The Riding Master
By
Alexandrea Weis
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WCP
World Castle Publishing, LLC
Pensacola, Florida
Copyright © Alexandrea Weis 2014
Print ISBN: 9781629890821
eBook ISBN: 9781629890838
First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, April 26, 2014
http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com
Licensing Notes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
Cover: Book Fabulous Designs
Editor: Maxine Bringenberg
Chapter 1
The golden dust from the fresh hay tickled Rayne Greer’s nose as she tossed two flakes into the feeder at the back of the stall. Wiping the itchy remnants from her arms, she turned her attention to the tall thoroughbred nudging up beside her. The slender bay gently pushed her to the side, anxious to tear into the yellow strands dangling from the heavy metal feeder. She patted the gelding’s thick neck and let her fingers luxuriate over his silky coat. Ever since Rayne was little, she had loved the feel of a horse. Their powerful muscles bulging beneath that soft covering of fur had never ceased to fascinate her.
Closing her eyes, Rayne drank in the sweet aroma of the hay blended with the earthy scent of wood shavings and the slightly musky essence of horse. Every now and then hints of the freshly cut grass in the paddocks beyond the barn would filter into the stall on the back of a gentle September breeze.
“Isn’t that the best smell on earth, Bob?”
“I can’t believe you call that horse ‘Bob,’” a gruff voice intruded.
Opening her eyes, Rayne frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”
“People are named Bob, not horses,” a brassy blonde clarified from the stall door.
Round, middle-aged, and wearing beige riding pants along with custom-made riding boots, the woman’s long, tanned face was careworn, but wrinkle free.
“He’s a Bob, Rebecca,” Rayne contended. “Solid, dependable, easy-going, and kind. All Bob-traits.”
Rebecca rolled her discerning brown eyes. “Hardly Bob-traits. My last ex was named Bob, and he was a sneaky, conniving, cheating, dishonest bastard.”
Rayne ducked beneath the single chain hanging across the stall entrance. “You said the same thing about your first two ex-husbands.”
“At least they paid their share in the divorce settlement. Bob still hasn’t.”
Rayne looked down the shady shed row toward the barn entrance. “Wasn’t he the one who bought you this stable and the surrounding land?”
“He sure did,” Rebecca admitted with a perturbed snort. “But he never coughed up any cash for me to run it after he ran off with his podiatrist.”
“Ex-husbands aren’t meant to pay for everything, Rebecca.”
“Where is that written in stone?” Rebecca pointed an accusatory finger at Rayne. “Just because you didn’t milk yours for a hefty settlement doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t. And why you didn’t take more out of Foster Greer’s hide I’ll never know. Man’s loaded, what with that big lab company he owns. You should have at least fought to get more from him. That way you wouldn’t have had to go back to work after the divorce.”
“I got enough,” Rayne maintained. “Anyway, I like working.”
“Nobody likes working, sweetie.” Rebecca paused and examined Rayne’s slim figure. “You could still get remarried, you know? You have everything a man could want: a smashing figure, the creamy complexion of a cover girl, carved cheekbones a sculptor would envy, gorgeous hazel eyes, and tits that women like me pay plastic surgeons to build.”
Rayne reflexively folded her arms over her loose-fitting T-shirt. Ever since puberty she had been extremely self-conscious about her breasts, feeling it was all anyone ever noticed.
Rebecca lowered Rayne’s arms to her side. “You’ve got to show them off, girl. Let them enter the room before you do.” She waved her hand over her ample bosom. “Took two boob jobs to get me here, but you got it for free.” She then fingered a strand of frizzy, honey-blonde hair that had fallen from Rayne’s ponytail. “You just need to get rid of this mousy color though. Go big blonde, like me.” She patted her stiff, perfectly styled coif. “Men prefer bold blondes.”
Rayne tucked her hair behind her ear, amused by Rebecca’s idea of what men idealized. “I’m not interested in getting married again. I have enough money to keep me riding, keep my house, my car, and whatever else I want. What else do I need?”
