by Cathryn Hein
Except he hadn’t. By the time he made the final payment she’d already decided it was over. Delamere and Lachie weren’t for her. And unlike everyone else, it seemed, he never saw it coming.
He pulled out the ring and shook his head at the inscription. Tamsyn. Love always, Lachie.
What a joke.
With a sigh he replaced the ring and snapped the box closed, before rising and tossing it onto the dresser with his other Tamsyn reminder – the Longines watch she’d bought him for his twenty-seventh birthday with nothing inscribed on the back, not even a ‘Love, Tamsyn’.
The two items said it all. He loved her. So much he’d even had his feelings etched into an engagement ring, whereas Tamsyn only loved the fairytale she thought he could give her. They never stood a chance.
He’d keep the watch. Like the music she’d introduced him to, he liked it, and he might be angry and sad and hurt, but he wasn’t petty. The ring, though, was history.
The same place he should have consigned Tamsyn long ago.
Thirteen
The Monday following his trip to Delamere, Lachie leaned against his ute with his legs stretched out in front, enjoying the sunshine. He should be working, fixing the leaky water trough he’d discovered, or servicing machinery, checking the pumps and irrigation lines, the paddocks, horses, doing a dozen things, but watching Brooke in the ménage on Robert was like watching ballet. And it held him mesmerised.
The two of them moved with perfect harmony, as though hearing the same tune in their heads. She applied her aids so subtly Lachie could barely discern them – a shift of her weight here, an increase in leg pressure there, a flex of her soft hands – but Robert read them, and he responded with controlled grace, elegant despite his size.
Walk to canter, then halt. A rein back, then straight into canter again. A slim, supple girl on a giant horse, in absolute control.
God, she was amazing.
She brought Robert back to a loose-reined walk. His head hung low and relaxed. White foamy slobber fell from his mouth as he chewed his bit, nostrils wide from effort. She ruffled his mane, chattering to him, her cheeks flushed pink with pleasure and exertion. Lachie caught snatches of words on the light breeze – superstar, champion, special – and found himself foolishly wishing she meant them for him.
After a lap of the ménage at a walk, she brought Robert back into hand. The horse gathered himself, body compressing, his huge power constrained by her quiet aids. Brooke urged him into a trot and steered him towards the far side of the arena where she had a series of coloured showjumping poles laid on the ground in a line, ending in a metre-high upright fence made from two cavaletti jumps stacked on top of one another. As soon as Robert spied the poles, his body language changed. The ears that had been swivelling suddenly darted straight ahead. His head rose, his nostrils widened and his controlled trot lifted, his legs bouncing off the sand as though on a trampoline. Eagerness shivered across his tensed muscles.
Brooke had been right. Point Robert at a jump and he became a different horse.
The door to the barn clanged, breaking his enchantment. Chloe emerged, dressed in skin-tight beige breeches, long black riding boots and a cobalt-blue polo shirt one size too small. Behind her, as sleek and shiny as her boots, strutted a haughty black horse, a white star bright in the centre of its forehead.
Hips swaying, she led the horse towards Lachie, smiling sexily, dark-lashed blue eyes glittery, her nipples evident through the over-stretched weave of her shirt. He looked away, swallowing. He’d known she was there, recognising the battered Nissan Patrol attached to a worn horse float, and had made a mental note to avoid her, but when he’d driven back from the paddock to fetch some multigrips he’d been distracted by Brooke on Robert. Now he was caught.
‘Shouldn’t you be at the salon?’ he asked when she approached and leaned her backside against the ute, close to his.
‘Monday’s my day off. Couldn’t think of any better way than to spend it here with the horses, Brooke …’ Her gaze flashed with invitation. ‘And you.’
Keeping his expression dispassionate, he concentrated on holding his hand out for the horse to sniff before stroking its nose. She’d catch on soon. He hoped. ‘Good-looking animal.’
‘This is Elvis. Best-looking horse in the Hunter.’
‘The name suits him.’ Although given the animal’s dark magnificence, the arrogant way he held his head, and his look-at-me strut, perhaps Black Beauty would have been more appropriate. ‘So what’s Elvis’s talent, other than looking pretty?’
