The Captain and the Best Man

by Catherine Curzon

  Easy-peasy.

  The old tree was a breeze to climb, with several low branches and thick bark that gave Rob purchase as he nimbly ascended the trunk. Once he was level with the cat, he sat astride the branch she had settled on and beckoned her.

  “Smudge? Hey there, madam. Would you mind climbing down now?”

  “Be careful!” Ollie called from where he had joined the lady with the dish. At the pub door drinkers gathered, watching the new firefighter save the day. The cat, meanwhile, began edging along the branch until she reached Rob. Then she nuzzled against him and let out a long, low purr.

  Rob waved down to his audience. “We’re okay!” He stroked Smudge, whispering assurances to her before slipping her into one of the large pockets of his peacoat. He made his way down carefully but jumped the last few feet and produced Smudge from his pocket, like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat. A cheer went up from the assembled drinkers as the cat nuzzled against his chin.

  The lady took the cat in her arms despite the dish, snuggling her close as she told Rob, “Thank you! She does this every time I won’t give her a sausage—she’s a terror!”

  Rob grinned. “We all like a sausage!”

  “Some of us more than others.” Ollie laughed. He patted Rob’s shoulder and asked, “Buy you a beer to say thanks?”

  “You don’t have to do that, really, I’m happy to help.” Rob was still grinning. “But go on then, I won’t say no! Back to the King’s Head?”

  Which, Rob realized, was a daft question, because as far as he was aware, it was Longley Magna’s only pub. And he had left a pint on the bar, and he couldn’t really have two since he was on bucket duty in an hour, but despite all of that, he wasn’t going to say no to the handsome man in the form-fitting jodhpurs.

  “What’re you drinking?” Ollie shepherded him through the drinkers who were on their way back into the pub, where the fire roared and the conversation hummed. He knew them all, Rob could see, with his companion receiving slaps on the back and cheery welcomes from what seemed like everyone. “Something fit for a hero?”

  Awkward, Rob shook his head. “No, I’m not a hero—just a reckless fool with no fear of heights!”

  He picked up his pint and was dismayed to see the spectacle of a pork scratching bobbing on the surface of his ale. “Wouldn’t mind a new one of these, Ollie, if there’s one going? A pint of the local ale without the garnish, please.”

  “One each of those, please, I’ve earned it today. Really put the saddle hours in!” Ollie beamed, slapping his hand down on the polished surface of the bar. “And a roast beef roll for me. Rob, anything to eat?”

  “Bag of crisps would be nice.” Saddle hours? Rob took in the jodhpurs again, and once more had to force himself to look somewhere else. Ollie’s face seemed like a safe bet, but it made him even more aware of how attractive the man was. “So you often go riding, do you?”

  “How else could he strut about in jodhpurs all day, every day?” The young woman behind the bar gave Ollie a cheeky wink before she pulled the pints. “What flavor’re you after? We’ve got all the boring ones.”

  “You ride every day?” Rob stared open-mouthed at Ollie. “Do you run a riding school or—oh, sorry.” He tried a winning smile at the woman who was serving them. “Boring old ready salted is fine, thanks.”

  “How many riding schools is it you’ve got now, Ollie?” She asked the question innocently enough, though Rob wondered if it was something that he was just expected to know. Village life could be like that, after all. “Is it more or less than you’ve got gold medals?”

  “Definitely more riding schools than gold medals.” Ollie laughed and passed over a handful of coins. He waved away the change and picked up his pint. “Shall we get a table?”

  “Yeah, a table would be nice.” And no jokes about helmets or hoses. Yet. “How did you win your medals, Ollie? I’ve got a one kilometer swimming badge, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s won a gold medal.”

  “Showjumping, in which I have occasional flashes of competence. They even made me captain of the team,” Ollie told him, leading Rob toward an empty table beside the hearth. Here he put down his pint and unzipped the waxed jacket to reveal a crisp dark blue shirt tucked into the—Don’t look at the jodhpurs. “I’m surprised to find a fireman who’s not at work on Bonfire Night, and I’m trying terribly hard not to make any childish jokes about poles and hoses.”