“A man in your bed, silly.” Rebecca cocked a blonde-tinted eyebrow at Rayne. “When was the last time you got laid?”
Rayne’s eyes dropped to the shaving-covered ground as the blush rose on her cheeks. Sometimes she wished Rebecca wasn’t so outspoken.
“That long, eh?” Rebecca clucked. “Sex isn’t something to be embarrassed about, Rayne. You need a man to turn you on, not turn you off like Foster did.”
Rayne gaped at her friend. “Foster did not turn me—”
Rebecca raised her hand, cutting her off. “Of course he did. You wouldn’t be red if he had turned you on. You would also be a lot more comfortable talking about sex. But I get it. I’m sure what he lacked in the bedroom, he made up for with gifts.” She motioned to Rayne’s bay thoroughbred. “Like Bob there.”
Rayne peered into the stall. “Foster knew how much I loved horses. He was just trying to make me happy.”
“And screwing that twenty-two year old waitress? Did that make you happy?”
Rayne shuddered as a rash of bad memories inundated her. “Why do you always bring that up, Rebecca?”
“Because you never talk about it. It’s been six months since you signed the divorce papers, Rayne, and all you do is go to work; every other minute of your time you spend here, communing with Bob. It’s not healthy for a woman with your looks.”
“My looks?” Rayne softly snickered. “You need to stop worrying about me. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Far from it.” Rebecca edged closer, scrutinizing Rayne’s hazel eyes. “Sometimes I get the distinct impression you haven’t quite wrapped your head around the fact that it’s over with Foster. It’s like you’re waiting for him to come back.”
“I’m not waiting for him to come back. I don’t want him back. I just want him to…forget it.” Rayne’s hand sliced across the air, signaling the discussion was over.
“No, I get it. You want him to admit that he was wrong to leave, don’t you?” Rebecca lifted the corners of her small, pink-painted mouth. “I know how you feel, Rayne. I’ve been there. After my first divorce, from Vincent, I desperately wanted to hear the same thing, but it never happened.” Rebecca hooked her arm. “I think I have just the thing for you. Come with me.”
Despite Rayne’s protests, they started down the aisle toward the doublewide doors at the stable’s entrance. As they stepped into the bright Texas sun, Rebecca pulled a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses from the front pocket of her jodhpurs. Easing the sunglasses over her eyes, Rebecca waved ahead to a red-railed riding ring. “I’ve got a new riding master starting today. He’s teaching the adult beginners class right now.” Crunching noises erupted around them as they ambled through a white-shelled parking lot toward the ring. “He’s got a lot of experience, has ridden for quite a few big name stables, and used to show the Lone Star Cir
cuit. Plus, he’s real easy on the eyes,” Rebecca continued.
Rayne came to an abrupt stop, kicking up a few of the shells with her riding boots. “I don’t think I like where this is heading.”
“You’re gonna love him,” Rebecca insisted with a tug on Rayne’s arm.
“Oh God, Rebecca, please tell me you’re not setting me up.”
“No, not setting up, per se. Perhaps just giving you a taste of what is out there. He’s thirty-four, never been married, owns a consulting firm that works in the oil and gas business, drives a nice BMW, and loves horses.” Rebecca flashed a toothsome smile. “See how much you two already have in common?”
“I don’t drive a BMW,” Rayne scoffed.
Rebecca dragged her closer to the riding ring. “Not to worry; you can drive his.”
Beyond the railing, a small group of riders atop horses of varying shapes and colors were decked out in new black boots and lined up in front of the dominating figure of a man wearing faded blue jeans and a dark T-shirt. His face was obscured by the myriad of flicking horsetails in front of him, but every now and then Rayne caught a glimpse of his sinewy, strong arms and long, lean legs. When he waved a tanned arm to the railing, the sunlight scintillated on his stainless watch, making Rayne’s insides unexpectedly quiver. She could barely make out the rumbling of his deep voice from the center of the ring as he addressed his riders, but the little she could hear sounded very seductive.
