Chapter 10 Samantha
SAMANTHA
Wearing his now-washed and ironed white business shirt feels weird. It is too big but also a little sexy, like wearing your man’s shirt.
I have to go with it.
As I serve him breakfast the next morning, he crosses his legs a few times. I think he is hard and trying to cover himself. He even lays the newspaper over his crotch.
After the fussy grump heads upstairs to work again, I decide to go for another walk.
The storm has passed for now, and I change into my denim mini and other casual clothes.
Deciding to check on my car and the bridge section I had hit, I head out, feeling good. My thigh is getting better, and the weather is looking up again.
I find workers trying to fix the bridge, and we get talking. They are fun, playful, and lighter than the always serious grump.
As I walk away from them and around the chateau, I look up.
Grumpy is on his top floor and, as always, in his navy suit. Today, he doesn’t look grumpy. Today, he looks furious.
“Screw you,” I mumble, “I’ll flirt with who I like.”
I reach my car, check the ding in it, and clean out my road trip snacks. I then go for a walk in the trees, and it feels calming to have the sun on my skin.
After delivering Mr. Predictable his regular sandwich, I prepare and deliver him a new dish. It is Moroccan and smells amazing.
After cleaning up and hearing a bell, I go to collect the tray. All the food is gone, and there is a handwritten note.
Compliments to the chef. The oral surprise quenched my deep hunger.
As I wash up below, I shake my head.
Is he now messing with me? Or was it just playful phrasing or, like, say, media, advertising or movie speak?
Deciding to head outside into the sun again, I pull on a day pack and head off.
As I walk far from the chateau and around the lake, I think about my future.
I lost interest in doing cutting-edge high-pressure cuisine a little while back. At least for five-star restaurants and the high-flying. It was fun, but it was exhausting. Living in cities is now also less me.
I cooked for several singers and pop stars on tour back in the day. Also, for high-flying celebs.
My conclusion now: there is more to life. And doing something meaningful would also help my soul or spirit.
Mom never met her blood mother or father, and she was adopted. She later found out who they were, but they’d already passed. Her mom’s name was Jessie, and her husband was Andy.
Sadly, they’d been very young when they fell pregnant. They were freshly married and deeply in love, but they were traveling from Tennessee. They also had no money.
It was in Kansas that Mom had been presented to an orphanage.
Giving back to the modern equivalent of orphans in need and adoption agencies feels right.
I’ve been considering the idea for some time, and now, for some reason, it feels even more wise.
If I can help the VA, or veterans in need locations, I will also do that. Anyone who needs affordable nutrition.
Providing fine dining to spoilt celebs or people paying a hundred plus a meal has lost its appeal.
I hope it will make me feel connected to Jessie and Andy, too. I want that, and I have wanted to do something like this for some time. I just didn’t know how.
One of the original reasons for working for the old recluse in the countryside, even if he is not old but just hot, was to work out how to do it.
As I walk around the estate and think, nutrition, food costs, and meals churn through my mind. Also, my mad imagination. I am becoming more and more convinced that it is possible to create low-cost meals that are full of nutrition, full of vitamins, and full of minerals.
Creating energy and a kind of love for those in need would be sensational, and I’d be giving back.
Staying lakeside is calming, and with some luck and time, I would find a way. A way to make it work.
As I walk on, I notice fresh hoof prints in the soft grass. I don’t need a lot of time to wonder where the horses are because they find me.
I pet and talk to them, then they follow me along the lake.
There are two, including the gentle chestnut and the stunning-looking, colder black stallion.
At stables on the lake edge, I notice grooming gear. Figuring there is no harm, I start to brush and talk to the chestnut.
Suddenly, I hear movement and turn. I find Grumpy sweating, panting, and looking at me.
He is only wearing shorts and shoes, running gear. He does, however, look more angry than usual.
“Doing something wrong again?” I ask.
“Not at all, and I’m sure he’s happy for the attention.”
“It’s a he?”
“He is,” Harry says, running his hand along the horse’s flank. “Aren’t you, Charlie?”
“Who rides him?” I ask.
“No one, really,” Harry says, looking disturbed. “Charlie was my sister’s.”
I watch him closely. Did he say was?
“Do you ride much?” I ask, unsure if it’s cool to ask such a thing.
I didn’t mean anything, but Harry gives me a look. I know he’s sharp and fast with word play and banter, but it’s likely wise to clarify. “Oh, I didn’t mean the sex bit.”
“Once every now and then,” he says, his voice deep. “But I ride horses once a week.”
There is a loaded silence, then he turns from Charlie to me. “You?” I shake my head.
“You can’t ride?”
“I can ride, as you know, but not four-legged creatures.”
OMG. I am such a loser.
Harry walks away, and then he says, “Come.”
“What?” I ask, confused as I put my hands on my hips.
