Love Tangle: Riding Bareback

by S. E. Margaux

  She laughed. “And who do you think you are, your highness?”

  They laughed and joked as they went back into the stable. The sweet summer birdsong drifted in the wind, but Anita would hear nothing but the lilting music of Tristan’s voice for the rest of the week.

  CHAPTER THREE

  -

  “Over there, look.”

  “Where?” Nikki asked.

  “Just there, behind the Rover.”

  Nikki rolled forward slowly and wedged the truck between the Land Rover and a black Ford. They squeezed past semi-opened doors and Nikki manually locked the truck — the automatic lock had broken millennia ago. Bella couldn’t remember the last time it had worked. They had tried to persuade Connor to fix it when the mechanic had asked for a $150 for the job, but he had never gotten around to it. So manual lock it was. They stepped onto the sidewalk. Bella noticed Nikki adjusting her blazer. She had dressed up for the first few meetings with Weattie but had soon discovered he didn’t give a rat’s ass how people were dressed, so long as they made him money or gave him money. Not that he was a bad man: Bella knew there was far worse out there as far as landowners went. But Weattie had a way about him, something that irked her to her very core. He was open, loud, smiling, and hearty, but for some reason the only appropriate word Bella could think of to describe him was slimy. They walked down the street — Weattie’s office street had no parking spaces — kicking up dust as they went.

  East Birkham was a small town, even by small-town standards. At barely 5000 people and possibly as many horses, it had a small police station (but a sizeable fire department, thanks to the overwhelming amount of wooden structures in the area), three bars, a bowling alley which doubled as a cinema on weekends, one grocery store (with a small gourmet aisle), a bi-weekly produce market, a few doctors and vets (of which Bella was fairly certain at least a few did both), a positive overkill of riding gear and outfit shops, two farriers, and a school, which also housed the public library. And, of course, Bill Weattie’s office.

  Weattie owned land all over the county, and probably beyond. There was a nasty rumor circulating that he bought properties the owners couldn’t afford, and then made them work their asses off all their lives to stay there. His office was in a squat, cubic building which had likely once been red brick, but had at some point in the past ten years been painted over with a violent shade of yellow, accumulating enough grime, dust, and rain that it now looked a bit like an old bath sponge. Nikki walked up the few steps and rang the doorbell for the first floor.

  There was a moment of silence, then a smoky, contralto female voice was heard through the speaker. “Yes hi, Weattie Properties Management, how can I help?”

  “Does she know that’s not a phone?” Bella whispered to Nikki. Nikki ignored the comment and smiled brightly into the doorbell camera.

  “Hi, is Weattie around? We have an appointment.”

  There was a moment’s pause, then:

  “Oh, heya, Nikki. Didn’t recognize ya there. Come on up.”

  The door buzzed and they walked in.

  Bella had never known or asked what was on the ground floor, but the first floor of the building was positively depressing. A cornflower carpet covered the floorboards. The walls were painted a blue so light it was almost white, and was decorated with large, blown up photos of the seaside. Each photo had a description, like some rare piece of artwork. Bella knew them all off by heart: Greece, Thailand, White Beach, New Zealand… It was, in Bella’s opinion, the single most depressing proof of unachieved dreams. They looked into the room where Norah, Weattie’s assistant, sat behind a desk, a cup of coffee held under her nose like it was aqua vitae. The edge of her desk was decorated with glued-on seashells — no doubt Weattie’s purchase--but Norah had taken down whatever seaside photography had ever hung up in her room and replaced it with a single large painting of a frog.

  “Morning, Norah,” Nikki chimed, and Norah looked up.

  “Heya.”

  “Rough night?” Bella asked, looking pointedly at the coffee.

  “Oh, no, it was alright. Worked until two am, though, it was hard. Not so good at waking up early, either.”

  “Can’t believe you’re still working at the Tap,” Bella commented, “you should ask Weattie for a raise.”

  “I have,” Norah said, pointedly.

  “Right. Well…”

  “Oh, you can go right through, I think he’s on the phone to his mother.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No worries.”

