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 exploreoak 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.
