“His dam – the mother – was not Friesian. The Dam was American Quarterback, bay color. Jack took to the horse from an early age, he would have been sold cheap, but that was stopped.”
“Huh.” Most of the information flitted over Whitney’s head, though she tried hard to focus on Anja’s words. “Sorry. Really don’t know much.”
“It’s alright. I can get carried away,” Anja said with a smile. “All the horses are good here. That will be all you need to know. Now, foot in the stirrup. Lift your leg over carefully… yes. Use the front of the saddle for grip and balance. Do not sit on the cantle. The back part. A little ahead. Take the reins and hold them… not like that. Like this.” Anja demonstrated after Whitney had hunkered down on Flowerfield, lightly pinching them in one hand.
“This is different riding style from Europe. Hold with non-dominant hand. Touch rein to neck of direction you wish to go. Like so. And make horse walk… like so. See? Not so bad. Flowerfield has a wonderful temperament, too. You will get on fine.”
Nervous, Whitney mimicked Anja’s instruction as best as able. Nudging the horse gave her a start, as Flowerfield picked herself into a leisurely gait forward. The next instructor started moving their horse, as Faith clambered onto the mountain platform.
Although Whitney felt unconfident, and a little intimidated by the height of the horse relative to the ground, Jack Brook, on Graham Cracker, gave her a dazzling smile.
“You’ll be fine. Oh, I think Graham Cracker wants to say hello as well…”
Alex was the last one to mount up. She’d already observed Graham Cracker’s foul temper, and watched in bemusement as the bay horse trotted up to them. Anja stepped aside as Graham Cracker thrust his nose into Whitney’s hand, snorting eagerly.
“Awh, damn! Ain’t got any cubes for him. Sorry, big fella.”
“Why are you not being eaten?” Anja demanded.
Whitney shrugged. Alex mounted on hers, guided by Miles. “You won’t be catching flies like that when you see my performance in a minute,” Whitney warned her.
Bracing herself, trying to keep Anja’s instructions in mind, she gently nudged Flowerfield, who began walking again to where they would train.
Chapter 7
The riding went better than expected. Over the course of a few hours, they learned to walk, trot and canter, how to steer their horses and balance with confidence. Even without the knowledge of the equipment used for the horse, Whitney felt she could at least stay on one and follow a group without tumbling off.
After their training, they broke up for lunch, preparing to go on a trail hike with the horses in the afternoon. Jack passed Whitney once as she was eating, to bend and whisper, “I can’t wait to feel you under my skin again…” Leaving no doubt in Whitney’s mind that he was thinking of continuing last night’s activities with her at a later date. Natalie by now had noticed the attention Jack lavished on Whitney, despite his efforts to make nice with everyone else, undermining the executive’s efforts to flirt.
So, in her typical, Natalie way, she made digs at the inferior skills of the others in the horse-training, and how it was shameful so many people didn’t know their way around a basic animal such as a horse. Whitney also suspected Natalie was still smarting from the aggressive rejection of Graham Cracker – who had kicked at her when she trotted beside Jack Brook, making her horse flee in panic across the training field, before she reined it under control.
Before the walk, Whitney called her mother to give a brief update of the holiday. Their conversation remained curt, since Aniyah apparently needed to go to school because the boys had been misbehaving. When Whitney asked why her dad hadn’t gone, she was met with an icy silence, before being told Frederick stayed over with friends. They concluded the call, and Whitney wanted to throw her phone at the wall.
The trail walk soothed the mood somewhat, but not enough. The scenery assaulted her eyes. Flowers dotted along the sides of the dirt track, with rolling, uneven grassy plains, and scattered trees. There was also the hint of a river, and the gradual decline into the valley where the ranch took part of its name from.
Whitney returned from the riding sore with a light burn between her thighs, and the recommendation to get the skin smoothed so it didn’t bruise. She didn’t look forward to sitting on a horse again.