“His name is Trent Newbury,” Rebecca began. “He was the riding master at Shelby Stables in Denton, but left because he was looking for a place in Copper Canyon closer to his house in Lewisville. Lisa Shelby, the owner of Shelby Stables, told me he was a damn fine riding master and hated to let him go.” Rebecca grunted, sounding more like a man than a woman. “She was also lying through her teeth, but never told me the real reason for the split.”
“You suspect there was a problem at Shelby?”
“You know me, Rayne…if the pope came to dinner, I’d suspect him of stealing the silverware. But I hired him because I really need the help. He’s going to oversee you and the other instructors, manage the class schedules, organize the horse show arrangements, and deal with the continuous stream of phone calls I get looking for information on lessons. That will free up my time to take care of the other problems around the stables.”
Rayne’s eyes swerved to the man in the center of the ring as the riders set out for the railing. Even though his eyes were covered with dark sunglasses, she could still make out his thin, cruel lips, square jaw, slightly crooked nose, and black, wavy hair.
“Not bad, huh? Wait until you see his ass,” Rebecca commented with a tweak of hope in her voice.
“Rebecca, how do you know he’s not gay? Most men in this business are.”
“Not this one.”
“But how can you be so sure?” Rayne persisted.
“Because I asked him. I wanted to know up front before the rumor mill started.”
“Then why don’t you take him?” Rayne suggested, half-laughing.
“I’ve got Murray, and I don’t need another complication in my life.” Rebecca pointed at Rayne. “But you do.”
Rayne bit down on her lower lip. “He wouldn’t be interested in me.”
“Oh, there she goes again.” Rebecca removed her sunglasses. “Honestly, Rayne, when are you going to get over this? You’re an interesting, attractive, vibrant woman with a lot to offer. Stop selling yourself short.”
Rayne glimpsed the man in the center of the ring. “I think he’s more Selene’s type. You know, the attractive playboy kind.”
The handsome instructor shouted to the students in the class to take their horses to a slow trot.
“He’s too smart for her,” Rebecca objected. “He would see through Selene’s bullshit from a mile away.”
“Has he met Selene?”
“Not yet.” Rebecca’s heavy sigh lingered in the air. “I was hoping to build up my strength for that confrontation. She’ll be livid that I hired Trent and not her for the riding master position.” Rebecca replaced her sunglasses over her eyes. “The main reason I hired Trent is to handle Selene. I’ve been getting more and more complaints from the students in her dressage class about her behavior and her language. She’s been trying my patience for a while now. I can put up with a lot, but that woman has pushed me to my limits.”
Rayne kicked at a few shells on the ground. “You plan on telling her to go?”
“Not exactly. Selene’s ex, Judge Kendrick, likes to keep tabs on his former wife’s activities. If she misbehaves, he wants to hear about it, so he can use the information to cut back her hefty monthly alimony.”
“How would you know about that?” Rayne questioned with a curious tilt of her head.
“Just like your ex pays for Bob, Judge Kendrick pays for that gargantuan beast Selene rides. I’ve had to call him a few times to remind him when he forgot to pay the bill, and we’ve become quite friendly. Imagine if I told old Judge Kendrick that I wanted his wife and her pseudo-horse out of my barn. He’d ask a lot of questions,” Rebecca grinned, “and I would be compelled to answer them.”
“Watch your back, Rebecca. Selene is one vengeful bitch.”
Rebecca inched away from the railing. “Don’t worry about me, sugarplum. I’ve tangled with the likes of Selene Kendrick for years, and I’ve always came out smelling like a rose.” She nodded her head to the man in the center of the ring. “You just worry about getting your life in order.”
“Forget it, Rebecca. I’m not interested.” Rayne abruptly turned toward the barn.
“At least try and be open to new possibilities,” Rebecca shouted behind her.