‘Not much. He’s a show horse, so prancing around looking pretty is what he does. Very well, I might add.’ She tickled Elvis under the chin. ‘Elvis here was champion hack at the Maitland Show back in February.’
‘So what’s he doing at Kingston Downs? Don’t tell me that after reaching those heights he’s looking for a career change as a showjumper?’
She nudged him. ‘No, doofus. Brooke’s going to give me a hand with his canter transitions. His off side’s fine but for some reason he’s really stiff on his near side. It could simply be me dropping my weight without realising – wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fallen into that habit – but I’m worried it could be something else with him. Maybe a back problem. Brooke will be able to work it out. She always can.’
At the mention of Brooke, Lachie turned his attention back to the ménage. ‘She’s good, isn’t she?’
‘Very. She was such a mess after the accident we were worried she was going to give it up. Losing Oddy and then learning Pod’s career was over really knocked her around, but she’s come good. Except for the float thing.’
In the ménage, Brooke laughed and slapped Robert’s neck as he gave a happy pigroot after the final jump, before easing him around for another run. The sound of her laughter and the delight on her face made Lachie’s insides tumble.
‘So, tell me, Lachlan Cambridge,’ said Chloe, eyeing him sideways, ‘is the reason you’re playing hard to get because you already have a girlfriend, or are you just plain shy?’
He threw her an amused look. How like Chloe to come right out with it. How he should answer, though, was another question. Telling her straight out that he wasn’t remotely interested might be hurtful, and he liked her too much for that.
‘Why?’ he asked, hedging. ‘Are you offering?’
‘Maybe. But right now from you I’d be happy with a quick shag.’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m not into quick shags.’
‘I can do long ones.’
‘Of that I have no doubt. And I’m sure it’d be very pleasurable, but I’m fine.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive. Thanks, though. It was …’ he paused, trying to think of the appropriate phrase, ‘kind of you to offer.’
Releasing a long sigh Chloe crossed her arms and sagged back against the ute. ‘Bugger. The direct approach has always worked in the past. You’d be surprised how often I get lucky.’
‘Actually, I wouldn’t.’
‘Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Which one?’
‘The “are you just shy or have you got a girlfriend?” one.’
‘Oh, that one.’ He glanced at Brooke and quickly away. ‘No. I don’t have a girlfriend.’
Chloe must have caught something in his voice. She smiled knowingly. ‘Ahh, broken heart.’
He thought of the afternoon just two days before when he’d taken out Tamsyn’s ring, braced for a stab of pain that didn’t come. How he’d tossed the box on the dresser like a piece of rubbish, consigning it and her to history. How when he touched Brooke, saw her smile, heard her laugh, the world turned warm, as though his heart-ache had never existed.
‘Yeah. But I think it might be getting better.’
‘Better enough to have sex with me?’
‘Sorry, but no.’
‘In that case, I don’t suppose you could lend me a pair of your jocks?’
He stared at her quizzically, mind working overtime. The sex request he could grasp, but his underwear? That was way out of left field. ‘Now why would I want to do that?’
She eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. ‘No harm in telling you now, I suppose. That night in the pub, when Brooke introduced us, I made a bet with Andrew that I could sleep with you within a month.’
Lachie’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Yeah,’ said Chloe, having the good grace to blush, ‘I know. A bit presumptuous of me, but we all thought you’d be easy.’
He resisted the urge to look at Brooke, hurt that she’d thought of him that way. Wondering if she still believed it. ‘Except for Andrew.’
‘No, Andrew thought you’d be easy too, but he never could resist a bet, and when Brooke egged him on that was the end of it.’ She ran her hand down her long silky ponytail and waved the end at him. ‘So unless I lie and produce a pair of your jocks as proof I managed to get into them, my head gets shaved.’
He winced. Chloe’s cascading hair must have taken years to grow. ‘That’s tough.’
‘Very. And not a good look for a hairdresser. Are you sure you can’t lend me a pair?’
