Stable Mates. Zara Stoneley
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her mouth, not wanting the thoughts that he’d conjured up in her head to come tumbling out. She didn’t quite know how to take this sex god that had been dropped in their midst. Did he have some weird kind of Irish sense of humour that she didn’t quite understand?
‘She does, the rougher the better, don’t you?’ Rory pulled her into a bear hug of possession. Observing Mick from a position of safety, Lottie decided he was probably dangerous. He was making her nervous without even doing anything, and he was intent on winding Pip up, as though he needed some kind of stimulation, danger. Which figured, if he was a drag hunt enthusiast. A game player, and it would really have been better if she hadn’t been dying to find out more about him.
‘So, you’ll both be riding out on Sunday then?’ He was swinging the heavy metal file from side to side and the youngest of the terriers stood transfixed, her eyes following its route. A route to being brained if she wasn’t careful. Then abruptly he stopped the motion with a swift toss in the air before he caught it and dropped it in the heavy wooden tool box at his feet. ‘Both of you?’
Lottie nodded nervously and looked up at Rory, wondering why she was asking him. She never did normally. ‘I think so.’
‘Yup, if you’ve not lamed all the horses with your fancy new ideas. Isn’t it beer time yet?’
Lottie glanced at her watch. She’d already had G&T time with her gran, whose idea of a weak drink was a double gin with a waft of tonic, and was feeling slightly off centre. Carrying on drinking, mid-afternoon, with no food in her was probably a bad idea.
‘Well…’ There was a sudden outbreak of ‘Your Sex is on Fire’ from somewhere in the region of Lottie’s knickers, and Mick gave her a smouldering look that nearly ignited other parts of her, or that could just have been because part of her brain had taken off on a fantasy she couldn’t control. ‘Shit, oh, hang on.’ The burn hit her face, he must think she was so immature…or up for it with absolutely anyone. Maybe he thought it was an open invite? ‘It’s my phone.’ State the obvious. Which was firmly stuck deep in a pocket that didn’t really have room for a hand, let alone a phone. Lottie could feel herself slowly incinerating as she fought against the fabric. The phone stopped ringing. Then started again, ‘Sex on Fire’ gradually increasing in volume to match face on fire.
‘Dad?’ She was shocked to see his number; Billy seldom, if ever, rang her.
‘You need to get over here. Now.’ Billy was normally as easy-going as they came, but if he was ever going to be short-tempered it was with his daughter. And he was bossy, and said exactly what was on his mind.
‘But I’m—’
‘It doesn’t matter what you’re doing. You sent them here, so you can damned well come and entertain them. What do you think I am, a children’s entertainer?’ He was hissing, his voice low as though he didn’t want to be overheard.
‘Sorry? Dad I—’ But Lottie had been left with a ringtone in her ear, which was less embarrassing than ‘Sex on Fire’. Marginally. They were all staring at her.
‘So, that was Daddy, was it? I take it you’re not allowed out to play?’
God, that Irish burr was having a funny effect on her. She clung on to Rory’s arms, which were still draped round her, with one hand, and her phone with the other.
‘He’s hung up.’ What was it with people hanging up on her while she was in the middle of saying stuff? Was she really getting that boring?
‘So what did old Billy the goat want then?’ Rory rested his chin on her head.
‘I haven’t a clue, he was jabbering on about kids and my fault, and stuff.’ She paused and looked at Pip. ‘Do you think he’s lost it? You know, the whole Amanda thing? I mean, he must be stressed even if he’s not saying anything.’
‘Billy boy, stressed?’ Rory was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. ‘Now that’ll be the day. About as likely as Dom getting his leg over with one of the WAGs from Kitterly, I’d say.’
‘Nah.’ Pip grinned back. ‘He’s made of sterner stuff than that. So what’s with calling him a goat?’
‘Billy goat gruff?’ Mick seemed amused, but still managed to sound like he was issuing an invite to bed.
‘Nothing that deep. Eats anything, shags anything and jumps anything.’ Rory was definitely grinning now, well, pretty much chortling.
‘Don’t talk about my dad like that.’ He knew she didn’t like it. She’d had too many years of jokes about her dad to find them funny, shame everyone else did.
‘So, this Amanda is his latest shag?’
Pip burst out laughing, and Kis, her horse, threw her head up, nearly dragging her arm from its socket. ‘Shit, stop that you stupid mare.’
‘She’s not stupid, that one.’ Mick cast his eye over the horse. He’d seen the mare out with Rory in the past, she was talented but lame more often than she was sound. So she’d been out at grass when Pip had arrived and announced that she would look after her. Looking after her was one thing, but everyone, including Pip, knew that she was seriously outclassed by the horse and was as likely to take her to a drag hunt as she was to take a vow of celibacy.
‘And nor is Amanda. We’ve decided she needs a new man, but I’m not sure she’ll fancy Billy, she thinks horses smell, and Billy spends most of his life on one.’ Kismet bit her shoulder, and Pip, who believed in a non-punishment regime, tried her best not to retaliate.
‘Sex on Fire’ set off again and Lottie stared at it resignedly before jabbing at the answer call button.
‘If you’re not here in five minutes, girl, Marcus won’t be the only one they’ll be burying next week.’
Lottie spotted the brand new Jaguar F-type the moment she got through the imposing gates that flanked the entrance to Folly Lake Equestrian Centre. It was yellow. As in bright canary yellow. Which in her eyes was a gross travesty of a car that (a) was sleek and gorgeous and (b) was named after a cat. It was the type of car that should have said old money, or at least new money with a modicum of taste, but she’d never particularly liked yellow – unless it was daffodils.
The sudden indigestion-like pain in her chest didn’t have anything to do with the half baguette that she had crammed down in two minutes flat as she drove the short distance from Rory’s, because she was starving and needed to soak up Gran’s gin, it was panic. What if it was someone who’d already heard Marcus was dead? Who was here to buy the place, or sell the place, or… Crumbs, she tried to park her car as far as she could from the other one, knowing it made her old banger look even older. Surely Amanda couldn’t have moved that fast. And her father had said it was her fault. Which was a bit confusing. No way could she have arranged for a developer to visit the place and then forgotten about it.
She made a move out of the car, nearly strangling herself in the process, and realised she still had her seatbelt on. Calm, she had to be calm. It wasn’t her fault Marcus was dead, and she couldn’t be blamed for telling anyone. She hadn’t, had she? What if she’d said something when she was drunk? What if she’d told someone to come round and buy the place when she was at the dressage? Or after that bottle of bubbly with Tom? What if she’d danced on the table and announced it to the whole restaurant?
No, she couldn’t have. Could she? No, no way. Definitely no way. And Billy had been ranting on about not being a children’s entertainer, she definitely wouldn’t have sent someone who wanted to open a kids’ theme park.
The arena doors were wide open, and she raced through and practically fell over… Tom.
‘Hi.’
‘Err, hi.’ She threw an apologetic