A Kestrel Rising (38 page)
“Are you all right, Chris? You seem miles away.” Richard edged through a gap and found a space by the bar.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He wasn’t. He was thinking of Grace.
When Richard had persuaded him to escape the barracks for the night, he’d expected nothing more than a pleasant evening at the races. Horseracing was a foreign country to him and he’d liked the idea of being with a racehorse owner and getting a glimpse behind the scenes. All the way up in the car, Richard had talked about his horse, the trainer and the trainer’s daughter. By the time they’d reached the Newmarket turnoff, Christopher had realized that the conversation had turned almost exclusively to Grace with Richard singing her praises. He wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to matchmaking. Christopher had gazed out of the window and let the talk go over his head. Doubtless, she’d be all teeth and tally-ho. He’d met plenty of that type at Regimental Balls, hard-riding debutantes who hated that fox-hunting was banned and soon lost interest in him when he said he’d never been near a horse.
Grace wasn’t like that.
He couldn’t remember the last time his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of a woman. Richard’s chatter had faded to a vague buzz when he’d seen Grace walk across the lawn with the jockey. She was a head taller than the man she’d been laughing with. The sun had caught in her dark brown hair, finding glints of bay and chestnut in it. Unlike most of the other women attending the races, she was dressed simply in a beige linen suit, which did little to conceal long, slender legs and a very appealing cleavage. He couldn’t for the life of him work out whether her eyes were green or brown or something in between. All he knew was that, when he’d shaken her hand, he hadn’t wanted to let go.
“Here you go, Chris.” Richard handed him a large, plastic glass swimming with fruit. “Take that to Grace, will you. I need to visit the loo. She’ll be over by the saddling boxes.”
Christopher didn’t need persuading.
Grace was glad to reach the relative peace of the box. She poured a bucket of water over the colt. He snorted and shook his head. Beads of water scattered and caught the rosy evening light and for a moment, Allonby turned into a creature of myth. The illusion dispelled and he became just another horse when Harry led him away to the dope-testing box. Grace gathered the racing kit together, packed it away and sat down on an upturned bucket. She groped through her handbag for her cigarettes, leaned against the wall and inhaled deeply. It felt good to close her eyes and enjoy the warmth of the setting sun on her face. It was the first moment of peace she had known all day and she was going to enjoy it. She hoped that Allonby would take his time because she was in no hurry to load him up and take him home.
“Tired?” Christopher’s voice interrupted her reverie.
If anyone else had disturbed her like that, Grace would’ve probably disemboweled them. Instead, she smiled and opened her eyes. “Yes, it’s been a very long day.”
“I brought your drink.” He handed her a large, plastic cup crammed with Pimms-soaked strawberries and cucumbers. “Richard’s disappeared off to the toilet.”
“Thanks.” She took a long, grateful sip and stubbed out her cigarette. “That’s lovely.” She watched him as he found another bucket and sat down beside her. The cologne was still a distraction. It made her think of quiet woods and juniper trees shadowing a churchyard gate.
He took a sip of his beer. “That’s made Richard’s night.”
“It’s made my night. I knew he could do it, I just didn’t think he could do it that well. I think that your friend may have something a bit special there.”
“That’s good. He deserves this.”
“Yes,” she agreed, picking a strawberry out of her cup. “He does.” It had been a long time since she’d sat so close to a man. She found herself looking at his long thighs. Grace bit into the strawberry and tried to think of more prosaic things—a nice bran mash for Allonby and driving the horsebox back to the sanctuary of the yard. Everything about the man was a distraction, from his rolled-up shirtsleeves revealing sun-browned forearms lightly covered with hair, to his hands and long fingers curled around the cup.
“It’s a nice course, this,” he said. “Will you be staying for the music? I hear they do concerts after the racing’s finished.”
“No. I have to be up early in the morning, since Dad’s away, I have to keep an eye on things. I can’t remember the last time I stayed after for the music.” Grace stopped herself before she started babbling to fill the silence. “Are you?”
“Nope. We’ll be getting up early tomorrow morning too.”
“Back to London?”
“No, I guess we’re coming to the yard and having breakfast. Didn’t you know that?”
Oh, Christ
.
“I think I’m supposed to know that.” She remembered the list her father had pinned to the board in the tack room, the list she had been in too much of a hurry to read before she dashed out of the door.
Oh bugger.
She would have to drive her guests to the gallops. Grace’s mind raced. Her car was a moving collection of empty pop cans, paper cups, sweets wrappers and tissues. The yard’s elderly Land Rover needed a good muck-out. She would have to start work half an hour earlier to tidy it up. “I hope you realize how early you will have to get up.”
“I think Richard said we’d be there for six.”
Grace took a mental inventory of her work clothes then stopped herself. She was getting her knickers in a twist over nothing. This was a one-time-only distraction and she was hormonal.
It will pass.
She found another strawberry.
Some dinner, Pimms-soaked strawberries.
“Yes, sorry about the early start. We like to get the horses out and back again before it gets too warm. Still, Mum will have a nice breakfast for you both when you get back.” She hoped he hadn’t heard the mutinous rumble from her stomach. The smell of chips drifted across the lawn and she tried to remember what she had in the fridge.
He took another sip of his beer. “Richard didn’t really tell me much. What do we do?”
“You turn up, you climb in the Land Rover, I drive you to the gallops, we stand and watch the horses run up the hill and then go back to the house for breakfast. If it’s not too crazy busy, I’ll show you both around. That’s about it.”
“It sounds fine to me, better than being at work.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in the army.”
She should’ve known. The short hair, family friend of the General, it all added up. “What Regiment?”
“The Grenadier Guards.”
Grace spied the General and Harry returning at the same time. The moments of peace were over. She found the last piece of cucumber and ate it with a sigh. “I suppose I’d better get this horse loaded up and back to the yard.”
“I think Richard wants to get something to eat.”
Grace stood up and brushed the bits of straw from her trousers. She finished the last of her Pimms. Harry wrapped the traveling boots around Allonby’s legs while the General patted his horse’s neck. “We’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said, cheerfully. “Bright and early.”
She smiled. “Very early.”
About the Author
S A Laybourn lives in Wiltshire and loves it. She’s partial to gin and tonic, loves to cook and watches cookery programmes when she’s not working, writing or reading. She writes m/m erotic romance as S A Meade.
Email:
[email protected]
S A loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
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