A Marrying Man?. Lindsay Armstrong
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run this spelling farm is and lessen the impression you have that I am a rich, lazy layabout who has had everything handed to her on a platter.’
Georgia stood before him, showered, dressed in jeans and a navy blue sweater, with her hair tied back neatly and her eyes challenging.
‘Yes, I would—if you wouldn’t mind me having a shower and a shave first.’
‘Oh, do make yourself at home,’ she said with irony. ‘Would you like to borrow one of my razors? They’re pink, unfortunately, but they work.’
‘Thank you very much, Georgia,’ he said gravely, ‘but I did bring my own.’ He indicated a small, battered grip.
Georgia tossed her hair. ‘Come down when you’re ready, then, Will!’
Her ‘staff’ was in fact quite an overstatement, although she was in no mood to acknowledge this. It was she herself who did most of the work involved in caring for the maximum of ten horses she was able to agist in neatly fenced paddocks while they were resting from their racing careers.
The work amounted mainly to feeding them carefully prepared formulas, watching over them as they luxuriated in the freedom of a paddock rather than a stable, and rugging them as the weather dictated. All the same, to do it as conscientiously as she did it was no mean task and she did have one part-time staffer.
Brenda was the daughter of her neighbours, a horsemad though surprisingly mature seventeen-year-old who was able to combine her love of horses with the earning of some pocket money by helping Georgia out. It was an ideal arrangement since she lived only a paddock away, and, moreover, on the odd occasions when she was left solely in charge she could call upon her father, an ex-jockey, for help if needed.
It was while Georgia was waiting for Brenda to arrive, and as she was making out some lists for her, that she stopped to think irritably, What do I care if he thinks I’m a spoiled little rich girl? Why should I care what this perfect stranger thinks of me?
Yet for some reason, she acknowledged, this perfect stranger had somehow contrived to get under her skin. How old was he? she wondered, and decided thirty something. And then she wondered why she should have accused him of being a ‘dry stick’ yet be unwittingly intrigued by him as a man…As a man? she pondered, and turned at a sound behind her to be confronted by the object of her somewhat mystified musings. It didn’t help her state of mind to feel a tinge of colour warm her cheeks.
‘Well, Will,’ she said tartly, ‘what do you think?’
William Brady walked over to the window of her small office and contemplated the view through it. It was pleasantly green and rural and populated by ten alert-looking specimens of the equine world in their paddocks, awaiting their breakfasts. ‘I’m impressed, Georgia,’ he murmured. ‘Do you have any horses of your own?’
‘Two hacks,’ she said. ‘I still like to ride and I give a weekly class at the local pony club. Otherwise all my energy goes into looking after other people’s horses. Do you ride, Mr Brady?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you ride well?’ She put her lists in a pile and moved round the desk into the adjoining feed-room, where she started energetically to move buckets and feed bins around.
‘Well enough, although not nearly so well as you, I’m sure. Allow me,’ he added, and helped her to line up some more bins.
‘Thanks,’ Georgia said briefly, and pushed her sleeves up as she started to mix the feeds. She looked up once to see him watching her with a wry little smile playing about his lips. ‘What’s amusing you now, Will?’ she asked sardonically. ‘Or rather, it’s obvious I am, but in what particular way this time?’
‘I was thinking,’ he said slowly, ‘that you seem to have an enormous amount of energy, Georgia. It actually seems to leap out of you like an electric current—and that alone must be a problem for you sometimes. I mean how to channel it.’
‘Ah!’ Georgia straightened, winced and pushed a fist into the small of her back. ‘So you think I might not be such a rich, lazy layabout after all,’ she marvelled, and grimaced. ‘Don’t expect me to roll on my back and wave my legs in the air, though, will you, Will?’
‘It’d be the last thing I’d expect,’ he said gravely. ‘Have you hurt your back?’
‘No.’
‘It rather looked like it.’
‘Forget about my back,’ she said imperiously, and pushed past him to reach for something on a shelf.
‘Well, could I be of some assistance?’ he asked courteously.
‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘You need to know what you’re doing.’
‘I see. When do your staff arrive?’
‘She should be here any minute.’
‘She?’
‘Yes, she,’ Georgia said, then sighed irritably. ‘I only have the one, if you must know.’
‘You’re in a very prickly mood, even for you, Georgia,’ he observed, and she swung on him at close range, opened her mouth to demolish him but suddenly thought better of it as their gazes locked and held.
There was something strangely disturbing about being that close to William Brady, she discovered. Something in his hazel eyes that was both mocking yet amused, something in their proximity that made her feel curiously flustered and hot.
She swallowed, turned away and said crossly, ‘I don’t enjoy tripping over people when I’m working.’
‘My apologies.’
Georgia threw her head back haughtily and was oddly relieved to hear Brenda arriving—although that, unfortunately, was something that would later give her further cause for ire.
She introduced them briefly then asked Brenda to do the horses’ water-bins and to take Mr Brady with her to give her a hand. William Brady went compliantly, and with a perfectly sober face, but she knew he was laughing at her inwardly.
Half an hour later Brenda came back on her own with the news that he’d gone upstairs to make a phone call, and said breathlessly, ‘Georgie—who is he?’
Georgia compressed her lips. ‘Someone sent to try the life out of me,’ she answered coldly. ‘Why?’
‘I think he’s gorgeous!’ Brenda confided.
Georgia’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Gorgeous!’
‘Oh, yes! I mean, he’s not exactly handsome but he’s so interesting-looking, and he’s nice and he’s so tall and he…just gives me goosebumps.’
‘Brenda…’ Georgia had to laugh because of the look of ecstasy on Brenda’s face, but she said, although not unkindly, ‘He’s probably old enough to be your father!’
‘I don’t think so, but, anyway, I like older men,’ Brenda pronounced. ‘So…isn’t he a friend?’
‘He’s certainly not, and you probably won’t set eyes on him again—so don’t dream too much,’ Georgia replied with a mixture of irritation and amusement but with a slight softening of her tone because she was very fond of Brenda. ‘OK,’ she went on, in a more businesslike way, ‘as I explained last night when I rang you, I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone for—two to three days at the most—but I’ll ring you every day.’
‘I’ll look after them, don’t you worry,’ Brenda said earnestly. ‘And I’ll water your plants—and Dad’s always there if there’s a problem. It’s lucky it’s still school holidays so I can spend most of my time here.’
‘Thanks, kid. I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ Georgia said with a warm smile, and, after a last look round and a few more instructions, took herself upstairs