The Riding Master

by Alexandrea Weis

  “Oh, yeah.” A crackling sound came over the speaker. “Well, why don’t you come and see me tomorrow after your class?”

  Rayne listened as the crackling sound continued. “What is that noise?”

  “It’s a candy wrapper.”

  “Is that what you’re having for dinner, Mother, candy?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Estelle huffed, sounding like a ten-year-old.

  Rayne rolled her eyes at the prospect of listening to another one of her mother’s childish tantrums. “What did you eat today?”

  “Do you care? I could starve to death in this big old house and no one would find me,” Estelle whined.

  “Don’t start, Mother. I’ve told you to get rid of that monstrosity.”

  “It’s home, Raynie,” Estelle insisted, her voice wavering with emotion. “I can’t part with it.”

  Disgusted, Rayne dropped her fork on her plastic plate. “Look, I’m busy. Why are you calling me?”

  “What do you mean, ‘why am I calling’?” Estelle barked. “I want to see you.” More wrapper noises continued in the background.

  “We both know that’s not true,” Rayne objected, raising her voice. “What do you want?”

  “What makes you think I want something?”

  “Mother, please.”

  A hush over the line ate away at Rayne’s patience.

  “Well,” Estelle finally began. “You know how I hate to ask, but I got another letter from the city today, demanding the overdue taxes. If I could just send them a little something to get them off my back for a while, I’m sure I can get the money later.”

  Rayne mouthed a silent scream while squeezing her phone. “I don’t have anything to send you. I’ve told you before that since the divorce things are tight.”

  “Oh, I see,” Estelle shouted. “You can spend money on that horse of yours, but not on your mother?” She feigned a whimper.

  Rayne knew the sound was just a tactic to get sympathy. Estelle had been using the same manipulations for years, but Rayne was now immune.

  “You know Foster pays for Bob. He pays all the feed bills, the vet bills, and his boarding fees. It was part of the settlement agreement in the divorce. I declined alimony in exchange for his keeping up with payments so I could hold on to Bob.”

  “You should sell that nag, and use the money to help me. I need help, Raynie. If your father was still—”

  “Dad and Jaime have been dead for fifteen years, so stop using them as an excuse for everything.” Rayne pushed her plate away.

  “You don’t need to remind me that they’re gone. I think about it every day. I think about my good daughter who died, leaving me with you. Jaime was always better than you. Your father adored her, and he only let you take those stupid riding lessons because Jaime pleaded with him.”

  Rayne ran her hand over her forehead. “Does it make you feel better telling me that story over and over again?”

  “You need to know the truth.” Her mother’s voice was as cold as her words.

  “Your truth, Mother. You’ve spent every day since Dad and Jaime died blaming me. But Dad wouldn’t have been picking Jaime up from school if you hadn’t forgotten her in the first place. You always forgot about us.”

  “I never forgot,” Estelle’s voice howled over the phone speaker. “I was just busy maintaining the house for all of you. You have no idea how hard it was for me.”

  “Hard?” Rayne snorted with contempt. “You had a maid, a gardener, and a cook to take care of everything. Dad was the one who worked sixty hours a week at his law practice.”

  “I could have worked, but your father wanted me to stay home. You know how much he liked being the man of the house. He needed to take care of me, so I let him.”

  “And after Dad died, you had Grandpa John and Grandma Rose to take care of you. They paid for you to go to therapy, sent you to all those fancy rehab programs, and even left you that expensive house when they died. Never once did you work or help pay for anything after we left New Orleans. So don’t tell me how hard your life has been, okay?” Rayne fought the urge to throw her cell phone across the kitchen. Every time her mother called she got sucked into the same argument.

  “You married Mr. Moneybags, and never once…once…did you offer to have me come over, or stay in that fancy house of yours. You never paid for any—”

  “Foster paid for everything you ever wanted, so don’t even go there, Mother.” Rayne’s rage was reaching a boiling point. “And you know why he never wanted you living with us. He could never abide your drinking.”

