Chapter 12
Colton
“We have... workers, who do this for us, you know.” George says as he removes Bill’s bridle. Earlier in the week, I explained to them that I think it’s nice for the ponies to have fresh bedding at least once a week—especially on the weekends. Bill and Butch will be out grazing in the pastures, mostly, but the boys are usually busy on the weekends, so we won’t have any training sessions.
Neither of them complained when I asked them to do this last week, but this week they’re a little tired. We’ve been stretching our sessions to two, sometimes three hours some days and I can tell by their posture that they’re lagging a little today.
“Oh, but real cowboys take care of their own mounts. You’re a smart boy George, I thought you’d know that.” I tilt my head, stifling a laugh as he straightens and begins to work at a much faster pace.
“I—Of course I did.” He says, removing Bill’s saddle with renewed gusto.
“Even I knew that.” Edmund says quietly with a devilish smile, earning a sharp look from his older brother.
I don’t hear another peep from either of them, not even as I watch them shovel heaps of soiled hay and wood shavings into a wheelbarrow that’s almost as big as the two of them .
In the past four days we’ve done barrel racing drills, lasso practices and a heck of a lot of trail riding—or hacks as the British like to call them. I’ve gotten to see a lot more of the estate and heard more than I’d care to about Lord and Lady Chamberlain’s strained relationship. Kids really do hear everything.
By a rare stroke of luck, I’ve found myself sharing arenas will Ellie all week. I didn’t even have the boys with me on one of the days, but I set up a barrel racing formation for me and Sweetie to run a couple times. She got the hang of it just as quickly as I thought she would, my clever girl. It was the perfect excuse, really, I do have to keep my skills sharp if I’m going to teach the boys my ways.
When I’m not barrel racing or instructing the boys, I steal glances at Ellie on the other end of the arena. It’s wild to me, the way she maneuvers her horse into the craziest of dance moves.
It’s breathtaking to watch, truly it is. She is so in tune with her bay gelding—Remi, she calls him. Constantly praising and coaxing him in time to the music that blares through the arena speakers.
Her mother, Edith, is at every practice session. She arrives before the team coach does and she watches every single movement that Ellie and Remi make with eyes that resemble those of a hawk. Her head nods with each beat of the music, each cue that her daughter has to hit, and she makes her feelings well known whenever she believes Ellie is performing badly—which is often.
I’ve bitten my tongue twice now while she berates her daughter, not because I think Ellie needs me to step in—I believe she can handle herself, but it pains me when I hear her being spoken to like dirt on the bottom of a boot.
Thankfully, Ellie’s coach steps in most times and defuses the situation, but it leaves an awful taste in my mouth all the same.
“Spotless.” I hear Edmund huff in a breathless pant.
I duck my head inside Butch’s stable to find it looking, well, spotless indeed. “Nice job, Ed.” I say with a smile, “You could eat off that floor.”
He beams as he carries the last shovel of soiled bedding to the wheelbarrow.
“And George,” I say, moving over to peek into Bill’s stable, “How are things going in here?”
“Well,” He pants, placing a hand on his hip as he surveys the stable, “I wouldn’t eat off of it, but I think it’s a far sight cleaner than it was.” British children crack me up, they speak like they’re from a different time.
“You’ve done a real stand-up job, both of you.” I grin as they catch their breath next to the now-full wheelbarrow.
I pull out my phone and snap a photo of them as they hold up their thumbs and smile. I catch the time on my phone before I shove it back into my jean pocket .
I’ve spent longer with them today than usual, since it’s Friday and I wanted their ponies to have clean stalls for the weekend. If I rush to the indoor arena, I might catch the end of Ellie’s practice session.
She’d looked so tired last night, her body had been slumped against that door when Rory and I ran into her. I wasn’t surprised when I learned that she’d skipped dinner, but the thought of that being a regular occurrence really stuck in my craw. I felt a strange kind of relief when I watched her wolf down her heaping bowl of banana bread and ice cream.
I made sure to text the family group chat this morning and let Meemaw know that her banana bread is a hit. Did y’all eat it with vanilla bean ice cream? Was the response, followed quickly by a text from Wyatt that read she’s been speaking about this for the past 3 days, please tell me you guys ate it with vanilla bean ice cream .
The boys are admiring each other’s handiwork as they catch their breath, pointing out minuscule areas that the other brother may have missed.