  “She works way too hard,” Nikki muttered as they moved on.

  “Yeah, well, whatcha know, Weattie’s not as nice as you might think.”

  They knocked on the door.

  “Come right on in.”

  Weattie’s office looked like someone who had never seen the sea had described it to a blind interior designer. Bella sat down in one of the bamboo chairs, the back of which had been adorned with a row of dried starfish. Nikki’s chair had a preserved seahorse hanging from the back.

  “Ladies, what can I do for you on this fine morning?”

  Bill Weattie, it couldn’t be denied, was a handsome man. Though no longer in the prime of his life, his hair had a natural bounce to it that would have made any hairdresser swoon, and if his jaw was no longer perfectly chiseled, it was well-hidden behind a primly trimmed beard and mustache. His eyes were the washed out, watery green of dollar bills, and his teeth were so white it was painful to look directly at them. He leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly.

  “You called us here, Bill,” Bella deadpanned.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Weattie said, with a chuckle. “Right, right, right. Now, where are we on…” He pushed his chair back and rifled through a drawer. “Ah. Yeah, here we go.” He took out a large file and laid it on the desk.

  “Girls, I’m afraid I got bad news,” he said soberly. Nikki glanced sideways at Bella. Their eyes met, and Bella saw Nikki looked as nervous as she herself felt. “Oh don’t worry, ladies, nothing tragic, I’m still single,” he said and gave a hearty laugh. “No, no, let’s get serious. It’s about the ranch.”

  “Shocking,” Bella muttered. Nikki kicked her ankle.

  “What kind of bad news?” Nikki asked.

  “Look, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but…” Weattie brought his fingers together in a contemplative gesture. “It’s just not going great, is it? I know you got rent money coming in from the animals, and the lessons, and orchard…”

  “And the honey,” Bella added.

  “And the honey,” Weattie conceded. “But it just ain’t enough. Last quarter’s report? We’re barely topping costs here, ladies, and something’s got to be done.”

  “I think--” started Bella, but Nikki interjected.

  “Are you firing us?” Nikki asked. She had never been one to edge her way around a question.

  “What?” Weattie looked shocked. “No! No, darlin’, of course not. You girls are the only reason we’re bringing in anything at all! No, I’m speaking upkeep. Maintenance. Land.” He took out a folded piece of paper from the file and opened it up. It was a map of the property. Bella could see the main house, and the guest house, and the edge of the lake. There were even tiny dotted lines for the fences, and circles drawn in for the beehives. He was a jackass, but the man knew his way around a map. He jabbed his finger at the guest house.

  “Now this,” he said, circling the guest house, orchard, and garden, “is the problem. You see, I did all the calculations, and Frank double-checked, and it doesn’t add up.”

  Frank was Weattie’s accountant. Bella had never met him herself, but she’d heard about the man often enough to deeply dislike him.

  “What do you mean?” Nikki asked slowly.

  “I mean, we don’t need it. Look here, we can dilly dally round it all you like, but based on the last report, this land is costing more to maintain than it is worth. There just ain’t no reason to keep it if we ain’t gonna be putti
ng more horses in it. Or maybe cows. Everyone’s got cows now, I hear that’s a good business.”

  “Wait, what are you proposing to do?” Bella asked.

  “We? Nothing. I’m gonna sell it.”

  “Sell the ranch?” Bella asked.

  “No, no, just this part,” he said, jabbing his finger at the map.

  “You can’t split up the ranch,” Bella spat.

  “I didn’t call you in here for a discussion,” he said, with a patronizing smile. “This is your four-week warning. Land’s going in a month, I found a buyer. Now he’s being tough, but I think I can get a decent price outta him.”

  “What?” Nikki said. She stood up. “What do you mean, a month? We have people living in there! What do you propose we do, put them up in the barn? And what about the garden? That’s a part of the main building, why on earth would you sell that, too? And this,” she pointed at the orchard,” is this not a part of the profit we’re gaining? And four weeks? That’s not enough time to do anything!”

  Where Nikki had begun to sound panicked, Bella’s voice took on a low, threatening tone.