Apparently, the ranch was well aware of this issue. The program scheduled to follow after intensive riding sessions was relaxation, within the main building’s spa area, with the opportunity for a hot stone massage. Not a traditional feature in a ranch, but one everyone appreciated wholeheartedly.
“It’s good, ja,” Miles said, a dreamy expression scrawled across his face, green eyes lidded in perceived bliss. “Lets out all the knotting in your body. Hot, but not too hot. And you, Whitney-tje, you are very knotty.”
“I… am?”
“Of course. Whitney-tje, you need chance to let it go. You should come to the spa. You deserve treats.”
“What’s with the “tje” you keep adding?” Faith had piped up. She had been quiet for most of the walk back to their huts, but picked up on the thing that also baffled Whitney.
“Faith-tje!” Miles held out his hand for a high five. “It is endearing nickname. Like you may say, uh, Ally instead of Alison. Or kitty instead of cat.”
“O…kay.” Whitney said, tilting her head to the sky, concealing the smile that waited on her lips. “Thanks for the recommendation. With the spa.” She appreciated the sentiment from Miles, and also Jack and Anja. She really liked the instructors at the camp so far – it felt refreshing and different to collide with people not ingrained in the social system she was used to. Their attitudes contrasted sharply with the high pressure of city life. So did Jack’s, whom Whitney thought would be dogged down by endless high-end meetings and the burden of family affairs. However, whatever he did, he found time in his life to work on a quiet ranch in the middle of nowhere, and recruit students from across the world.
In fact, most of the staff acted perfectly cheerful, unlike the strained pressure of Whitney’s workplace. They worked hard, cooking delicious meals, tending to the animals or instructing those who needed help. But they did it with such vibrant energy and cheer, it was hard to not get infected by that same vibe.
Maybe it’s the country that makes them happy, Whitney considered. You don’t have to put on so much of a show for everyone else.
Before the chance for the spas, Whitney had dinner, and retreated back into her cabin for a quick shower, and the opportunity to read the books Jack left. Whitney wanted to do this while she still possessed energy, suspecting the activities over the rest of the week would grind her down.
The writing felt odd to her. Eccentric, like he is, Whitney decided, meticulously going through the paragraphs of Danny the Champion of the World. It showed another place, a culture unfamiliar to her, yet she still devoured half the book, before stopping herself from reading the next chapter. Danny’s father had fallen into a trap, and now the boy was driving to try and rescue his dad in a car that averaged at a speed of twenty miles an hour.
She lay on her bed, thoughts swirling. The ranch, the backbone of traditional wild west culture, staffed by internationals and nearby locals, with a happy, unrestrained atmosphere. She wondered about it, trying to figure out if it was this isolation that made the ranch work so well, with the diversity of opinions and cultures; however, the common denominator of the whole thing boiled down to Jack Brook.
He was odd, but open. That personality showed in his ranch, in the people he picked to come here, in the way it was run. It showed in the interactions of everyone here. It even helped bring it out of people who normally would stay silent, like Faith.
Whitney clasped her hands over her stomach and sighed contentedly. I was blessed, truly, for spotting this place amongst the heap of others. Wish Ma and Pa were here, too. This would be so good for them. Imagine introducing Jack to Ma as well!
A knock on the door startled her upright. Then, gat
hering herself, scouring fingers through her hair to tighten up the bun, she went to open the door.
“Greetings,” Jack said, taking a ridiculous scraping bow, “But how lovely it is to see you here.”
Frantically, Whitney searched behind him to see if anyone happened to be observing them. Jack noted with a relaxed posture.
“Don’t worry. If people are here, they’ll just see me standing here chatting to you.”
That’s the point. I don’t want them to see you standing here chatting to me.
Whitney bottled up the fear and leaned against the door frame. “Fine. So what brings you calling a lady’s home when we have something called text messaging?”
“Why, the pleasure of seeing you in the flesh,” Jack responded, smoothly and without a hint of embarrassment. “And also because I just happened to be passing. After your hot stone massage – which, Miles, Anja and me absolutely insist you do – would you like to take a spin on Graham Cracker? There’s a short trail we can go on, it will take about forty minutes to go along it and loop back.”