Lachie considered for a moment. The thought of vain Andrew having to shave his head held appeal, but then everyone would think he’d slept with Chloe.
‘As much as I’d like to help, I can’t. But I wouldn’t worry. You’re so beautiful it won’t make a scrap of difference.’
She gave a nod of appreciation and then sighed. ‘Thanks. I just hope you’re right.’
As he pushed off from the ute to head back to work, Brooke left the arena and rode towards them. She was smiling but Lachie noted a pensiveness beneath it.
She flicked a look at Lachie before dismounting and addressing Chloe. ‘Why don’t you warm up Elvis while I sort Robert?’
‘Sure.’ Chloe threw Lachie a wink. ‘If you change your mind …’
‘I won’t.’ He turned to Brooke as Chloe led Elvis to the arena. ‘Robert looked good.’
‘He’s going well.’ She paused, hooping the reins over Robert’s head and fiddling with the buckle. ‘You and Chloe looked like you were having quite a chat.’
‘You could say that.’ He decided to take a risk. ‘We were discussing her bet. The one she was always going to lose.’ He held her gaze.
‘Oh. Right. So you know about it, then?’
‘I do.’
She bent down to scratch Billy, who had returned from his explorations and was sniffing for attention. The moment she touched his head he flopped onto his back and spread his legs in expectation of a belly rub. ‘You aren’t tempted?’
He stared at the sky, overcome with disappointment at Brooke’s role in the bet. She’d considered him some sort of easy lay, just another bloke who didn’t give a shit. He refocused on her. ‘You really think I’d sleep with someone for a bet?’
Her eyes widened as she registered his tone. Abandoning Billy, she straightened. ‘That’s not —’
‘I’m a man, Brooke. Not a teenager.’
She remained silent, biting her lip, hands tight around Robert’s reins. The yard fell into silence, broken only by the carrying thud of Elvis’s hoofs and a snort from Robert.
‘I should get back to work,’ he said, uncomfortable and worried he’d been too harsh. After all, when Chloe and Andrew made the bet, he’d been at Kingston Downs a week and a half. Brooke hadn’t known him at all then.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, trying to figure out what to say, but Brooke dove in first.
‘I never thought you’d sleep with Chloe just so she could win a bet. I thought you might have been tempted because you like her.’
‘I do like her, just not that way, and I also prefer to think that when two people sleep together it means something.’ He looked away, heat creeping up his neck. ‘You probably think I’m old-fashioned.’
‘Not at all.’ She moved closer and touched his arm. ‘It’s nice.’
She smiled, eyes soft and lovely, flipping his heart over. Shit. He needed to pull himself together.
Helping Brooke was one thing. Falling in love with her wasn’t on the agenda. Though as his heart continued to thump and his skin tingled from the hesitant caress of her hand he had the uneasy feeling it was already too late.
‘Stop being a sook,’ said Lachie, scruffing Sod’s mane. The morning following their awkward conversation about Chloe, as Lachie helped her lead out the horses on the way to check irrigation lines, Brooke had asked if he could help her with Sod later that afternoon. Given Lachie’s out-of-control feelings he’d wanted to keep away, but a promise was a promise, and he knew how much getting the horse to load meant to her. ‘You’re a big brave horse. If Venus can do it, then surely you can.’
Sod stood on the float ramp, sniffing the rubber matting, one step from putting a foot inside the scary interior. To make the float seem wider and more inviting, Lachie had removed the centre partition, and with a bucketload of encouragement he’d managed to coax Sod up the ramp, but that was as far as the horse would venture. Frustrated, Brooke had fetched Venus and walked her inside in the hope Sod would see there was nothing to be afraid of. But Sod’s head held the same monsters as Brooke’s, and they were proving hard to defeat.
‘I don’t think he counts Venus as a horse,’ she said, scratching the pony’s forelock.
‘Take her out,’ replied Lachie. ‘She’s only making it seem narrower.’ And probably reminding Sod of travelling with the others when the gooseneck flipped, but mentioning the accident wasn’t a good idea. Loading a fractious Sod made Brooke sad enough. As she led Venus out, Lachie snuck a chunk of carrot to Sod. ‘Come on, boy. Make her happy.’