Rayne ignored her friend and hurried to the shade of the barn, anxious to get back to Bob. But nearing the doors of the stable, something made her glance back at the new riding master. A warm sensation stirred in her belly as he purposefully strode around the ring, kicking up dirt as he went. Rayne shook off the notion of getting to know the man. At this point in her life she was convinced men were a waste of time, because in the end they never stayed when things got bad. Being “open to new possibilities,” as Rebecca had suggested, was a sure fire way to get hurt, and Rayne had vowed no man would ever hurt her again.
***
It was early evening when Rayne returned to the barn after taking Bob on a long trail ride across the hilly terrain surrounding Southland Stables. She was heading to her tack room with Bob following dutifully behind her when she saw a figure coming down the shed row wearing sunglasses.
His swagger was the first thing that stood out in her mind. The sway of his hips exuded a ruthless overconfidence, but as her eyes traveled up from the curve of his blue jeans to his wide chest and thick, tanned arms, her temperature began to quickly climb. When she was within a few feet of him, his thin lips twisted into a devilish smile, almost a teasing smirk that Rayne found more offensive than alluring.
What an asshole, she thought as he drew near.
She curiously studied the square curve of his jaw and his slightly bent nose. His hair was thick, wavy, almost black, and was in need of a good trim. His sunken cheekbones accentuated the tan on his face, while his high brow was etched with a few worry lines that complimented instead of detracted from his appearance. When he lowered his sunglasses, she noted the way his riveting gray eyes drank in her figure.
Rayne concluded that she could never be interested in such an obvious man. She was used to men ogling her buxom figure; her ex-husband used to do it all the time when they had first started dating. But what was exciting in her twenties, she now found repugnant in her thirties, making her wonder if all the real gentlemen had gone the way of the dodo bird.
“You’re Rayne Greer, right?” His voice was a lot smoother than when he had been shouting at his students. Tinged with a lustful, smoky quality that many women would have found alluring, Rayne felt her uneasiness with the man begin to gnaw at her.
Ignoring his engaging eyes, she gathe
red up Bob’s reins. “Yes, I’m Rayne Greer,” she flatly stated, deciding to play it cool.
He held out a thick hand to her. “Trent Newbury, the new riding master for Southland Stables. Rebecca Harmon told me about you. She said you were great with kids.”
When Bob rubbed his head against her back, eager to move on, Rayne turned away from his outstretched hand to the horse beside her. “Yes, I teach the under twelve and beginners groups for Rebecca on the weekends.”
He lowered his hand to his side, unaffected by her snub. “Rebecca told me you showed a lot of potential.” He eyed the slender dark bay thoroughbred. “Is this your mount?”
“Yes, he’s a racetrack rescue Rebecca sold me a year ago.” Rayne rubbed Bob’s long neck. “Where’s your horse?”
“Don’t have one right now. I just sold my mare a few weeks back.” He took a step closer to her, making Bob give a short snort of surprise. “He’s high spirited,” Trent remarked, giving Bob’s neck a pat.
“Careful,” Rayne warned. “He doesn’t like strangers, especially men.”
Bob turned his head and tried to nip at Trent’s arm.
Trent chuckled. “Where did he learn that trick, from you?”
“No.” She shifted uneasily on her feet, uncomfortable with the close proximity of the man. “He was abused by jockeys and trainers when he raced on the track. No man could get near him when Rebecca first bought him. I started working with him in hopes of turning him into a schooling horse. After a time, I opted to buy him…or my ex bought him for me.” She noticed the way Bob seemed to calm as Trent’s powerful hand glided over his back.
“Ex?” Trent’s sharp eyes returned to Rayne. “You’re divorced.”
Rayne was surprised by the way his slight smile instantly warmed his unsettling features. All of his cocky assurance disappeared and he seemed almost genuine.
“You have the most intriguing eyes,” he murmured, staring at her. “There are flecks of gold amid the hazel in them.”
Rayne’s toes curled in her black riding boots. “I, ah….” She diverted her eyes to Bob. “I’m surprised he’s letting you get that close.”
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