“Trauma? That’s a strong word.”
“They’re sensitive, intelligent animals. They have no choice but to trust us and we ask them, continually, daily, to ignore their natural instincts. We dominate them and pressure them, make them do unnatural things. What would that do to a human, suppressing their natural tendencies and forcing ideals upon them?”
“Make them depressed or make them—” the lightbulb flicked on then “—act in certain ways.”
He nodded. “Just because they’re an animal, it doesn’t make them any less intelligent, especially emotionally intelligent. If anything, they’re more so. If a horse is acting up, look at the source, the cause, not the outcome. You don’t kill a weed by chopping off the head, you have to dig out the roots.”
Wow. I felt like I’d learned more about horses in this past five minutes than the seven years I’d spent with Marianne.
“Anyway,” he said. “Let’s chat whilst we ride. My stomach is eating itself.”
I headed back to Missy and put her bridle on, thinking over Luke’s points. His ways were something I’d never come across. He considered everything from the horse’s point of view whereas Marianne considered everything from the rider’s point of view. I suddenly felt like my mind was going to be expanded a whole lot being around Luke.
Chapter Two
After using the back of the truck as a mounting block, we were finally on our way. I could feel the muscles in my inner thighs stretching already from Missy’s broad width. I knew without a doubt I would ache in the morning.
“I wasn’t trying to lecture you,” Luke said, as we ambled across the field.
“No, I know. You’ve just given me a whole other perspective to think on, it’s a lot to take in.”
“The way I am with horses isn’t what everyone agrees with. It doesn’t suit all people and I don’t force it on people. What works for your stud works for them, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, it just means it’s different.”
“I guess it depends on an individual’s point of view as to whether they judge it as wrong or not.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“I’m definitely intrigued on your ideas, even after just a few minutes.”
“That’s good to hear.”
I smiled. “Where are we going for breakfast exactly?”
“Straight down to Sneaton. There’s a gorgeous little farm café there that serves the best food I’ve ever tasted.”
“How long does it take?”
He grinned. “Depends how fast we ride.”
I patted Missy’s neck and giggled. “Well these guys aren’t exactly built for speed.”
“They can still move when they need to,” he said. “Which reminds me.”
I frowned. “Of what?”
“Your claim I’m jealous I can’t ride a ‘proper’ dressage horse as you put it.”
Uh-oh. I’d been hoping he’d forgotten that. I knew this would come back and bite me in the ass. “What are you going to teach me now?” I asked, smirking.
“Just remind me of the core principles of dressage.”
“Ah-ha,” I replied, showing him my own grin. “This I know. Dressage is a French term which means training. The idea of it is to have a calm attentive horse that is strong and supple.”
“Very good. Obedience is key. Would you agree? If you’re in a dressage test and have to perform a certain move at E, for example, but your horse doesn’t respond until several steps later, you will be marked down, correct?”
“Yes…” I couldn’t help but wonder where this was going.
“So if, for example, I asked for an instantaneous walk to canter—” right on cue, Silva sprung into a slow, collected canter “—and the horse responded immediately, I’d have good marks. Yes?”
My jaw dropped as I watched him slowly canter away from me, the motion of him and Silva making me think of a rocking horse. He turned right, cantering a slow circle around me and Missy, who hadn’t even batted an eyelid.
“And if my horse extended and collected at my instruction, I’d also receive good marks?”
He pushed Silva out into a long stride, his chunky long legs swallowing the ground. After half a dozen extended paces, he collected him back into a short, choppy canter and eased him back into a trot.
“And if my horse could perform a simple leg yield—” he moved Silva sideways in front of me, his front and back legs crossing in perfect synchronisation “—or a more complicated shoulder in—” he switched sides and curved Silva’s shoulders around into an impressive move “—then I’d still receive good marks despite the fact I didn’t have a flashy warmblood. Is that correct?”
Trying my hardest to hide my grin, I rolled my eyes. “Alright, show off. Point made.”
He laughed and slowed back to a walk, falling in at my side again. “I’m just saying, don’t judge a book by its cover. Just because they were built to pull ploughs, it doesn’t mean they can’t do other stuff.”
“Impressive,” I said. “But he hardly has the same elegance and finesse as a warmblood when his hooves vibrate the floor.”
“That just demands more attention,” he replied, laughing. “And I actually think it’s more of a show when you see a horse like this move in the same way as a fancy dressage horse.”
“But he doesn’t,” I said, laughing. “It’s like pulling up to a fancy restaurant in…in your truck instead of—”
“A Maserati?” Luke said, grinning wildly.
I scowled. “Very funny, but yes, alright. Jolene’s for instance. It hardly carries the same impression when you pull up there in something like your truck as opposed to Marcus’ car.”
“And what’s wrong with my truck?”
I giggled. “It’s covered in mud, has hay bales in the back, and looks exactly what it is—a working vehicle as opposed to a…” I waved my hand around, trying to think of the best way to word it “...for special occasions vehicle.”
