CHAPTER FOUR #4
‘Are you all set, Sage?’ she said, looking back over her shoulder.
Sage nodded, pulling her goggles down over her eyes.
‘Yep,’ she replied, nodding and feeling the nervous butterflies in her stomach take flight again as Strawberry set off.
Years of riding green youngsters up these gallops had installed in Sage some self-preservation that served as a reminder to keep her wits about her at all times.
Almost anything can happen at the moment of asking a fully racing-fit thoroughbred to move from a standstill into a highly anticipated gallop.
She enjoyed the unhurried but powerful gait of the gentlemanly Strawberry and prayed he would not do anything unexpected.
She bent low over his neck, relishing the strength and speed of the horse beneath her.
She knew that she would look like a good jockey coming up the hill and that she was in the correct position, perfectly balanced; however, she was humble enough to know that anyone could look good on this horse, for he was as easy to ride as a bus.
Reaching the top, Strawberry came back to a controlled canter on his own accord, gently easing into a lower gear to turn the tight corner of the white-railed track without losing any stability.
He did not lean against the rails or run into the bottom of the horse in front like some of his more impetuous stablemates.
Sage could feel herself smiling uncontrollably; she had not felt so light-hearted and free for a long time and knew that riding, for her, was the best medicine imaginable.
Santiago Deverill and his mother felt very far away from Newmarket’s beautiful, frosty Heath, above which the first golden rays of sunshine were lighting up the sky.
As they walked down the track in the direction of the yard at the end of first lot, Sage saw her grandfather standing in the little car park next to his enormous new car.
He was chewing on his pipe while talking to a young man who sat with an unconscious, elegant grace on an old-fashioned type of iron-grey horse with a blue-black, shortly pulled mane and neatly banged tail that stopped above his dark hocks.
The stranger was dressed smartly in black jeans and long boots with a shirt and tie under a tweed coat and only a flat cap on his dark head.
Sage did not recognize him but could see that her grandfather liked him by the way he was smiling.
She watched Dennis put an affectionate hand on the large grey’s neck as he bade the intriguing rider goodbye and started to walk over to the fence towards her.
The man clicked softly to the big horse and, moving straight into a canter from a standstill, aimed him at a substantial picket gate set into the wooden post-and-rail fence.
The horse jumped it easily, his master hardly moving in the saddle at all, and they dropped back into an easy walk ahead of Sage on the track heading back down the Heath towards town.
‘Sage, how did that feel? Didn’t I tell you?
Just like riding a bike.’ Dennis snorted in amusement, not letting her answer.
He could see from the smile on her face that she was enjoying herself.
‘Next lot, I’ve put you up on your grandmother’s filly, Skylark.
I just want you to bring her out for Fred to gallop.
She’s running in her first race next week. ’
‘Who was that?’ Sage asked in wonder, swivelling in her saddle to continue watching the man on the grey horse, having failed to take in much of what she had just been told.
The man’s effortless harmony with the bold horse had scorched such an impression in her mind it had rendered her completely unable to think of anything else.
‘Oh, that’s Rafe Dunbarton. He’s a good lad, just started training himself.
This is only his second season, often comes to me to talk things through.
His father is a good friend of mine – Lord Walter, you remember?
He’s one of our owners, had horses with us for years, although a few less now that he is supporting his son. ’
Sage nodded. She did remember Lord Walter, who had always seemed friendly and kind when he had come to the yard to see his horses and have breakfast in the house afterwards; she had met him a few times over the years.
Dennis was already climbing back into his car, his head full of his own horses again by the time she had gathered her thoughts, and the string was moving steadily homewards.
‘Amy, did you hear my instructions? I can’t remember what my grandfather just told me to do.
’ Sage felt her stomach contract with dread; she had completely zoned out.
She did not want to ask Dennis to repeat himself, she would look such an idiot.
The stranger’s casual grace had completely distracted her; she did not think she would ever be able to ride so well.
He looked totally at one with the powerful horse.
She prayed Amy had heard – she did not want to let her grandfather down on her first day back.
Amy responded with an arched eyebrow.
‘Were you distracted by something?’ Deciding to let Sage off the hook and much softer than usual because of Sage’s bruises, she continued, ‘You’ll have a job melting that one’s heart – even you, with your movie-star looks!
Since he started training last year, the Honourable Rafe Dunbarton has been pursued by all the pretty – and not so pretty – girls of marriageable age in the area, and so far, he has not chosen one.
There are rumours that he’s gay … What I can tell you is that he has shown zero interest in women since he got back from his job as assistant trainer to Oliver Crookwood in America a year ago.
It’s all anyone seems to talk about in this goldfish bowl at the moment. ’
‘Oh, that’s the very last thing on my mind, Amy,’ Sage said hastily.
They watched as the man broke into a canter, approaching the string all uniformly dressed in blue and green.
He stopped one of the riders on a bay colt that was jinking sideways, and the lad who was riding the horse quickly jumped off.
As Sage got closer she saw that Rafe’s face was a mask of fury.
He was speaking to the stable lad in a barely controlled rage, his fists clenched.
She could not hear what he had been saying but an angry muscle was jumping in his lean jaw.
Sage felt her stomach tighten. The familiar anger in his face set her internal alarm bells ringing, the sensation instantly bringing back the weight of fear and dread every time Santiago had looked at her that way, his face twisted with cruelty.
She put a hand on Strawberry’s neck, drawing comfort from his warm body, and looked away.