Chapter 12 #2
I wish the stupid non-relationship rule didn’t exist, I think bitterly.
But I know why it’s there. I’ve heard the security staff discuss it before.
A protection officer needs to be able to think clearly and never risk having their actions clouded by personal judgments.
Relationships cause messes. It’s easier to ban them than take any chances.
In their line of work, it could be the difference between life and death.
Sefton nicks my shoulder, reminding me he’s standing right beside me and taking me out of my thoughts. “Thanks, Art.”
He clears his throat. “Come on, let’s start back. The horses need some water and electrolytes.”
We decide it’s best if Art rides on Poseidon and I ride Athena, leading Sefton. It’s an unusual way of riding, but I’ve done it before.
“Do you mind helping me up into the saddle?” I ask in a small voice.
“I would’ve thought a seasoned rider like you wouldn’t have any trouble mounting without a block.” He adopts a teasing tone as he adjusts the girth strap on Poseidon’s saddle.
“Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but the muscles in my lower back have tightened up,” I admit.
Art stops what he’s doing and narrows his eyes. There’s no need to tell him about my back injury. I’m sure it’s in my file. “How long has it been bothering you?”
“Since the chase with Eric.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He grimaces.
“Stubbornness? Pride?” I chuckle. “Actually, I didn’t start to notice it until after Eric left.”
“On a scale of one to ten pain wise, where are you at right now?”
“Four?”
“Do you think you can make it back? If not, we can call your groom to come out here.”
“I can manage,” I insist.
Art passes me Poseidon’s lead, then walks over to Sefton’s saddlebags and pulls out a small black pouch filled with medical supplies. Rummaging around, he locates a bottle of paracetamol. “Take two of these. Do you have a water bottle with you?”
“No.”
From Sefton’s other bag, he removes a metallic water bottle.
“You’re always prepared. The riding kit in the car, now the medical kit. Were you a Scout as a child?”
“I was.”
“I knew it.”
“But that’s not why I have all these supplies.”
“Oh?” I pop the lid and take the two pills as directed before returning the bottle to its rightful owner. “Thank you.”
“Not to be grim, but we’re warned when we’re doing our training to always be prepared for the worst-case scenario.
If we’re traveling outside the palace and will be gone for the day, I always have my riding kit, an emergency kit, clothing, and a few other items on hand that come with us just in case. ”
Reading between the lines, I think he probably means weapons and communication equipment. Papa’s and Eddie’s teams have an entire van that goes with them. This doesn’t surprise me too much.
“Does Angela keep a bag too?”
“Yeah, she does. She manages to fit everything in a small backpack. I don’t know how she does it.” He glances at his watch. “Those meds will likely take about ten to fifteen minutes to take effect. Would you rather wait, or can you ride? I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“I’d rather crack on and see to the horses.”
“You’re sure?” His hazel eyes bore into me, as if he’s attempting to read my mind.
“Uh-huh. All I need is a boost up to the saddle.”
Art walks over to my left side. “I have a fun fact for you,” I tell him. “Do you know why riders always mount from the left?”
He pauses and shakes his head. “I don’t. Why?”
“I learned from my brother that nobody mounts from the right because back in the cavalry days, soldiers used to keep their swords on their left hip. Mounting on the left ensured the sword wouldn’t get in the way.”
“Huh, interesting. I never knew that.”
“Now you do.” I take a moment to compose myself. “I’m ready now.” I allow the horses’ reins to drop from my hands for a moment.
“I’ll lift you on the count of three. One. Two. Three.” Practically one-handed, Art smoothly lifts me to his shoulder level. He doesn’t buckle under my weight or even make a grunt. He just does it as if lifting people is something he does every day.
“Thanks.” I swing my legs over the side and stabilize myself.
“You’re welcome.” Jumping off the ground, Art settles himself in Poseidon’s saddle. He pats the inside of the horse’s neck. “We’ll ride at a leisurely walk. If you need to take any breaks, I expect you to tell me.” He shoots me a knowing look. “I don’t want you suffering in silence.”
I mock salute him. “Yes, sir.”
He snorts. “There’s a heating pad you can sit on when we get to the car.”
“Thanks, but I may not need it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He’s probably right. I doubt I’ll be good for much for a day or two. My back is going to be sore for a while.
We settle into an easy, relaxed pace filled by the sound of the horses’ clip-clops. This is how I prefer to ride. “Art, how old are you?”
“Twenty-four. Why?”
“I’m just curious,” I say quickly.
“Most people think I look older than I am.”
“It’s the constant frowning and the beard. When you smile, you come across as younger.” I shimmy in my saddle.
“Doing all right?”
“Uh-huh. Trust me, this is nothing compared to when I first started back a few weeks ago.”
The frown has returned. “I remember reading the report. It was the coccyx you fractured?”
“Yes. My tailbone.” My voice becomes soft, and I avert my eyes from him. It feels strange and almost embarrassing to have such an intimate detail shared with a man who’s around me all the time, but I know the security office put it in there for my own safety.
“Have you looked into having an orthopedic saddle made up for you? It’s like a normal saddle, but the divot is supposed to help relieve some of the pressure from the injured areas.”
“I didn’t know that was an option.” I blink in surprise.
I’ve gotten used to the nagging, dull pain that radiates up and down my lower back every time I’m bumped up and down in the saddle.
Riding is one of the things that gives me the most joy in the world, and I’d never give it up.
But if there were a way to make it so my bum didn’t hurt . . . that would be a game changer.
“They are. One of the patients I worked with during my physical therapy module in Manchester had a similar injury to yours. I’ll see if I can find the details of it in my notes on my day off.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” My insides warm, as if I’d drunk a glass of mulled wine. I’d forgotten Art studied kinesiology at uni. “Did you ever consider going into PT instead of joining the police force in London?”
“Until my second year, yeah, I did.”
“What changed your mind?”
He takes a few long moments before answering. “Two reasons. I struggled with dealing with patients who didn’t want to listen.”
“I can see that.” I grin as I picture a student Art telling a patient exactly what was on his mind. He isn’t the type of person who would sugarcoat how someone is doing. “And the second reason?”
“I figured I could help people better as a policeman than a PT.”
I’ve confirmed it. Underneath the suit is a man with a big, squishy, teddy-bear heart. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.
“Thanks for sharing with me.”
He shrugs. A comfortable silence envelops us.
I use the time to sort through my thoughts and ensure I commit the image of Art in riding attire to memory.
Although the date with Eric ended so poorly, at least it wasn’t a total washout, and I got to spend a little time with Art getting to see what lies beneath the man who always keeps calm and carries on.