit had hung on him at my wedding. This was what he’d had beneath it.
When he saw me watching, he pulled back on the reins and slowed. The animal pranced, its energy not depleted by the run. The stable master settled it with half his attention. Once again bereft of a hat, he inclined his dark head to me.
He should have a helmet , I thought. Did he think no horse would dare throw him?
“Lady Call,” he said politely.
I ignored him calling me Lady .
“Where is your helmet?” I demanded.
He smiled. “Tiger is a gentleman.”
“Tiger is a stallion.” I thought he was anyway. I was under the impression people didn’t geld racehorses.
Mr. Reed pretended to look between Tiger’s legs. “So he is. Fancy that. I’ll have to wear a hard hat next time. Promise,” he added, seeing me frown at him. “I hadn’t planned to ride him so fast today.”
I cleared my throat, somewhat abashed to have been sharp with him. “My husband wouldn’t like it if you were hurt.”
“No, your husband wouldn’t,” the chastised man agreed.
My brows drew together. Something in his tone made me feel I hadn’t fathomed his full meaning. “You ride beautifully,” I admitted, deciding to let this go. “I had no idea you . . . or anyone could ride like that.”
“I grew up around horses. I’ve been riding as long I could walk.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“No reason you should, Lady Call.”
He was teasing me. I could tell. He said my title—which admittedly wasn’t mine as yet—mockingly.
“I know I’m not a lady,” I huffed at him.
He grinned. Damn it , I thought, refusing to admit I understood my own double entendre. He was an employee. He shouldn’t smirk at me.
The horse sidled toward the wooden fence that separated us. Had Mr. Reed guided it to do so?
My eyes chose that moment to observe how Mr. Reed’s white shirt clung to his chest with sweat. He wore no undershirt beneath it and, along with his ribs and muscles, the dark circles of his nipples were visible. This didn’t seem to make him self-conscious. His amusement faded but
“Nothing I shouldn’t,” she assured me virtuously. “He and Mr. Call are friendly. And Mr. Reed is good with animals.”
Her manner told me she might know more, but I didn’t think it right to press.
“Thank you,” I said. “I won’t keep you from your duties.”
~
My initial thought when I saw Mr. Reed atop Damien’s horse was that he must be good with animals because he was one himself.
The paddock was large, with a dirt track around its perimeter similar to what thoroughbreds raced on. Mr. Reed wasn’t racing. He rode his mount alone and wasn’t going fast enough. Cantering , I believed was the term for the horse’s gait. Mr. Reed didn’t bounce in the saddle, though he wasn’t motionless either. His body seemed to roll naturally with his steed’s, as if he and the beast were extensions of each other.
My attention arrested by his skill, I took a moment to notice how beautiful the horse was. Even to my inexperienced eyes, the creature was elegant. Its hide was dark brown and glossy, its mane and tail ebony. Its hooves drummed the track as they rounded the paddock’s curve. Damp soil flung up behind its strides, and I heard its breath blowing.
Suddenly, Mr. Reed made a clucking noise, rose slightly in the stirrups, and brought his seat out of the saddle. It was a nice seat, but this wasn’t the reason my breath caught. The horse stretched full out as its rider shifted, its whole body lengthening. The stallion was galloping. Its mane and tail whipped like flags. As Mr. Reed inclined forward over the horse’s neck, his white shirt and tan breeches clung. The shape of his rangy body was obvious. Perhaps it was a strange comparison, but it struck me that the stallion’s build was similar to its rider’s. Both were lean, both their strength wrapped closely to their frame.
No wonder Mr. Reed’s suit had hung on him at my wedding. This was what he’d had beneath it.
When he saw me watching, he pulled back on the reins and slowed. The animal pranced, its energy not depleted by the run. The stable master settled it with half his attention. Once again bereft of a hat, he inclined his dark head to me.
He should have a helmet , I thought. Did he think no horse would dare throw him?
“Lady Call,” he said politely.
I ignored him calling me Lady .
“Where is your helmet?” I demanded.
He smiled. “Tiger is a gentleman.”
“Tiger is a stallion.” I thought he was anyway. I was under the impression people didn’t geld racehorses.
Mr. Reed pretended to look between Tiger’s legs. “So he is. Fancy that. I’ll have to wear a hard hat next time. Promise,” he added, seeing me frown at him. “I hadn’t planned to ride him so fast today.”
I cleared my throat, somewhat abashed to have been sharp with him. “My husband wouldn’t like it if you were hurt.”
“No, your husband wouldn’t,” the chastised man agreed.
My brows drew together. Something in his tone made me feel I hadn’t fathomed his full meaning. “You ride beautifully,” I admitted, deciding to let this go. “I had no idea you . . . or anyone could ride like that.”
“I grew up around horses. I’ve been riding as long I could walk.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“No reason you should, Lady Call.”
He was teasing me. I could tell. He said my title—which admittedly wasn’t mine as yet—mockingly.
“I know I’m not a lady,” I huffed at him.
He grinned. Damn it , I thought, refusing to admit I understood my own double entendre. He was an employee. He shouldn’t smirk at me.
The horse sidled toward the wooden fence that separated us. Had Mr. Reed guided it to do so?
My eyes chose that moment to observe how Mr. Reed’s white shirt clung to his chest with sweat. He wore no undershirt beneath it and, along with his ribs and muscles, the dark circles of his nipples were visible. This didn’t seem to make him self-conscious. His amusement faded but
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