He burst out laughing. “Ok, for one, a working man has to eat. For two, that is Marcus’ every day car, not a ‘special occasions vehicle’.”
“Oh, stop being pedantic.”
“I’m just saying. Besides, if I pulled up at Jolene’s in my truck and waltzed in in my working clothes, everyone would remember me. They have nothing to remember from one more sports car to the next.”
“Ahhhh, so really this is about you being an attention seeking whore.”
He laughed so hard he doubled over, leaning his arms on the horn on the front of his saddle. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
I grinned.
“On a serious note,” he said, straightening up. “There is always one thing I’ve wanted to do but haven’t quite got around to doing it yet.”
“This sounds intriguing.”
He flashed me a mischievous grin, even showing off his pearly white teeth. “I’ve been wanting to treat myself to a nice car for a while. You know, a ‘special occasions’ vehicle, something to enjoy rather than being stuck with the truck.”
I wondered where on earth this was going. “Right…”
“I’ve always wanted to walk into a really fancy car dealership, in my work clothes, in the tattiest car I can find, and then buy their most expensive car.”
I burst into laughter. “That’s a very strange fantasy, Luke. Most guys dream about women or winning the lottery, or maybe buying a yacht.”
“I’m not most guys.”
“That’s very clear.”
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“What tatty car are you going to drive in there with to begin with?”
“Ah,” he said, holding up his index finger. “My dad left behind a little old J reg fiesta. It’s an absolute rust bucket but it somehow keeps going. Actually, it runs out of MOT in a couple of months. Maybe this is my ideal opportunity to finally do it.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Totally. Wanna come with me?”
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I laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. I’ll make sure I stink of horses, am covered in hay, and wear my paint covered rigger boots, and you can do your best chav impression.”
“Chav impression? What the hell?”
“You know, slick wet hair tied back in a ponytail, big gold hoop earrings, a pink Golddigga tracksuit.” His eyes lit up and widened. “Oooo, we could even borrow the twins from Joanna and make it a proper show.”
I actually didn’t know what to say so I just laughed. The more I thought about it, the more I laughed. What a ridiculous thing to want to do.
“What do you say?” he said, after a couple of minutes of me just laughing at him.
“I think you’re crazy.”
“That’s not a no.”
“I’ll think about it. I’m not sure I wholly agree with you wanting me to be a chav. Do I really look like a chav?”
“Not right now, no, but I think you’d do a good impression.”
I giggled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on,” he said. “What have you got to lose?”
“Ha! My dignity.”
“We won’t do it locally. We’ll go somewhere like Manchester or maybe a day trip down to London.”
“Why not go all the way and go to Dubai?”
His eyes lit up like a thousand Christmas trees.
“That was a joke, Luke.”
“But still—”
“No.”
He pouted.
“I can maybe get on board with the whole chav thing, and definitely consider it if we’re miles away from home, but I am not travelling to a foreign country where they imprison people for anything but breathing.”
“Chicken.”
I laughed. “I call it good sense.”
“Shall we pick up the pace?”
I nodded.
“When you ask for canter, just kiss to her, that’s the signal for western trained horses.”
As Luke nudged Silva into a canter, I asked Missy too, kissing the air as Luke had said. She sprung forwards, taking a big stride, and then settled into the most comfortable canter I’d ever experienced. I felt like I was being gently swayed forwards and backwards to the point if I closed my eyes, I could have been rocked to sleep.
“Ok?” Luke asked, looking over at me.
My beaming grin gave him the answer he needed.
“Try it like a real cowgirl,” he said, lifting his reins up to show he was one handed. His right-hand dangled down his leg, resting just above his knee. He looked like he should be sat in a chair, not on a horse.
I debated his suggestion for a moment before deciding to be a dare devil. I’d never ridden one handed. The most I’d ever done was release the reins with one hand for a brief moment to itch my face or something.
“There’s no fancy way as such, just hold them in the palm of your hand,” he said.
The split reins were easy enough. The rein on the right side of her neck passed over her withers and hung down her left shoulder and vice versa. I put the right-hand rein in my left hand and centred my left hand over her withers.
“That’s it,” he said, smiling. “Great job.”
It felt too easy, like it should be more than that. Having my right hand spare with no job felt rather peculiar. I laid it across my stomach, but that felt odd, so I rested it on the horn, but that also felt odd.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I said, giggling and waving my right arm around in the air.
“Just relax it down your leg, like this,” he replied, looking down at himself.
I did as he said, and whilst it felt strange, after a few minutes, I began to feel at home.
“Good,” he said. “You’re doing great. Let’s walk them now. We’re nearly there.”
We eased back to a walk and as I went to grab the reins with my right hand, I stopped myself. If I could ride at a canter with one hand, I could certainly do it at a walk.
“Western riding is very relaxed and calm,” Luke said. “The horses are trained to do what you ask until they’re told to stop. Not like English where you’re constantly nagging at their sides with your legs to keep them going forwards. The self-carriage is all natural, that’s why the western style has longer reins, none of this feeling their mouth garbage.”
