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‘Unlikely,’ she replied.
‘It could happen. And if it did, would we drop regulars who’d likely take their business elsewhere? Would we be happy to employ another riding teacher who we don’t know all that well, who we would have to rely on to uphold our reputation?’
She put her head in her hands. ‘I want to, Arnold.’
Her brother had picked up the bottle of wine from the side and was pouring himself a glass. ‘Put a timeline on it, then. Set a date when you’ll be back, and in between now and then, get some help.’
He’d left it at that and had taken his glass of wine into the other room, leaving Hazel feeling wretched that they were having words about it more and more these days.
Now, before she reached the office, Hazel set down all her things so she could give Tabitha a fuss. The cat had found a patch in the sun around the back of the stables. In the winter, she was more likely to curl up on the end of Hazel’s bed during the night but in the summer, like everyone else, she liked to make the most of the outside. And Heritage View Stables and House were a great place for a cat, she’d chosen well, with so much room to roam and all the attention from visiting riders, as well as Hazel and Arnold.
Hazel gave Tabitha one more rub beneath her chin as the cat, eyes closed, tilted her face towards the sunshine. With a gentle breeze flapping the sleeves of her T-shirt, Hazel picked up her things and let herself into the office. She put the folder back at the end of the desk where it always sat – it held details of riders in every lesson, their emergency contact details you hoped you never had to use, a little bit about them sometimes. Some kids were more suited to different horses, some didn’t mind the livelier equines, others would only cope with a more placid animal. At least Abigail would ride Denby, her own horse, so perhaps that would make it easier.
But no, thinking that way, Hazel still couldn’t do it. She couldn’t hold the responsibility of a kid in her hands, she just couldn’t. And worse, if things didn’t go Abigail’s way in a lesson, if Gus didn’t like the way she was teaching, she did not want to be on the receiving end of another parent’s anger. She’d heard him roar before too, she remembered it well after the art class, and although she’d quite enjoyed his company when she’d met him here at the stables and had even begun to like him, she wasn’t prepared to take the chance.
Thoughts of Gus had Hazel sneaking a look at Lucy’s drawing of him and she felt her cheeks colour, even though she was on her own. His temper was nowhere to be seen on this sheet of paper, he was just a beautiful man, an attractive male around her age who was only looking to do the best by his daughter. And she hated that she couldn’t help him do that. Because Arnold was right; he had no room to fit Abigail into his current schedule. He was also right that if something happened to him, they’d be in trouble. They’d lose money faster than a bucket with a hole would lose water if they didn’t run many lessons. And finding a teacher last minute was never desirable. It wasn’t something to rush, the right fit was too important.
But now, she reminded herself, it was a Saturday morning. She took a deep breath as she slipped the drawing back inside her notebook and slotted it onto the shelf. It was her morning, time for just her. Everything else she’d worry about later.
She collected Cinnamon’s tack and set it on the hooks and racks outside the stable block before she went to collect her horse from the paddock where he’d been grazing, moving about a bit after a night in the stable. ‘You ready for a ride? The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful day.’ She pulled a small bag from her pocket and took out a few slices of pear as a treat and when she held it flat in her hand, his lips tickled her palm.
The treat finished, Hazel led Cinnamon over towards the stable block and secured his halter so he didn’t wander off. She cleaned his hooves, gave his coat a brush all the way down his neck and shoulders, across his back and buttocks, making sure there was no dirt caught anywhere, particularly in the area where the saddle pad would go. Brushing him also gave her a chance to make sure he wasn’t sore anywhere and it had the added bonus of warming up his muscles. Once her horse was brushed, she reached up to position the saddle pad with its top towards the withers. The stirrups were rolled up on the saddle as she put that on Cinnamon’s back and adjusted it to sit properly before fitting the girth and taking the strap under his belly to the other side to buckle up and keep the saddle in place. She fussed him around the ears and the top of his face, the way he liked it.
Cinnamon had a habit of putting his head up whenever she tried to put the bridle on. He didn’t always do it with the halter, especially when it was turnout time, but it was as though, when he knew he was going to be ridden, he liked to play this game. She managed to get the top of the bridle over his ears with a little bit of pressure, the bit slotted comfortably into his mouth and he gave her the same amused look he usually gave her to say he was unimpressed that she’d won without too much trouble. ‘You’re a funny old thing,’ she told him, ‘but I love you.’ She pulled out his forelock from beneath the browband and double-checked all the straps were comfortable for him.
‘Almost ready,’ she told her horse as she shrugged on her body protector and hi-vis, put on her hat and fastened the chin strap before waving across to Arnold and the stable hand to say she was off. She called out that she’d be back in plenty of time for Denby, then mounted up and rode away from the stables and towards the gates that led onto the lane. Before long, the familiar rhythm of hooves tapped against the tarmac as they followed their familiar Saturday morning route and the slower pace let Cinnamon warm his muscles and get his joints moving some more.