  “It was either come out for a drink or stay at home and polish my helmet.” Rob grinned and raised an eyebrow. At least that was one terrible joke out of the way. “I’m off duty, Captain Ollie, but I’ve got to scarper in a bit and shake my bucket around to raise some cash for charity.”

  “I’ll think of you while I’m noshing on hot dogs and waving my sparkler around.” Ollie laughed. “We’re having a bit of a firework display at home, barbecue and all that business. Shame you’ve got a gig, you would’ve been more than welcome to be my plus one since my plus one is now very definitely a minus!”

  “You’re better off without him.” The barmaid sniffed as she put down a plate in front of Ollie on which was an enormous bread roll stuffed with roast beef. Steam and the aroma of Sunday dinners rose from it, and Ollie gave a flamboyant rub of his hands. The barmaid leaned down to speak to Rob as though imparting a great secret. “We all said good riddance in here—he was a total arse.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Ollie.” Rob tore into his bag of crisps. He didn’t feel quite as bad now that his gaze kept traveling up and down Ollie’s firm legs. His gaydar was still functioning. What a relief. “I split up with my boyfriend a few months ago, and ditto, total arse.”

  “Well, there you go!” The barmaid laughed as she began to walk away, then called, “You look cute together to me! A captain and a fireman, I know a lot of girls who’d like that!”

  “So does that mean I’m finally not the only gay in this particular village?” Ollie laughed and asked, “Do you want to share my beef?”

  “You’ve certainly got plenty of beef there, Ollie! If you want to share, then I won’t say no.” Rob licked the salt from the crisps off his fingertips. “You are indeed no longer the only gay in Longley Magna.”

  “So, dig in and tell me all about your charity do. Lots of that goes on around here, usually arranged by flirty ladies of a certain age or old majors who like to have someone to bark at.” He cut the roll in half and edged Rob’s share across the plate. “Which are you stuck with tonight?”

  Rob nodded his thanks and helped himself to his half of the roll. “Some posh pillock in a big house who loves nothing better than bossing everyone around. I’ve spent the past month doing my best to help him—bloody hell, he’d try the patience of a saint!”

  He bit into the roll and tried to hide his surprise at just how good it was. Longley Magna, it seemed, wasn’t the sort of village to dish up dry, tough old fare.

  Ollie crossed his long legs at the ankle, his polished leather boots reflecting the firelight that glowed in the grate.

  “Well, on behalf of the village, I apologize. We do have some right old miseries in these parts. Has he been terribly difficult?”

  “We’ve all been laughing about it down the station.” Rob wagged his roll at Ollie as he did his best to reproduce the plummy bray of his nemesis. “Risk assessment, he said, I’ve got no need of a bally risk assessment! You didn’t see Wellington filling out a risk assessment! I did try to explain that the fire brigade and the Army are rather different, and that going into battle in 1815 isn’t quite the same as launching fireworks into the air above a village two hundred years later, but he wasn’t having it, and spoke at me as if I hadn’t the foggiest about fire safety. We’ve got buckets of sand on standby, Sonny Jim! He really did call me Sonny Jim—what a prat.”

  Ollie threw his head back and laughed, a booming, upper-class sound that perfectly suited the sort of man who performed mercy dashes while wearing a waxed jacket and polished riding boots. Then he joined Rob w
ith a slightly posher version of his own voice and said, “Now look here, sonny, when Pa landed his Spit on the croquet lawn just in time for tea, we didn’t fill in forms. Did Churchill fill in forms, Sonny Jim? Did he? Eh?”

  “Oh, God, that’s him to a T!” Rob sighed. “And there was me thinking I was heading for a quiet life when I moved here. I didn’t reckon with bossy toffs.”

  “Well, speaking as a fairly easy-going toff, I might be back here after the party breaks up.” Ollie took a sip from his glass and met Rob’s gaze. “Just so you know, in case you’ve got nothing planned after you put your bucket away.”

  Rob put the remains of the roll on the plate. If he wasn’t imagining things, Ollie’s invitation was a sort-of-date. Did Rob want to go there, after what had happened with—no, he wouldn’t spare his ex a moment’s thought. He’d come to Longley Magna for a new start, and if that meant drinking ale with a hot man in tight jodhpurs, then so be it.