  “This is not what we discussed, Weattie.”

  Weattie raised his hands defensively.

  “Now look here, Nikki, I woulda told you sooner, it’s all happening fast for me, too. But the faster the better, as soon as we sell this we can maximise on everything else. And you know what that means?” He waited a few seconds, but when no answer came, he clapped his hands together and said, “Y’all are getting a raise! Come on now, don’t look so damn pooped. This is business, right? You’ll see, it’ll all work out in the end. We’re gonna have so much money we’ll be using it for kindling!” He let out another barking laugh. “Well, that’s it. Does y'all want a cup of coffee? Norah’s been drinking it down like water, but I’m sure we got some left for you two.”

  “No, thanks,” Nikki said. She tapped Bella’s shoulder. “We really should get going. Lot’s to do. Bees. Fruit. Horses. You know.”

  “I sure do. Not for long, though. Good seeing you ladies.” He winked. “Always a pleasure.”

  They waved a hasty goodbye to Norah on the way out, and before Bella knew, they were back in the truck. Nikki was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

  “What are we going to do?” she said. “How the heck are we gonna tell the others?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  -

  Tristan had spent the last four days mucking out the stables, endlessly refilling water troughs and weight lifting bucket after bucket of grain. The work was repetitive, but something about the constant physical exercise, the fresh Midwest summer air and the breathtaking mountainscape made it refreshingly different each day. That and the quirky individual personality of the horses. He was beginning to learn each of their defining traits.

  Adagio was as even-tempered as he was beautiful, but he had an insatiable thirst and needed his trough filled twice as often as any other horse. Midnight would only eat grain from the left side of the manger, while Agnes had a terrible habit of laughing as she ate, spraying oats everywhere. Goodness knows what horses laugh at. Wildfire would neigh hello whenever he walked past, but neigh twice for Anita. Artemis always stamped aggressively when you unlatched her box, but would immediately still when she saw the bucket. An early riser, she was often the first awake.

  He learned the horse’s names faster than the ranch hands’ — was it Raoul, or Ralph, or Rolf? — though he had learned all the girls, he thought. Although he had called Anita ‘Annie’ last night over dinner, and she’d scowled: “I don’t do nicknames.” Her nose wrinkled adorably.

  He tumbled out of bed that morning, ran his fingers through his hair and pulled on a fresh shirt. He paused at the mirror, debated shaving his day-old stubble, but decided to forgo it in favor of dashing into the yard to see the sunrise over the mountains.

  Anita was sitting on the steps of the porch, watching the yellow light filter into the candy blue summer sky. A violet midnight streak was a natural vignette to the scene. Tristan sat down beside her on the porch, his denim thigh grazing her bare one. She almost didn’t blush when he touched her anymore. Almost.

  She silently handed him a coffee, and he sipped it. There was nothing quite like a good, strong American coffee in the morning, though he noticed she religiously drank tea every time.

  “So what are we doing today, boss?”

  “What did we do yesterday?”

  “Feeding, mucking out, feeding, mucking out.”

  “What do you think we should do today?”

  “Feeding?”

  “Good guess.”

  “Mucking out?”

  “My, you are a clever boy.”

  He finished down the dregs of his coffee. “I suppose we better get started then?”

  “Let’s. But I’m gonna get dressed first,” Anita said. She got up and took Tristan’s mug, barely pausing when their fingers brushed against each other. “You can go down to the stables, you don’t have to wait for me.”

  Tristan greeted the horses in the stable one by one, petting Artemis’s nose, scratching Willow behind the ears where she liked it, stopping to admire Adagio’s sleek, silky mane. Midnight had his back turned to him, but Tristan quipped a “good morning” anyway. Wildfire greeted him with her usual neigh.

  “Hey, Chestnut.”

  Chestnut stuck his head over the stall door and nuzzled Tristan’s hair.

  “How are you, boy? Hungry?”

