Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage by Cathy Woodman Page B

sense of closing in on their prey. ‘He’s rather gorgeous, isn’t he?’
    â€˜I hadn’t really noticed,’ I mumble. ‘Come on, you can’t be the only unmarried – or married, for that matter – woman who isn’t swooning at his feet. A handsome stuntman galloping around the countryside in tight breeches – what’s not to like?’
    Indeed, I think to myself. I just wish I knew how he saw me: as a girl or one of the lads?
    â€˜I’d better go. Mel and Ash are waiting in the car. Have fun.’
    I say goodbye to Louise and grab some breakfast before doing my make-up, adding lip-liner and matte pink lipstick to show Robbie that I can do feminine. I select a pale blue V-necked T-shirt to reveal some cleavage, and close-fitting off-white jodhs that emphasise the length of my legs. On my way outside, I pull on a pair of long black leather boots to complete the look. They’re a little tight around my calves, but today I choose style above comfort.
    When I bring Rafa up from the paddock and pick out his feet, I notice that he’s due for shoeing soon. I brush him, tease out the knots from his mane and tail, and tack him up. Hearing the sound of a horse’s hooves coming up the lane, I put on my hat, tighten the girth, and lead him across to an upturned bucket where I spring into the saddle.
    â€˜Hi,’ Robbie calls from the gateway. ‘Your escort awaits.’
    â€˜I’m ready,’ I call back. I slip my feet into the stirrups and collect up the reins as Rafa moves away, keen to meet up with a fellow equine. I’d prefer him to have the company of other horses all the time, but I can’t afford to turn down free livery. He whickers at Nelson, but Nelson doesn’t take any notice.
    â€˜Not surprisingly, my horse is more interested in female company.’ Robbie smiles as he fiddles with the lead rope that’s tied around Nelson’s neck – for emergencies, I assume. ‘Like me,’ he adds, but I think he’s talking generically, not referring to me. ‘How are you?’
    â€˜I’m well, thanks. How about you?’ I’m not sure what to say, whether we’ll have enough topics in common to continue a conversation, or whether we’ll ride along in silence.
    â€˜It’s been an okay few days.’ He turns to whistle at the wolfhounds, who are dawdling with their noses in the hedge, before we ride down the lane, side by side. He’s wearing jeans today, short boots, and another flowing shirt with ruffles down the front and ripped sleeves.
    â€˜What’s with the shirt?’ I ask. ‘I thought it was a costume for your stunts.’
    â€˜It was the only clean top I could find. I haven’t got round to doing the washing.’
    I smile at the idea of a dashing stuntman doing something as ordinary as the laundry, but Robbie seems subdued, as if he’s preoccupied. I wonder why? Is it the TV contract? Is it something to do with Maisie, or his love life? I don’t feel that I know him well enough to ask.
    As we approach the pigs’ field, Rafa starts to snort and skitter across the lane. Robbie moves to the inside and I keep pushing forwards, and we’re past the gate before he knows it.
    â€˜He’s a quick learner,’ Robbie observes. ‘Now that we’re heading towards the river, do you fancy taking the horses for that swim?’
    I hesitate.
    His eyes crease at the corners. ‘Don’t tell me he won’t go into water.’
    â€˜I used to ride him in the stream back on the farm, and we’ve done water jumps before.’
    â€˜What’s the problem then?’
    â€˜Won’t we get wet?’ I glance down at my clothes, my best jodhs and leather boots.
    â€˜Well, it does seem likely.’ His tone is lightly sarcastic. ‘I always leave my saddle and boots on the bank. If you don’t want to swim, you don’t have to, but the