  “I drink because it helps me cope with—”

  A musical tone from her phone cut in, alerting her to a text.

  Thinking of you. Until tomorrow night….

  Rayne’s heart sped up when she read the text from Trent. All the insane fantasies she had been having about his other life disappeared as she stared at the brief message.

  “Are you listening to me, Rayne Elena Masterson?” her mother’s voice squawked.

  She scowled at her cell phone. “I have to go, Mother.”

  “Where do you got to run off to?” Estelle screeched. “You don’t have a husband to cater to, or friends you have to meet. Why can’t you talk to your mother?”

  “Because it’s always the same old conversation with you. I have other things to do.”

  “Ah, I get it,” Estelle voiced, sounding smug. “You’ve got a new man.” Her mother chuckled, a sickly sounding laugh that reminded Rayne of a cat coughing up a hairball.

  Rayne was unnerved by her mother’s uncanny perception. “What makes you think I have a new man?”

  “Because whenever there’s a man in your life, you don’t want to talk to me.”

  “I never want to talk to you, Mother.”

  “Who is he, Raynie? Is he rich?” The hope in Estelle’s voice was nauseating.

  “Drop it, Mother.”

  “No, I want to hear about him.” Rayne could almost see her mother’s sarcastic smile. “God knows, I’ve watched you chase away more men than a whore in a white dress at a Sunday social.”

  “I never chased away any men.”

  “Then why did you find Foster in bed with that other woman?” The biting barb dug into Rayne’s flesh. “Maybe you drove him into the arms of that girl, you ever consider that?”

  Rayne struck her hand down on her breakfast bar. “I’m not doing this again with you. Good-bye.” Rayne hung up and clicked over to Trent’s text message.

  After the infuriating phone call with her mother, her reservations about Trent seemed almost inconsequential. Here was a man who at least was making an effort to win her affection. After a lifetime of Estelle Masterson’s conditional love, manipulation, and tantrums, it was a wonder Rayne’s tenuous self-esteem had not run the man off completely. Perhaps she should give Trent a little encouragement.

  Looking forward to tomorrow night, she texted back.

  “See, Mother. I’m not chasing this one away,” she muttered.

  There were times when she pondered if the weight of her mother’s influence had helped contribute to the failure of her marriage. Rayne’s distrusting nature had made her uncomfortable with the long line of conceited, social bigwigs Foster constantly pursued. When she began to spend more time at the stables than attending parties, Foster had pulled away. Soon his days at the office grew into late nights, and instead of confronting her husband, she had buried her emotions in the world of horses.

  The musical tone of an incoming text brought her back from her painful memories.

  What are you doing?

  “What am I doing?” She scanned her kitchen, looking for inspiration. When Frank let out a loud snore from the floor beside her stool, she grinned.

  Watching the furry mop snoring next to me, she texted back.

  Are you in bed?

  Rayne laughed at the suggestion, knowing what he was thinking. All the embittered resentment stirred by her mother’s phone call retreated to the depths
from which it had been summoned.

  Sorry, I’m in the kitchen. How is your meeting going? she typed into her phone.

  On a break, but going well. Hoping to get on the road for home soon. Tired of sleeping in a hotel.

  Miss your bed, huh? she teased.

  Very funny. I’ll make you pay for that.

  Promise?

  Several seconds passed before he texted back, Must go before I need a cold shower. Sleep well and dream of me.

  Standing from her stool, she read over his last text once more and smiled, satisfied that he was sufficiently encouraged. After turning off her phone, she eyed Frank still snoring on the floor.

  “I think if there was a dog Olympics for sleep, Frank, you would get the gold medal.”

  One brown eye opened and looked up at her, but the dog’s body never budged.

  After getting a slow moving Frank outside to do his business, she turned out the lights, set the alarm, and checked the locks on the doors before retreating to her bedroom.

  In the confines of her soft gray bedroom, Rayne changed into her favorite nightshirt, waited until Frank got comfortable on her gray and white comforter, and then slipped between the sheets of her brass bed. Her mind wandered ahead to her coming day at the stables, her lessons, and her meeting with Trent.

