The warm pastry crumbles as I take a bite and head out of the door. The sun is out and the sky is clear. It’s the perfect day for riding.
I take a slow and leisurely stroll to the stables and notice two of the stable doors are open. It would seem the girls have taken Gypsy and Rebel for a ride. I catch sight of Tim, my stable boy, although I use the word ‘boy’ very loosely seeing as Tim is in fact in his twenties. He is tall and gangly, with a mop of curly red hair. He is clad in a checked cloth shirt and a tatty pair of jeans. Whistling to himself, he alternates between stables with the mucking-out shovel clasped in his hands.
“Tim.” I click my fingers.
He meets my gaze and then, leaning the shovel against the wall, he hurries to meet me. “Yes, sir.”
“Why aren’t the horses in the paddock?”
“I was just about to let them out when Farrah insisted I show her and Chelsea around and introduce them to the horses. Chelsea was very interested in the animals.”
“Tell me, Tim, how long ago did they leave and in which direction?”
Tim nods to his right. I use my hand as a visor and peer out as far as I can see. Two black specks move in the distance, and I know them to be my horses.
“Fetch my helmet and riding gear. I will be taking Whiskey.”
Whiskey is my twenty-two-year-old stallion, dapple-grey in colour. He is the most muscular and has the deepest torso build of all of our animals. This, however, is not the reason I have selected Whiskey to ride. He was the first horse my mother bought me.
When Whiskey is tacked up for riding, I slide my foot in the stirrup and pull myself up.
“The horses will be in their paddocks and fully cleaned out by the end of the day.”
I nod. “I don’t doubt your work ethic for a single second.”
Tim’s face is bright red and shines as he smiles. This is a common problem with my grounds workers. They think that because they work outdoors every day they are impervious to the sun’s rays, but they are very wrong. I lost Dennis, my most experienced gardener, to skin cancer last year and since then have been most insistent that my grounds workers take regular breaks to top up on their sun cream.
“Take twenty,” I tell him. “Go rehydrate, and while you’re at it, apply some sun lotion.”
Tim salutes me. “Yes, boss.”
With the reins secured in my hand I squeeze both legs together and Whiskey begins to walk. From the slow walking pace I build Whiskey up to a trot and finally a canter as I make my way over to where the girls ride.
The fields around me pass by in a green flash as I close the distance between us. I tug the reins and Whiskey slows to a trot, and I gradually direct him to walk alongside Rebel and Gypsy, my black beauties. But what has my attention is not Gypsy but the beauty riding her.
“Are you enjoying the ride?” I ask. Whiskey and Gypsy are now trotting at the same pace.
“Very much so,” Chelsea says, her face glowing, and I’m sure she would hide behind her hair if her helmet didn’t prevent her from doing so. Riding horseback is the most alive I have seen her, and she certainly looks the part. She is clad in a pair of tight-fitting tweed breeches, a matching hunt coat, white dressage gloves and even the stock tie with its signature pin around her neck.
“I’m going to leave you two lovebirds to it,” Farrah announces.
I can’t miss the disappointment on Chelsea’s face.
“Please, don’t go on my behalf,” I say with zero enthusiasm.
“No, really, I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Excellent.” I quickly cough. “I mean what a pity.”
I meet my sister’s gaze. She seems overly made up given the hour. And by overly made up I mean bright red lipstick and enough foundation on she may have used a trowel.
“Farrah?” I question, but Farrah turns Rebel around and he canters in the opposite direction.
I look at Chelsea, who grins and looks away.
“So where is my sister off to in such a hurry, and may I ask what happened to her face?”
Chelsea sits tall, and I watch how her body moves with Gypsy. The action is very sexual if one were to ask me, and I find my attention drifting to her arse. “She has decided that she wants to become a makeup artist.”