“What?”
Jack Brook smiled. “I think he’s eager to let you ride him. And I think you can manage it. After all, look at how you improved today, from having never ridden a horse in your life!”
“You’re kidding, right. That horse is a monster. Probably pass out from the height.”
He wasn’t. He genuinely believed Whitney could, and would, ride the giant of a horse.
Whitney eventually agreed, mostly because she saw how excited he was at the prospect of her riding his special horse. She didn’t have the heart to turn that smile into a frown, even though her own stomach churned at the notion of riding. Graham Cracker might like her – but it could be a different story once she mounted him.
“I’ll look forward to seeing you. Come to the stable mounting platform after the massage. I’ll be there around eight-thirty.”
“Sure. But you think taking the trail at night is a good idea?”
“It will be fine.” He leaned close then, so his breath caressed under her ear, making her shiver in delight. “I have a spot in mind. And who knows what else may happen…?”
“Shoo, you nuisance! Shoo! Will see you later,” Whitney laughed, swatting him away, trying her absolute best to not get instantly aroused on the spot.
She groaned when he ignored her attempt to brush him off, and he stepped into the cabin, door still wide open, and touched her lips in a passionate kiss. She forgot to breathe for a moment, shocked, surprised and painfully turned on.
“People might be… looking…” She managed through quick snatches of breath, not fighting him off, however, and clutching him by the collar of his neck.
“I don’t care…” His hand ran over her crotch, pressing hard into her clit, making her moan into his mouth. Then he stopped, and kissed her on the cheek. “But I will respect you! No showing off in front of others!”
He winked, making her hate and love him at the same time, and he strolled off, letting out a jaunty whistle.
Sure enough, three hours later, she emerged from a deliciously warm hot stone massage, muscles loosened, making her feel like she was a child again, and a permanent small smile on her lips, and she ambled off to the stables. Well lit, she had no problem locating it, or spotting Jack Brook giving Graham Cracker some warm up exercises around the square.
“Hey, Whitney!” He called, obviously happy to see her. “How was the massage?”
“Great. Never even realized how damn tense I was,” Whitney replied, stretching her arms for good measure. “S'pose I never let myself sit down long enough to check.”
“We rarely do! Now, do you want a helmet or do you think you’ll be fine without? I think you won’t need to worry, but that’s also not my head. You might want to protect the mushy stuff.”
“Will try… without.” Whitney suppressed a nervous gulp, and clambered up onto the mountain platform. Jack slid off Graham Cracker, and led him towards where she waited, giving her a thumbs up.
Graham Cracker, upon spotting Whitney, picked up his front hooves more excitedly, and his ears twitched forward.
By the platform, Whitney stared at the muscular back of the horse, concealed by the saddle. Graham Cracker twisted his head around to look at her, and she absently scratched his cheek.
“I warmed it up for you. Hurry before it gets too cold!” Jack said with a smirk.
Taking a deep breath, Whitney zipped up her jacket to her neck, and eased herself on the back of the gargantuan stallion. He really did tower ridiculously high. The last horse she rode, Flowerfield, with the quiet temperament, that one felt a lot safer. With Graham Cracker, she felt his restless energy, the power in his shifting muscles, and the eagerness inside for the walk. She took the reins, and Jack stood by her for a minute, making sure both horse and rider adjusted to each other’s personalities.
Graham Cracker, despite his bubbling energy, stood patiently, not objecting to Whitney’s presence on his back – and she leaned forwards to scratch him just behind the ears, causing the horse to make that soft whickering sound.