  All the time they had spent together on the phone had strengthened her connection to him. She was less apprehensive, but despite their intimate interlude, she worried exactly what would happen when she was alone with him.

  Slinking down in her bed as Frank’s snoring started up, she mulled over the idea of sex with Trent. It had been so long since she had been motivated to think about sex, and she recalled all of those girlish notions she had entertained before marrying Foster. What would it be like to be held in the arms of a man who was passionate, experienced, and interested in only pleasing her? Her mind raced with images of Trent’s firm ass in her hands, his thin lips on her neck, and his naked body rubbing against hers. As the pictures in her head grew even more erotic, her body began responding. Giggling at her arousal, Rayne rolled onto her side.

  “What in the hell is wrong with me?”

  Closing her eyes and willing sleep to take her until morning, Rayne already knew what her problem was. She only hoped the handsome Trent Newbury was the solution.

  Chapter 8

  Rayne arrived at the stables soon after sunrise, eager to take Bob out for an early trail ride before her classes. She was also anxious to see Trent, and decided a morning workout with her horse might help settle her restless nerves.

  As she took Bob through his paces on the trail, she practiced things she would say to Trent when she first saw him, trying to come up with opening lines that sounded seductive, sexy, and yet not too desperate.

  “Hey, did you have a productive meeting?” she mumbled while Bob’s ears swerved back, listening to the sound of her voice. “No, that’s terrible. A productive meeting sounds something like a productive cough. Ugh.”

  She loosened Bob’s reins as she rode along a narrow path toward the stables. “How about…hello, Trent. It’s really, really good to see you.” She shrunk down in her saddle. “Now I sound desperate. Who am I kidding? I am desperate.”

  Taking in the thick trees on either side of her, she admired the changing color of the leaves and how the gold and red on the branches gave way to waves of green. The dirt path below Bob’s hooves kicked up a wave of dust as a light breeze brushed past her face.

  “What do you think?” she asked the horse. “Should I be assertive or more laid back? You know, let him come to me?” She shook her head at memories of having the same conversation with her tall palomino, Jasper, when she had a crush on a boy from a neighboring school.

  “Here I am a grown woman and I still don’t know how to act around boys.” She observed how Bob’s ears jockeyed back and forth, attentively listening to her every word. “You ever have problems talking to women?” Rayne chuckled. “Yeah, I bet they’re all over you, huh, Bob?” She patted his sleek neck. “You’re the best looking guy in the barn.”

  As they came over a slight rise in the trail, she spotted the white jumping ring at the rear of the barn, and in the ring she saw the massive black gelding named Titan that belonged to Selene Kendrick. Over eighteen hands in height and with a temper to match his size, whenever Titan’s hooves pounded the ground, every nearby building shook.

  The black horse moved in and out of the particular gaits and intricate footwork required in dressage, but when Rayne saw a tall man emerge from the early morning shadows on the side of the ring, her interest perked up. She recognized Trent’s long legs and determined stride as he walked up to Titan and patted Selene’s shiny black boots as she sat atop the thick Morgan horse.

  “Son of a….” Rayne’s eyes stayed glued on the ring as she gently tapped Bob’s sides, urging him down the path. When the dirt trail meandered behind a thick clump of trees, blocking Rayne’s view, she kicked a little more eagerly, wanting Bob to move faster.

  After getting around the high trees, she finally got an unencumbered view of the ring, and then urged Bob to slow down. She watched as Trent motioned about the ring and then waved his hand at Selene. Titan returned to the rail, and Selene put him through another series of difficult drills.

  Getting closer to the ring, Rayne could hear Trent’s deep voice calling to Selene, but could not quite make out the words. Selene’s flirty, girlish giggle responded to Trent’s comments, and Rayne debated whether or not she should approach the ring. But as Selene’s playful twittering continued, and then Trent’s harmonious chuckle joined in, Rayne’s decision to interrupt them turned into a gut-wrenching retreat. Wishing she had not seen the two of them, she quickened Bob’s pace for the stables.