  Chestnut snorted, and Tristan dug into his pocket for a carrot. He had started making a habit of carrying around snacks for the horses, and it had paid off. Chestnut really was a gentle giant, and despite his size, Tristan felt perfectly comfortable around him. He wasn’t a loud horse, but Tristan could see in his kind round eyes that Chestnut was an understanding companion.

  Wildfire neighed again.

  “Sorry, Wildfire, Anita’s still getting dressed.”

  Wildfire and Chestnut both perked up at the sound of Anita’s name, and Chestnut gave Tristan a nudge in the chest.

  “She’s pretty great, huh?” Tristan said, more to himself than to the horse. Chestnut snorted derisively.

  “What? It’s just nice to have someone to show me around. Someone to talk to. I think she really understands me, you know?”

  Chestnut nodded his head, then began to nuzzle Tristan’s pockets. Tristan laughed and combed his fingers through the Clydesdale’s shaggy mane.

  “Yeah, you understand me too.”

  “What are you boys talking about?”

  Anita approached Wildfire’s stall and greeted her with a kiss on the nose. Then she turned accusingly towards Tristan.

  “Nothing. Just gossiping about you.”

  “I thought so.” Anita turned back to Wildfire. “Maybe we should make Tristan muck out all the stalls on his own today, huh?”

  Wildfire nickered in agreement.

  “Don’t you dare,” Tristan said, and Anita laughed making her way to the end of the stable to open the other door.

  “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t trust you alone with a task so important. Come on, let’s get to work.”

  They passed the morning in easy conversation, joking and quipping with each other as they worked side by side. Anita was pleased — she almost didn’t have to tell Tristan what to do anymore.

  As they finished mucking out, Jo came into the barn. “Morning! How’s my favorite freeloader?”

  She smirked at Tristan who playfully prodded her in the ribs. Anita rolled her eyes. “Dipshit. This boy just cleaned out your horse.”

  “Well I am eternally indebted to you, sir,” said Jo with an eccentric bow. Turning to Anita, her face straightened. “Sally is… sick.”

  “Again?”

  “The Tipsy Tap sent her home at three am. She’s not looking great right now. I’ve asked Bella to take her classes — can you two take the horses out to pasture, though? I’m going to try and sort her out.”

  Anita nodded. “Sure. It would be go
od to get a ride in today.”

  Jo nodded, smiling gratefully. She gently touched Anita’s arm, before saluting Tristan and ducking out of the barn.

  “Pasture?” said Tristan quizzically raising a dark eyebrow.

  “Taking the horses to the field. Give them some air, a chance to stretch their legs, find their own favorite patch of grass to munch on.”

  “So we lead them out, or…?”

  Anita chuckled. “We ride out with them.” Tristan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve — well, I’ve never ridden a horse.”

  Anita waved her hand. “It’s easy, you’ll pick it up in no time. Like riding a bike.”

  She opened the back door of the stable, which opened out into an expansive field of lush greenery. She opened each stable door, lifting the latch and taking the horse by the bridle, gently slapping the rumps of those resisting the call of the wild. Soon, all but Chestnut and Wildfire were out in the field. Anita showed Tristan to the saddles and tack and demonstrated by saddling up Wildfire, who shook his glossy head in anticipation for the ride. Chestnut, patient as a rock, stood perfectly still as Tristan struggled with the stirrups. Once Tristan had adjusted the stirrups, he was surprised to see Anita take her saddle off Wildfire again.

  “Aren’t you riding with me?” He asked, alarmed.

  “Of course I am,” Anita laughed easily, “but I prefer riding bareback. It just feels more natural. Riding is all about communication, it’s hard to really connect when there’s a saddle in the way.”

  “Well that sounds better,” Tristan said. He looked thoughtfully at his saddle.

  “You’re not ready,” Anita said, reading his mind. “You have to learn how to ride with a saddle first.”

  “But wouldn’t it be easier to just skip the saddle altogether?”

  “No. You can’t master the movement without learning the rhythm. And I don’t want you falling off,” she added. “Ok, so the important thing to know before you get on a horse: it’s all in the heels. Chestnut knows the ropes, so don’t be dragging the bridle all over the place. A little twist to the left, a nudge to the right...”