Jack beamed. “Fantastic! I knew it. Just give me a second, I’ll fetch Lincoln out the stables. I already have him geared up…”
One moment later, Jack rode astride her on a smaller, strawberry roan horse. “The trail is over to the south-east. The walk itself by horseback can be anything from forty minutes there and back, to five minutes gallop – but we’re not galloping with your inexperience. We’ll walk, maybe trot or canter, depending on how comfortable you two are. I have a little something to show you just off the trail as well…”
“Whatever is good with you. I’ll be focusing on not falling off,” Whitney replied, giving herself time to relax. Graham Cracker sensed her nervousness, but instead of responding to it by becoming skittish, he acted less hectic with his movements. Jack observed the big horse’s gentleness with satisfaction. They walked side by side up the trail. Visibility was low, but the trail mostly went in a straight line, and Jack knew where to go when it curved and fragmented into different paths.
“So tell me, Whitney. As a city woman, this life must be quite scary, huh? No cars, McDonald’s, easily accessible shops, and a whole heck of dust, dirt and mud. Not the best place for high heels or skimpy outfits, as you can imagine.”
“Yeah,” Whitney agreed. “But you know, we dress like that because it’s what suits the environment. You dress in simple, non-restricting clothes because that’s what you need for working the ranch. We – I would dress with heels and skirts, because that’s the image I’m supposed to give to my colleagues and the people around me. I look more respectable, yunno. Image is how we function in high society.”
Jack, in the faint light of the moon that shone through leaves on the trail, glanced at her quizzically, chewing on the words for a moment. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. I admit, I tend to think the whole high heels and tight clothing is too impractical. Impractical things annoy me. High heels damage the bone in the foot, tight clothes restrict the blood flow in your body and the movement to move and run. Flashy clothes are incredibly expensive and can’t be worn on a regular basis. A lot of city people who come here dislike the activities. It ruins their clothes. It demeans them to do the kind of work peasants do.” Jack paused. “So there are many who are surprised that I scrub down, rather than sit on my throne.”
“Well, for a start, we came pre-packed with clothes,” Whitney stated. “Second, people when they go on holiday expect to be able to just relax and have a good time. The activities with the horses and the hiking can be exhausting, and the teamwork exercises can be horrible for people who don’t like each other to begin with. I like it, because it feels authentic, but it ain’t everyone’s idea of a retreat. As for you scrubbing down – well, guess it’s to do with the fact you don’t need to. You're rich. You probably can take a back seat for the rest of your life. Yet you don’t. It’s interesting.”
The horses swayed into each other, a
nd parted amiably. “Is it? I grew up on this ranch. My pa and ma weren’t around much, because of their lucrative businesses. My grandpa and grandma were who ran the place, and they were my babysitters most of the time. And they made me work. So I grew up with that kind of idea in mind. My parents eased me into their business and placed a lot of money in my bank account—though it’s my older siblings who runs the meat of the business. I don’t feel like I’ve earned the money I have.” He peered around, flashlight hunting, before steering them to the left of a fork. The path grew thinner.
“But I loved growing up here. And I always knew I wanted to take over from my grandpa. So for me, all of this is easy.”
Whitney nodded. They both nudged their horses into a trot. Whitney stood up in her stirrups like she had been taught, fighting to keep balance as Graham Cracker tapped along the trail. She contemplated what to tell Jack. Speaking about her past would reveal how desperately poor her family was, and the absolute last thing she wanted to encourage was the idea that she needed help, or to embarrass Jack further by making him feel his given wealth was meaningless. On one hand, a little snake of jealously writhed through. He was better off, he did have a nicer background. Whitney couldn’t deny the basic fact that money worries pinched at her conscience, along with managing her family. Her life balanced between stress and working to keep ahead of whatever monster was chasing her.
On the other hand, despite the luxurious wealth of his family, he kept himself level headed, and shy of displaying his wealth. Whatever her personal views were, she knew jealously had no place.
“Think it’s good you chose to do what you did, Jack. You’re clearly happy for it. And this is also something you didn’t need your family’s wealth for. With the right mindset, people can work on building their business like a ranch.”
Jack smiled. “Perhaps. It was inherited. I was actually recommended to sell it by my father, because it’s worth a pretty big fortune by now. But there’s no question. This is something that has been in our family for two hundred years.”
Be My Warmth Page 22