  Beneath the protective shadows of the barn’s tin roof, she quickly took Bob to her red tack room door and secured his reins to a nearby hitching post. As she undid the buckles of his girth, the sound of Selene’s laughter rang in her ears.

  “I should have known.”

  She hoisted the English saddle and white fleece pad from Bob’s back and carried them into her tack room. After flipping on the single light bulb hanging by a cord above, she whisked the pad from beneath the saddle and placed it to the side. Grunting slightly, she lifted the saddle onto a wooden rack on the wall.

  Rayne was shaking out the fleece pad and placing it on a hook to dry out when a shadow crossed her open tack room door. Thinking it was just Bob shimmying around his hitching post, she never bothered to turn to check on him. That was until she heard the distinct sound of boots entering her tack room, and then the thump of the thick red door closing.

  When she spun around, Trent was standing in the doorway. His long-sleeved, white button-down shirt hugged his thick arms, and the few buttons he had left undone afforded a view of his smooth, tanned chest. His wavy black hair was slightly windblown, and his blue jeans were covered in dust. But when she caught sight of his winsome grin and the sparkle in his gray eyes, Rayne was done for.

  “I saw you coming back from the trails.” He shifted closer to her. “I was hoping to see you before you set out on your ride, but I just missed you.”

  She gave him a cool look of indifference. “Yes, I wanted to take an early morning ride before my classes.”

  He angled closer still, making Rayne take a step back. “I would have come after you on one of the schooling horses, but I got held up with an instructor.”

  “You mean you got held up with Selene. I saw you two in the back ring when I came in from the trails.”

  His grin grew wider. “You saw me and didn’t stop by to say hello?”

  She took another step back. “You were…busy.”

  “Busy?” He came up to her and stared diligently into her eyes. “Is that what you really thought?”

  She turned to a wooden shelf on her right with an assortment of brushes and currycombs on it. Picking up a soft white brush, she avoided looking into his face. “I need to see to
Bob.”

  Trent never budged, blocking her path. “Bob can wait.”

  She kept her eyes on the brush in her hand, and ran her fingers over the soft white bristles. “How was your dinner party?”

  “It was a dinner party. Tyler was gracious, and his wife, Monique, was very kind. She’s a writer. I told her about you, and she wants to meet you.”

  Rayne raised her eyes to him. “You told her about me? Why?”

  “Because she wanted to know if I was seeing anyone, and I told her I was seeing you.”

  “Seeing me?” She shook her head. “You’re hardly seeing me, Trent. One dinner and a few phone calls are—”

  He took the brush from her hands and put it back on the shelf. “What is it? You’re distant again. You weren’t like this the other night.”

  “I’m not sure the other night was such a good idea.” She circled around him to the tack room door, but he held her arm.

  “It was a very good idea. You opened up to me and you promised to talk to me whenever something was upsetting you.”

  Rayne struggled to remember the little bits of information she knew about the man. “Are you sure you want to be with me?” She wrenched her arm away from his grip. “Or maybe there’s someone else you find more appealing.”

  “Ah, I think I get it. This is about Selene and me in the ring. She’s not my type, Rayne.” His gaze drifted over her curves.

  “Your type?” She folded her arms over her bosom and jutted out her chin, trying to appear impervious to his charm. “What exactly is your type, Trent? I guess I’m just beginning to wonder if I would be your first choice in a line up with other women…or your last.” She scooted to the door of the tight-fitting tack room, but he barred her way by placing a thick arm before her.

  “I only want a woman who intrigues me, excites me, and makes me want her. And that woman, is you…only you, Rayne.”

  “A skittish horse excites you? That’s what you called me. So once you have broken me, Mr. Newbury, then what?”

  He moved right up to her, lowering his head to her face. “You know that a horse is never truly broken, it just agrees to submit to your pleasure for a little while. So maybe the question you should be asking is…when are you going to submit to me?”