“Can I trust you guys to put some fresh bedding down in these stalls? Or do I need to ask one of the—”
“We’ve got it.” George says, a serious expression on his rosy-cheeked face.
“Alright,” I say with a nod of approval, “Wheel this to the compost pile out back, and then,” I kick the fresh bale of wood shavings I hauled in here earlier, “Half of this goes in one stable, the other half in the other stable, just like we did earlier this week. Don’t forget to feed them their dinner after you’re done.” I jerk my head towards where Butch and Billy are loosely tied outside their respective stables.
“Yes, sir!” They say, each of them rushing to discard their shovels and take control of the wheelbarrow.
“Boys, boys,” I say as they each try to wrench control of the shit-filled wheelbarrow from the other, “One handle each, teamwork makes the dream work.”
“Is that an old cowboy saying?” Edmund’s eyes are wide, full of curiosity.
“Sure.” I say with a nod, I haven’t consumed every piece of old western media, so it very well might be an old cowboy saying. Who’s to say?
With that, the boys lift one handle each and slowly begin to wheel the horse waste out of the stable block.
“I’ll be back to check on these stables later, do me proud!” I call as I make my way to one of the many indoor arenas on the property.
Before I make it to the arena, I see Ellie’s coach and mother making their way towards the main house, where I believe they’re both staying—though likely not in the lower part of the house with Rory and the other staff. There’s no sign of Ellie, so I might still be able to catch her in the arena.
As I approach the wide-spread doors, I hear her voice from inside the arena, a warm breeze carrying it out to greet me.
“I’m not comfortable with you talking to me like that, as I’ve told you many times before—Peter, stop it, this is inappropriate.” My blood roars in my ears as I break into a jog.
Rory told me all about Peter Holstrom, and the Lord of the estate had fondly mentioned his nephew during our first meeting, though Rory’s impression of the man was a little less esteemed . I know that Ellie and Peter used to be together, Rory wasn’t exactly up to date on all of the details but I know that it ended poorly, and he didn’t take it too well. What Rory did tell me is that Peter is not popular among the grooms and other staff on the estate. He’s been known to cause serious problems for people if they don’t run themselves ragged catering to his every whim.
I haven’t seen much of the guy, to be honest, but based on what I’ve heard—I don’t think we’d be compatible as friends.
I’m a couple of steps away from the entrance when I hear Peter say, “Such a prude these days, Eleanor,” in a breathy, amused tone. “Stop playing hard to get and just let me—”
Will Lord Chamberlain fire me if I knock his beloved nephew out cold?
I round the corner, walking into the arena before he can finish his sentence. Peter pauses for a heartbeat, head tilting as he registers my presence. He’s walking closely behind Ellie as she makes her way for the exit, a look of irritated surprise on his face.
“Oh, there you are,” Ellie says as she spots me, her voice is a little shaky, stark relief floods her green eyes as she picks up her pace and heads directly for me.
I notice that Remi is nowhere to be seen, but a few times this week he’s been led away by grooms at the end of their training sessions.
“Everything alright in here?” I ask as she approaches, keeping a hardened expression on my face as my eyes dart between hers and Peter’s. Everything about her body language, the way she’s walking towards me, tells me that just a few seconds ago everything was absolutely not alright.
“Oh, absolutely fine.” She says in a song-song voice. Just play along is all I hear. “Peter is just... lonely and desperate.” I watch with no small amount of satisfaction as her words find their mark. Peter winces, his lips pressing together in a tight line. Ellie reaches me, and I’m more than a little shocked when she links one of her slender arms through mine before turning to face Peter.
“Try not to look so surprised.” She hisses under her breath.
“I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight,” I blurt out as I angle my head to look down at her. “The pub?” I add quickly, not wanting to to throw her off balance while she’s trying to handle this douchebag.
One blink, then another, “Oh, absolutely. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” She gives me a forced, tight smile before flicking her attention back to Peter. “And for the fiftieth time, Peter, I’m not interested. Please, just leave me alone.” With that, we turn and make out way out of the arena.
“And, will fucknuts be joining us?” I ask loudly as we step into the sunlight, earning a huff of laughter from Ellie.
“Let’s hope not.” She squeezes my arm a little and I look down just in time to catch her smiling as she keeps her eyes on the path. And this time, it’s far less tight, and nowhere near forced.