and looking around lazily for something to eat.
Billy went, the stallion flying into canter from a standing start like the old pro he was. They nearly took Elizabeth’s hat off when they cornered a bit too sharply, getting dangerously close to the guests, who’d wisely abandoned the main tables. Amanda covered her eyes and the wedding cake trembled alarmingly, but it was a clear round for Tippermere.
Bending down, Billy grabbed the grinning Tiggy, who screamed as he swung her onto the horse behind him.
Tab giggled and forgot her gothness for a second, and the fact she had a short skirt on. ‘I’m next, aren’t I? Rory, am I next?’ Rory, who was preoccupied trying to control Flash, who had gone into a spin, turned to Mick, who, true to form, had no such problems with his own horse, which was standing patiently behind him, as though jumping wedding cakes in a marquee was an everyday occurrence.
‘You are, treasure. Go show these Tippermereians what proper riding is.’
‘Will you hold Merlin for me? He’s totally ignoring Todd.’
‘Anything for you, my darling.’ Lottie watched as Mick O’Neal reached out with his spare hand, the other holding a large chunk of wedding cake, to take over the horse-holding duties.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have said Rory’s farrier had been avoiding her lately, but that was just her being stupid. He was busy and he was seeing Pip, and she was happy for both of them. But it had seemed quiet since he’d moved out of their yard and into Pip’s cottage. She did miss the chats they used to have, and his dark, slightly brooding, presence that simultaneously excited and unnerved her a little. And the calm way he assured her she could do anything, and the way he watched her with those dark eyes…
Well, thinking about it, it was probably good that he wasn’t around as much these days. Being excited by a strange man, well a man who wasn’t Rory, wasn’t right at all.
Lottie suppressed a sigh. She had loved riding out with him, he made her feel supremely safe and gave her a confidence she’d never felt before. With Mick by her side she’d felt like she could do anything: ride any horse, jump any jump, which was too weird for words as she hardly knew the man.
It was probably just because he was good with horses and she admired him. He was calm and steady – that was all. The fact that his Irish brogue gave her goose bumps, and when he took his shirt off to work she couldn’t resist a peek, was beside the point.
He caught her eye, but didn’t wink as she expected, just stared with those searching eyes that seemed to see far too much. Lottie felt the heat rush to her cheeks; the last thing she needed was a man who could read her jumbled-up mind.
Luckily a shout of encouragement from Todd to Tabatha broke the spell and Merlin, thinking he was missing out on something, stamped on Mick’s foot. Mick swore, dropped his cake and Lottie forgot all about his mind-reading abilities and giggled.
Ignoring all offers of a leg-up, Tab leapt from one of the tables onto the back of one of Billy’s quieter mounts and, gathering up the reins, took off at a canter, her skirt flying up and treating the audience to the sight of some alarmingly pink knickers.
‘I thought she always dressed head to foot in black?’ Pip nudged Lottie, who by now had given up all pretence of trying to organise anyone or anything. Now that it was obvious she had no say in the matter, her only regret was that her figure-hugging dress would have needed a severe modification before she’d be able to climb on a horse, and her thighs just weren’t up to the type of scrutiny they’d get if she went for the split-to-the-waist look. Unless she had a couple more bottles of champagne first, by which stage she wouldn’t care if she even had any thighs, well-padded or not.
‘I used to wear knickers like that.’
‘And now you don’t bother at all?’ Rory, horse in tow, slapped her bum before kissing her neck in a way that was guaranteed to make her wriggle.
Tab, meanwhile, had narrowly missed one of the main poles in the marquee, which had made the whole place shake alarmingly, and decided to take a short cut along the back of the DJ and his equipment rather than exiting the tent. Mr Music Man (as his equipment stated) lurched forwards, his hands clutching at the nearest thing he could find, which happened to be his laptop, abruptly replacing the current smoochie track with some heavy rock.
As the bass kicked in, Tabatha’s horse plunged forwards, took off too late to clear the row of chairs and skidded to a halt in front of the disapproving Dom.
Lottie’s Uncle Dominic, who was more used to the controlled environment of a dressage arena and conducted his life in the same measured and precise way as he rode, gave a wry smile. He had standards, ones that Lottie often felt she fell woefully short of, and a natural aristocratic air that she knew she would never get close to. However much she practised in front of the mirror. Tab, however, not being a family member and having no reputation to live up to, just thought he was slightly stuffy but a bit of a softy. She grinned.
‘Amateurs.’ Dom shook his head and gave the horse an encouraging slap on the rear as Tab regrouped and aimed her mount at the final hurdle. As she did a victory lap around the tent there were a few shouts for her knickers, but even in her elated state it was a step too far for the hormonally challenged but inexperienced Tab, who elected to keep her bottom covered.
The next competitor, Dom, rather let the side down by riding in an efficient and completely controlled manner, as though he was out for a rather boring afternoon hack. Impressive though the riding was, it fell woefully short of the wow factor that the audience had come to expect from the other competitors. He did, though, earn an enthusiastic round of applause from the love of his life, Amanda, who had been keeping her distance from the excited horses. She got so carried away that she ran up to give him a chaste kiss as he dismounted, rapidly retreating when the horse struck one impatient hoof on the floor.
And then it was Mick’s turn. Mick was a true horseman in the way that only an Irishman, born and bred, can be. He understood his horses, knew how to cajole the best from any animal in a way that was a million miles from the flamboyance of most of the other Tippermere residents.
But today was not a good day.
Ever since Todd’s unexpected arrival and the resulting look of shock on Lottie’s face, Mick had been unsettled. And, as a man of few words, he’d found a bottle of whiskey to be a better partner than the eagle-eyed Pip, who he knew would spot his agitation and interrogate him.
It wasn’t that it was any of his concern – Lottie was very much Rory’s and in Pip he’d found a woman who was as undemanding emotionally as she was demanding in bed. He’d accepted the way things were, but the appearance of the man he knew had caused the sweet Lottie a great deal of distress bothered him. And he knew it bothered him more than it should. So he’d withdrawn. Which all meant that when he vaulted onto the horse’s back, his mind wasn’t fully on the job. Horses liked Mick, and now this one was confused by the light hands that had suddenly become heavy. It shook its head in warning, expecting reassurance and Mick suddenly realised he couldn’t give it. ‘Sorry old fella.’ The horse, sensing a difference in his rider, decided to step up to the mark. The round was careful, the gelding who was still young enough to be headstrong, ignored the temptation to be flamboyant and strong picking his way around, and coming to a gentle halt at the makeshift bar so that Mick could reach for the champagne. He gave the horse a rueful pat on the neck. ‘I think we’ll skip the bubbly this time, fella.’
On the far side of the marquee, Lottie frowned. Mick might not be a top competition rider like most of the others, but there was