“Follow me,” he commands, heading away.
After walking around the lake and back to the chateau, we find William working with an older woman. They are trimming the many yellow roses surrounding the chateau, gardens, tennis courts, and garage.
As we walk past the tennis court, the woman places long, perfect rose stems in a vase for the home. The yellow roses and supporting white lilies look gorgeous.
“Ahh, William, could you do me a favor?”
“But of course.”
“Please find Samantha some riding clothes. Perhaps old family. I’m about to show her how to ride.”
“Splendid.”
Harry then heads inside without a word. I do a three-sixty, not knowing how, when, and where.
I explore oak chests full of classy riding gear. I’m now in a six-car garage, with a few old sports cars and classics I’ve not seen before. There is even an old Rolls Royce in the corner.
I contemplate the options and settle on the long black polished boots, white jodhpurs, and a red scarf.
I then find an old woolen sweater that looks like some vintage Ralph Lauren number. I feel stylish, but I also feel nervous. Nervous as heck.
As I wonder what will happen next, Harry strides back in. He is wearing long, polished black boots, like me.
Black padded jodhpurs stretch around his butt and powerful legs.
A tight black polo shirt wraps around his perfect chest and eight-pack. Ray-Bans fill out his tanned face and aristocratic jaw. As he smiles with his perfect white teeth, I raise a brow.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say as he heads away.
I run to catch up across the perfectly manicured grass, and we finally make it back to the stables. Harry is fast and efficient as he places a bridle and saddle on Charlie.
As I wait, I notice photos of Harry playing polo on the walls. Some with him holding large trophies. Another with his sister, who looks like a show jumper with Charlie.
His sister is beautiful, and she looks confident and determined. Also gentle, unlike him.
There are other photos of her riding Charlie and jumping high in what look like near-Olympic-level competitions.
Harry places black leather gear on the other large horse.
The striking and cold black stallion snorts. He is full of energy, and almost scary. Like Harry on our first night at times.
His masculine edge is powerful. His energy strong. He is clearly all male, like Harry.
“Please, just be gentle,” I say, my stomach churning.
Harry looks over, and I blush. “I don’t do gentle.”
He said it partly to himself, and he said it low. It confuses me, but it’s hot. I bite my lip and check Harry out as he prepares to ride. Ride the brute.
He is now wrapping black-gloved hands around the black horse’s mane and neck.
His black clothes are form-fitting, he really does have a perfect body. There is just one major problem.
He is far too arrogant.
Far too grumpy and…
Far too perfect.
Just as I start to calm myself, Harry pulls a slim black riding crop from a rack. He whacks the side of the wall, and I jump.
“Samantha, riding is a sport of discipline and control.” My heart pounds, and I gulp. I clench a fist at my side. What the fuck? “The sooner you understand that, the better.”
He walks closer to me, and I look down.
“I think you have a problem with control.”
As he walks around me, I gulp again. I then look up and stare back at him. Now, I have hatred in my eyes.
That son of a bitch.
Just when I’m about to unleash my pent-up fury and leap on him to fight, he raises a brow.
“Now, climb on.”
My lip curls up a bit, and so does his.
The bastard!
Harry spins the chestnut on the spot, almost knocking me over. I yelp and move aside, then he offers a strong black leather-clad hand. I take it.
I start to realize he’s trying to keep me off balance. I make a mental note to watch him. Closely. Really closely
“What, no lessons or talk?”
“Talk is cheap,” he growls. “Always, this. Mount first. Discussions come after.”
What the F.
“Mount,” he commands me firmly. I pause. “Mount, then I will talk you through it. Do as you are told.”
Nervously, I let one of his hands guide my black leather boot into the stirrup. It is hot, but I am nervous. Nervous as hell.
His other hand helps me up, and I mount his large, powerful chestnut. Breathing deep, I force myself to calm and do it fast.
Charlie seems gentle, unlike Harry, and I pat his side. “Please, be nice.”
Without warning, Harry flips onto the big black horse. He does it like an athlete or a warrior. Confident, commanding, and sure.
The large black horse snorts and leaps about like a warhorse. He is almost wild, but Harry holds him tight and controls him with ease.
“Steady, Night, steady, boy.”
Harry’s horse jumps about and scares me. My heart pounds until, finally, Harry gets him in line.
He then takes Charlie’s reins from me and leads us out of the stables.
As he brings me up next to him, we ride slowly side by side. Gradually, I get used to the rocking, and my heart rate slows.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”
I look over, and Harry has a wicked grin. I do not trust him at all. No f-ing way.
“It’s important you learn to ride, Samantha. And from someone who knows what they are doing.”
I watch him closely… My radar on.
“You do want that, don’t you?”
I blush, then mumble extra low, “Smug bastard.”
I make a mental note that, one day, I will punish him. Punish him for playing with my mind. And punish him for playing with my body.