He tugged on Sod’s halter, heart leaping when the horse took a small step forward. ‘That’s it. Look how easy it is.’ Lachie released the pressure and stroked Sod’s neck while he examined him for signs of distress, but Sod’s ears remained pointed forward, his breathing even, and his coat sweat-free. Encouraged, Lachie gave the halter another tug. Sod raised his right hoof, hesitant, hovering between fear and trust.
Lachie darted a glance at Brooke, standing at the end of the ramp with her hand to her mouth and her eyes wide with hope.
‘Please, Sod,’ he whispered. ‘Show her how brave you are.’
The horse’s foot went down, dragging Lachie’s optimism with it. They’d tried. And one step inside the float was still progress. Hiding his disappointment Lachie slapped Sod’s neck and rubbed his silky coat. Sod had done his best. Maybe tomorrow he’d make it further.
Sod bunted him affectionately in the ribs, then to Lachie’s astonishment, he looked straight ahead, and with an ‘oh, well, if I must’ snort, took not one, but two steps into the float.
‘You little cracker,’ he whispered, resisting the urge to cheer. Instead, he buffed Sod’s head with medal-polishing enthusiasm, praising the horse to the hilt and sneaking him another chunk of carrot from his pocket.
Sod now stood half in, half out of the float, further inside than he’d ever ventured before. The temptation to reward him for his effort by leading him out was great, but one glance at Brooke and the joy pinking her cheeks made Lachie want to try for more.
He bent close to Sod’s head. ‘You think you can take another step for me?’
Sod’s ears swivelled, listening. Lachie didn’t know if it was something in his manner or voice, or perhaps it was simply his size, but Sod respected him. Had done, he realised, from their first introduction.
He curled his fingers on the cheek strap. ‘Come on, boy. A couple more steps. Easy work for a big brave horse like you.’
The encouragement worked. With no further ado than a shake of his head, Sod walked the entire way into the float, gave the haynet a cursory sniff, and poked his nose towards Lachie’s pockets in a demand for carrots.
Lachie emptied them out, stuffing orange chunks between Sod’s greedy lips as he scratched the horse’
s forelock, casting ecstatic grins between Sod and Brooke, who stood at the base of the ramp with both hands over her mouth, eyes huge and glistening with happy tears.
When the carrots were gone and Sod began to show signs of restlessness, Lachie led him out, easing aside to let Brooke fuss and plaster kisses over the animal’s nose, her joyful babbles warming him the way no sun ever could. Only when a bored Sod nipped her on the arm did Lachie retake control and, after ordering the horse to mind his manners, lead him to his yard.
Rug secure, haynet tied and water checked, Lachie gave Sod a last proud scratch before ducking under the rail to join Brooke leaning against the fence.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said.
‘It’s early days. The real trick will be getting him to travel. But it’s a start.’
She rested her chin on her hands, staring at her horse. Sod snatched at his feed, unaffected by the late afternoon’s activity, while Venus tried in vain to snake her fat neck under the rail separating their yards in the faint hope of hoovering up scraps. Billy sat in the corner of Sod’s yard, blissfully chewing a hoof clipping he’d scrounged. ‘I can’t help thinking that if Sod can do it then so can I.’
Encouraged by Sod’s success, Lachie’s thinking had drifted down the same line. ‘You want to give it a go?’
‘Yeah, why not? The float’s out.’
‘And Venus is conveniently at hand.’
Brooke eyed the pony, now on its knees, neck flat and head twisted sideways, eyes narrowed in determination, lips flapping comically as they attempted to secure a single stalk of fallen lucerne, and shook her head. ‘Not Venus.’
‘What about Billy? It’ll save me fetching Dorothy. And he won’t grump.’
She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know.’
‘If you’re worried about hurting him, don’t be. That dog is indestructible.’
‘You sure?’
‘I wouldn’t offer him if I wasn’t.’ He whistled for Billy, who immediately trotted over, coveted hoof scrap poking from his jaws. Lachie scooped him up and with Brooke following, strode to the float.