Read Online Time After Time by Elizabeth Boyce - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Boyce
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circling.
Less than a lap around the paddock, the mare charged again. And again she got a hard smack in the face from the rope. Old Nell bucked, moving backward towards Ellie, her hind legs working like deadly pistons.
“Get out!” yelled Hugh, clambering half way over the fence.
Ellie sidestepped Old Nell’s haunches, but let the horse back into the swinging rope. Whack! The sting sent Old Nell bolting to the safety of the outside rail. This time Ellie didn’t ask nicely for a trot. She shook the oilskin at Old Nell’s eye, driving her into a full gallop. Deciding it was safer, the mare stayed on the rail.
• • •
“By God, it’s working,” Hugh said to himself, shaking his head in amazement.
He studied the precision of the girl’s encouragement and disapproval of Old Nell’s moment by moment behavior — her coordination in swinging the rope and shaking the oilskin. Then his focus strayed to her tightly clad thighs, and he could not drag his eyes away.
The late afternoon sun pierced dust-thickened air in beams of light. Old Nell flashed in and out of the glare as she cantered around the paddock. Hugh watched the girl’s slim figure follow the mare through the fractured sunlight. He remembered her alabaster body lit by the fire of the hurricane lamp, the pearl orbs of her breasts, the water tracing curves down her stomach.
Ashamed, he gripped the fence rail and shook his head, forcing himself to focus on her eyes. Piercing blue – and concentrated on the horse. Nothing else existed for her.
He craned to see the nape of her neck. Blast that floppy hat , he thought. It’s hanging too low.
His gaze went back to her thighs. I wouldn’t mind seeing more women in trousers, he thought. She takes long strides. Girlish strides, though. Wouldn’t do for a man to be walking like that. Popinjay, they’d say. She ought to be careful. It startled him that he cared.
Old Nell bucked as she circled the pen, but the girl made her gallop – kicking became an impractical waste of energy.
Finally, at the girl’s command — a quick shake of the oilskin — Old Nell stopped, changed direction, sped up, and slowed down.
Lowering the oilskin and rope, the girl turned away from the mare.
Hugh tensed, waiting for Old Nell to charge. Instead, the horse stood still, waiting for a command. When none came, the animal walked to her trainer where she accepted a carrot and lowered her head for the bridle.
“Gad, that wretched beast is docile as a well-fed dog,” Hugh said to no one in particular.
The girl’s hands moved behind the bit . Does she have her finger in that horse’s mouth? He wiped his brow. She stroked Old Nell’s tongue, breathing gentle words into the mare’s velveteen nostrils. Heat grew in his groin.
Quite a crowd had formed along the fence rail. Realizing he would have to congratulate her on her training skills, he swiped his handkerchief over the back of his neck and across his brow. If he left the fence, everyone would see the excitement that refused to abate in his groin. “Excellent!” he cried, choosing to stay behind the rail. He started a smattering of awed applause from the farmhands.
The girl seemed not to hear. She buckled the reins back on Old Nell’s bridle and mounted. The horse stood still. “Could someone fetch the gelding for me?” she asked.
“Mr. Roger,” said Hugh, “Could you fetch the gir — ah, Toby’s horse please.”
By the time the gelding was ready, Hugh had regained his control. “Here you are, Toby, ready for the hike,” he said, handing her the gelding’s lead. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand closed around her thigh just above the knee. The muscle was deliciously hard, encased in a soft layer of flesh. He gave what he hoped was a masculine shake to the leg. “With training skills like that, Toby, we’ll miss you even for a night. Hurry back.”
• • •
Hugh’s farewell shake of her thigh sent a zing to every fiber in Ellie’s body.
Less than a lap around the paddock, the mare charged again. And again she got a hard smack in the face from the rope. Old Nell bucked, moving backward towards Ellie, her hind legs working like deadly pistons.
“Get out!” yelled Hugh, clambering half way over the fence.
Ellie sidestepped Old Nell’s haunches, but let the horse back into the swinging rope. Whack! The sting sent Old Nell bolting to the safety of the outside rail. This time Ellie didn’t ask nicely for a trot. She shook the oilskin at Old Nell’s eye, driving her into a full gallop. Deciding it was safer, the mare stayed on the rail.
• • •
“By God, it’s working,” Hugh said to himself, shaking his head in amazement.
He studied the precision of the girl’s encouragement and disapproval of Old Nell’s moment by moment behavior — her coordination in swinging the rope and shaking the oilskin. Then his focus strayed to her tightly clad thighs, and he could not drag his eyes away.
The late afternoon sun pierced dust-thickened air in beams of light. Old Nell flashed in and out of the glare as she cantered around the paddock. Hugh watched the girl’s slim figure follow the mare through the fractured sunlight. He remembered her alabaster body lit by the fire of the hurricane lamp, the pearl orbs of her breasts, the water tracing curves down her stomach.
Ashamed, he gripped the fence rail and shook his head, forcing himself to focus on her eyes. Piercing blue – and concentrated on the horse. Nothing else existed for her.
He craned to see the nape of her neck. Blast that floppy hat , he thought. It’s hanging too low.
His gaze went back to her thighs. I wouldn’t mind seeing more women in trousers, he thought. She takes long strides. Girlish strides, though. Wouldn’t do for a man to be walking like that. Popinjay, they’d say. She ought to be careful. It startled him that he cared.
Old Nell bucked as she circled the pen, but the girl made her gallop – kicking became an impractical waste of energy.
Finally, at the girl’s command — a quick shake of the oilskin — Old Nell stopped, changed direction, sped up, and slowed down.
Lowering the oilskin and rope, the girl turned away from the mare.
Hugh tensed, waiting for Old Nell to charge. Instead, the horse stood still, waiting for a command. When none came, the animal walked to her trainer where she accepted a carrot and lowered her head for the bridle.
“Gad, that wretched beast is docile as a well-fed dog,” Hugh said to no one in particular.
The girl’s hands moved behind the bit . Does she have her finger in that horse’s mouth? He wiped his brow. She stroked Old Nell’s tongue, breathing gentle words into the mare’s velveteen nostrils. Heat grew in his groin.
Quite a crowd had formed along the fence rail. Realizing he would have to congratulate her on her training skills, he swiped his handkerchief over the back of his neck and across his brow. If he left the fence, everyone would see the excitement that refused to abate in his groin. “Excellent!” he cried, choosing to stay behind the rail. He started a smattering of awed applause from the farmhands.
The girl seemed not to hear. She buckled the reins back on Old Nell’s bridle and mounted. The horse stood still. “Could someone fetch the gelding for me?” she asked.
“Mr. Roger,” said Hugh, “Could you fetch the gir — ah, Toby’s horse please.”
By the time the gelding was ready, Hugh had regained his control. “Here you are, Toby, ready for the hike,” he said, handing her the gelding’s lead. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand closed around her thigh just above the knee. The muscle was deliciously hard, encased in a soft layer of flesh. He gave what he hoped was a masculine shake to the leg. “With training skills like that, Toby, we’ll miss you even for a night. Hurry back.”
• • •
Hugh’s farewell shake of her thigh sent a zing to every fiber in Ellie’s body.
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