Hazel was pleased the weather seemed to be cooperating this morning as the sun barely ducked behind a single cloud. The lanes leading towards Heritage View were reasonably quiet today, which made it a far more pleasant ride and any cars that did pass, as well as a tractor, were considerate and gave them a wide berth with no tooting of horns. When Hazel had first got Cinnamon, the horn tooting had been his pet hate – most horses didn’t like it, but Cinnamon really loathed it, and whenever it happened, he would take longer than some of the other horses to settle. He’d got better, but she still dreaded it happening. Hazel had once tried to get James into horse riding but when the horse he was on didn’t cope too well with a car that passed way too close, he’d told her he’d rather stick to cycling because bikes didn’t have feelings, they didn’t spook.
Hazel reached the end of the lane that led up to the main road and turned left from The Street and around the bend past the Heritage Inn. The owners, Giles and Tracy, were outside washing the front windows and called out their hellos and summation of the morning. A little way further, Hazel and Cinnamon crossed over and came to a gate that would take them away from the roads and alongside stunning country landscapes with arable land and pasture. She dismounted and opened up the big gate, led Cinnamon through and closed it behind them before mounting up again, ready for the bridleways and wide spaces that they both favoured. In the spring, this area welcomed you with a breath-taking display of bluebells, but for now, it was green as far as the eye could see. Animals grazed in the distance and Hazel swatted a fly that insisted on buzzing near her face. A tractor went up a slope, the country house that stood on the brow of the hill overlooked them all, and a squirrel darted across, scurrying out of the way of the horse’s hooves as Cinnamon plodded happily on.
Riding in a group along this way was always fun, the company was nice, but there was something about being only you and your horse with nothing but nature for company that was particularly special and calmed the soul. Cinnamon trotted along the bridleway then slowed as they came to another gate that crossed another path. Through that one, and they had plenty of space to break into a gentle canter.
They soon adopted a more leisurely pace, the trees to one side providing patches of shade that Hazel welcomed. There was a path, just wide enough for a couple of people side by side, that led to The Street in Heritage Cove, another path that headed up to the country house she’d seen as they rode past, and one that went straight on and would eventually curve around to take the widest route back towards the village.
Hazel and Cinnamon carried straight on and slowed as they saw dog walkers in the distance. With a pat to her horse’s neck and some encouraging words, they both simply enjoyed the freedom, the release, being out here today.
She hadn’t realised at first, but the dog walkers were village locals, Melissa and Harvey, who had married last Christmas up at the local Christmas tree farm. Winnie, their Labrador, was off the lead with nobody else around, but seeing Hazel, Melissa called Winnie to her, and she obediently sat as they came to a stop. The dog’s tail wagged on the ground as she looked up at Cinnamon. Cinnamon seemed mildly curious, his ears twitching this way and that at the different sounds of the new voices, looking interestedly at the dog who, looked back at him with similar scrutiny.
‘Gorgeous morning,’ Melissa smiled, her arm linked in Harvey’s, her other hand on Winnie’s head, probably to make sure she didn’t get any ideas about annoying Cinnamon. ‘We’ll let you both pass, or Winnie here might decide she wants to try playing with Cinnamon.’
‘Thank you, I’m not sure Cinnamon here would be in the mood for a game.’ Sometimes random dogs weren’t on the lead when she was out on a ride and came over to Cinnamon, thinking he would appreciate it. Most of the time, Cinnamon probably thought it was a case of him being the bigger one, nothing to worry about here, but sometimes dogs could be a nuisance and he’d get annoyed. Owners weren’t always considerate either, uttering phrases such asoh, he’s only playing,oh, he’s fine,he’s gentle,but most of the time they were like Harvey and Melissa and had an ounce of common sense. ‘I don’t usually see you two out on a Saturday morning, you picked a good day for it.’
‘We’re getting out while we can,’ said Harvey. ‘Another busy renovation job starting later today.’
With a hint of amusement in her voice, Melissa changed topic entirely. ‘I heard about the art class.’
Hazel felt her cheeks colour. ‘I had no idea what Lucy was getting me into.’
Harvey clearly didn’t know about it at all and so Melissa gave a brief summary. ‘We’re trying to get Hazel to think of pleasure as well as business,’ she added after her explanation. ‘I suggested speed dating to Lucy, but she said that was ridiculous and you’d never go for it.’
‘You’re right, I wouldn’t.’
‘That sounds like hell,’ Harvey told Hazel in support, Winnie at his feet now demanding he pay her some attention like Hazel was doing with Cinnamon as they talked, rubbing her horse’s neck to compliment him on his patience.
‘I thought Lucy would come up with something dull,’ Melissa admitted, ‘and I thought I was right when she said she was taking you to an art class.’
It certainly hadn’t been dull, Hazel mused.