  “As a matter of fact, I didn’t have anything planned. But I do now. So thank you.”

  “How the hell have I not seen you around the village?” Ollie asked. “When did you move in?”

  “Couple of months ago. My old aunt died back in the spring and left me her cottage. So when I’ve not been at work, I’ve been sprucing the place up. I have tried to mingle with the locals, but…” Rob met Ollie’s gaze again. “I think I’ve seen you about—heard hooves outside on the road and saw—” A magnificent figure on horseback. “A bloke on a horse.”

  “That’d be me!” Ollie beamed, though when he spoke again his voice was more measured. “People around here are a pretty friendly bunch but you know how villages can be. How are you settling in, apart from miserable old duffers and their charity buckets? Are the Magnans making you welcome?”

  “I don’t know the first thing about horses, but you look pretty impressive in the saddle to me.” Rob grinned, hoping that Ollie must’ve realized by now that he wasn’t indifferent to him. “The team up at the fire station are great, and the post office that doubles as a supermarket and general supplier of random things is amazing. Haven’t had much time to mingle, though. I was hoping this evening I might get to meet the locals—and I have. I’ve met you.”

  Rob raised his pint to Ollie. Ollie raised his and clinked it against Rob’s.

  “God bless Bonfire Night—it has its uses!”

  Rob shone what he hoped was his cheekiest smile. “There might even be fireworks before the night’s through, Captain.”

  “You are the village hero.” Ollie innocently popped the tip of his finger between his lips as he finished eating. “The only question is, do I change for our drink tonight or keep the joddies on?”

  Rob ran his hand through his short, neat hair. So Ollie had noticed the direction of Rob’s glance. It’s not as if he could’ve missed it. His voice huskier than he had intended, Rob replied, “I think you should leave them on. For our drink, at least.”

  Should he be flirting so outrageously like this with a man he’d only just met—even if he had seen him riding about the lanes, that tempting, firm bottom rising up and down in the saddle? If this all went arse over tit, Rob would be trapped in a village with a gorgeous but failed one-night stand.

  “I’ll leave them on for the drink,” Ollie promised, his dark eyes sparkling. “And we can see where we go from there.”

  Hot need shot to Rob’s groin and he tried to shift in his chair to disguise it. He wanted Ollie with a desire he hadn’t known for a long time. How tempting to pull him into his arms now and kiss him, and feel that magnificent arse under his hands. How he’d love to make Ollie grip the headboard of the bed and—

  “Is that the time?” Rob pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Sorry, Ollie, I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you back here later. Nine? Nine-thirty-ish?”

  “I’ll be here by half past,” Ollie told him. “Boots polished for the occasion, Officer—or whatever I should call a fireman when I’m not making jokes about poles.”

  “Station Manager Monteagle.” Rob clasped Ollie’s hand and drew close enough to whisper, “Just so you know, when you’re riding, your backside is…perfect.”

  “When you were climbing that tree in those jeans,” Ollie whispered in reply, “I forgot what day it was.”

  Rob didn’t move away. Whatever cologne Ollie was wearing, Rob was determined to memorize it so he could think of it while he stood about in the cold and dark, shaking a bucket for pennies.

  “Half-nine, then.” Rob let his lips just brush against Ollie’s skin as he let go of his hand. Did Ollie tremble, or was it Rob?

  Perhaps it was both of them.

  “See you then.” Ollie winked one mischievous eye. “Sonny Jim.”

  Rob laughed. As he left, more reluctantly than he wanted to admit, he waved Ollie goodbye.

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  About the Authors

  Catherine Curzon

  Catherine Curzon is a royal historian who writes on all matters of 18th century. Her work has been featured on many platforms and Catherine has also spoken at various venues including the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, and Dr Johnson’s House.

  Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.

  She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

  Eleanor Harkstead

  Eleanor Harkstead often dashes about in nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. She can occasionally be found wandering old graveyards, and is especially fond of the ones in Edinburgh. Eleanor is very fond of chocolate, wine, tweed waistcoats and nice pens. She has a large collection of vintage hats, and once played guitar in a band. Originally from the south-east, Eleanor now lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.

  Catherine and Eleanor love to hear from readers. You can find their contact information, website and author biographies at https://www.pride-publishing.com.