“It just feels so odd to me. I feel like a spare part, like I’m not actually riding.”
“That’s because you’re her partner, not her boss.”
I wasn’t going to admit this to Luke, not yet at least, but I was actually really enjoying what he was teaching me about his way with horses. When I rode with Marianne, I always had a slight feeling of apprehension, like I was always waiting for the highly strung super fit horse to do something that I needed to react to instantly. This though, this was like going for a Sunday stroll. Technically, seeing as it was Sunday, it was.
In the distance I could see a traditional farmhouse, in better condition than Luke’s I had to admit. The bricks were still a bright red, the window frames gleaming white and the ivy climbing up the walls seemed to be carefully trimmed. Next to it, a big concrete patch which a couple of tractors and a handful of Land Rovers were parked on. Then at the very edge, a small building, like a brick barn, but clearly converted judging from the windows and the white house door.
“Breakfast,” Luke said, nodding towards the barn conversion.
“Isn’t this someone’s house?”
He nodded. “My brother’s to be exact. My sister runs the café. Food to die for.”
“You’ve got a brother and a sister?”
“Yes. Why does that sound like it surprises you?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just hadn’t thought about your family much. Come to think of it, I don’t really know that much about you.”
He grinned. “Today you learned something new. I actually have four brothers and three sisters. I’m the youngest of the lot, unfortunately.”
“That’s a big family. I can’t imagine what that must have been like growing up.”
“Have you got any brothers or sisters?”
I shook my head. “Just me. Mum always said I was enough to put her off wanting anymore.”
He tipped his head back and laughed. “A little mean but I can imagine you were a handful.”
“Well, thanks.”
Before he could respond, a green Land Rover tearing towards us caught his attention. An old B reg, it looked surprisingly in good condition for its age making me wonder if the owner was an enthusiast. However, when he hit a bump, went airborne, and then crashed back down into a hole, still accelerating, I reconsidered my previous thoughts.
“Just ignore him,” Luke said. “He’s a serial antagonist.”
“Your brother?”
He nodded. “Mason. He’s the first born and the eldest of all of us.”
I tried doing some maths in my head but then realised I actually didn’t have a clue how old Luke was. “How old is Mason exactly?”
Luke grinned. “I know what you’re trying to do. A gentleman never tells his age.”
I laughed. “I’m pretty sure the saying is a lady never tells her age and a gentleman should never ask.”
“We live in times of equality now though,” Luke replied, winking.
The ancient Land Rover hurtled straight for the middle of us, barely thirty feet away. Luke pushed Silva out to the left, creating a gap between us. Mason drove his vehicle straight in between us, no hesitation, and then came to an abrupt stop. The whole thing rocked forwards, squeaking and creaking.
“Well if it isn’t my little brother,” boomed a deep, husky voice. “And his bit on the side.”
Being the other side of the vehicle to Luke, I couldn’t see the mysterious Mason, but I certainly could hear him.
“He wishes,” I shouted out.
“She’s got spirit. I like her already. Hurry up, Maddy is cooking today.”
“Why? Where’s Marissa?”
&nb
sp; “On a dirty weekend away.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Again?”
“Hey, you know the Freeman gene. Once we pop it, we just can’t stop it.”
“Mason,” Luke said, his voice all but a growl. “Shut up.”
Barks of laughter came from the Land Rover before he sped off, turned around, and bounced back past us.
“I see he takes care of his old vehicles,” I said, trying to ignore the last comment he’d made.
“I’m so sorry,” Luke said. His previous relaxed posture had disappeared. Now his shoulders were tense and squared back, a muscle in his neck twitched, and his jaw had set into a hard line. “He enjoys nothing more than embarrassing people.”
“It’s ok,” I said. “Gives the Pringles slogan a new meaning.”
He cracked a smile, but it barely reached his eyes. “There’s a trough of water over there,” he said, pointing at the post and rail fence separating the field from the concrete. “And some hay. Loosen her cinch and take her bridle off. They won’t wander.”
The faith Luke had in his horses baffled me, but I trusted his judgement. Five minutes later, the horses were munching hay and Luke guided me inside the barn converted café. It was open and airy, and the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee filled the entire space. Around twenty tables were in here, over half of them filled already.
Luke pulled out a chair for me at a table near an open window, right opposite the counter. A single white swing door was behind it which I presumed led into the kitchen. He sat down, his back to the outside door, and handed me a laminated menu.
“My brother from another mother,” Mason said, striding up to our table and slapping Luke on the back.
Being brothers, I expected Mason to have some sort of resemblance to Luke but other than the height and the dark coloured eyes, there was nothing. Mason had the body of an athlete—lithe, long legs, toned muscles, and an air of confidence that seemed to have just a bit too much exuberance about it.
Love, Lies and Blood Ties: A young adult paranormal romance (Love, Lies and Ties Book 2) Page 2