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Chapter Two
Regan was up at six-thirty the following morning, as was his habit. He had the waiver forms ready for his new student, and as he scrambled his eggs and brewed his morning coffee, wondered about the pretty blonde he had met the day before. Maybe it was the dazzling smile that lit her whole face up with a pink blush. Or the pretty blue eyes that twinkled at him. There was definitely something about her that intrigued him. Whistling, he headed down to the stables to start his daily routine. The horses were waiting for him and their breakfast, and he spoke softly to each as he made his way around the stable. The scent of fresh hay enveloped him as moved from stall to stall. As he neared the tack room, he could smell saddle soap. He had never been able to understand how some people just couldn’t appreciate it. Right ahead of nine o’clock, Ayla parked her navy blue Civic and got out, looking around. She didn’t really dislike horses, but there was something very intimidating about them. Of course, with an instructor like Bill Regan, she had a feeling she’d learn plenty. And there were a couple things she wouldn’t mind teaching him, remembering the broad shoulders and very capable looking arms. "Ok, here I am!" Ayla bounded into Regan's office. Regan sipped his coffee and studied her. At least she had listened to him on the clothing part. She wore soft dark brown pants that looked stretchy, brown western boots that looked surprisingly worn, and an old, faded blue sweatshirt that made her eyes look very gray. Her cheeks were flushed and with her hair back in a ponytail, she looked like any other student. Albeit a beautiful one. "Good morning," he answered, his eyes lingering on her flushed cheeks. Who or what makes her so cheerful in the morning? Regan was a morning person, but he liked the quiet dawns and still mornings when it was just him and the animals, the few residents up in Manor House still asleep. The animals were much more communicative in the morning, happy to see him again after the night of quiet. “So what do I do?" she asked impatiently. Regan hid his smile. She's really something of an older version of Trixie, he thought. “Have a seat and fill out the forms and waivers." Ayla dropped elegantly into the chair opposite his desk and took the papers he handed her. With a quick hand, she filled out the forms and signed her name with a flourish. "Did you decide what package you wanted?" he asked, noting the ghastly hot pink polish on her slender fingertips. "Basic, intermediate, jumping?" "All of it," she grinned, "I want to learn the jumps, hunt seat, everything." Regan felt a twinge of excitement. This was rare. "All of it, huh?" "Yep. Whatever you can teach me." Her gray blue eyes sparkled at him and Regan swallowed hard. A very inappropriate thought drifted through his mind. "I generally start with English style riding," he said slowly, trying to get his focus back. "It's more elegant than Western, but we can learn both. Today we're going to go over basic tack cleaning and caring for the horse. A good rider always, always takes care of his horse. That means rubbing them down, cleaning the tack, and making sure the horse is comfortable before going off to the house. Some people can afford grooms to do it, but anyone who owns a horse should know how to take proper care of it." Ayla nodded, her eyes wandering over his broad shoulders. This was the kind of man she had always been drawn to, not the pansy businessmen her mother was always trying to set her up with. Yes, they were smart and rich and talked of boring stocks and exchanges and market values. Ayla usually tuned them out after about thirty seconds. But Bill Regan, this man was a prime specimen of male sexuality. He had to be about six foot four, she decided, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and the way the flannel shirt hugged his arms showed off his nicely developed physique. The short, cropped red hair was a real turn on, not too many men in her social circles had that fiery copper color, and his eyes weren't just green, they were a deep, come-explore-me emerald green that had kept her awake all night. The freckles were boyishly charming, and radiated masculinity. Not to mention his long, strong legs and the way his jeans fit him so nicely. This was a man who had a purpose, who used his hands, and the thought of his big, rough hands on her body made her blush. This was a man who worked. It had been so long since a man sparked her interest Ayla had just about given up. But here was one of the most intriguing men she had ever come across, hidden in a stable off Glen Road. Ayla blinked and realized he was waiting for her to answer. "Oh, sorry, what?" she smiled sheepishly and his eyes narrowed just a bit. "You need to pay attention to what I'm telling you," he said sternly. "A careless rider will be thrown within minutes and easily killed." Ayla nodded, a blush creeping over her cheeks. It wasn't her fault he was so distractingly sexy! "All right, you ready?" he asked. With a grin, she nodded and stood, following him out into the main stable. Her nose twitched a bit at the smell of horses, but the scent of sweet hay countered so it was almost pleasant to her. Her eyes roamed around taking in the immaculately clean area, open room. Regan led her to the tack room, where Ayla was surprised by the orderliness. Everything hung in order. Saddles grouped by size she figured, cans of polish, cleaning, folded towels, harnesses hung neatly. Ayla wondered if this was normal for a tack room or if Regan was a bit obsessive-compulsive. "All right. Now then, safety. Always most important. It is imperative you do routine checks on your tack. Couple different reasons. Not only to ensure safe riding, but the horse's comfort. If a horse is uncomfortable with a saddle on it, the added weight of a rider can make it plain crazy." Ayla nodded. "Check your saddle," he started, motioning her over to one. "Look for any cracks or weak spots. Squeeze the sides together. No
movement is good. If it bends or moves, don't use it. It's damaged and can damage the horse's back." "These straps here, these are girth straps. Check them to make sure all stitching is secure. These bars holding the leathers; make sure they're secure, not loose. Look at everything for wear or cracking,” he was running his hands over the saddle as he spoke. Ayla nodded again, unable to stop herself from thinking how she’d like his hands to be roaming over her. "These are girth buckles. Look at them to make sure the stitching is secure. The buckles here? They're not damaged or bent. Check this girth for any signs of wear and tear. You'll notice this is kind of repetitive. When your tack is cared for right, it can last a lifetime. It's expensive to replace, and serious riders can take months to find a replacement saddle they like. Still with me?" Ayla nodded determinedly, trying to listen to his words and not focus on the fact he was inches away from her. "This is your bridle. Again, check it and the reins, for weakness, cracking, wear and tear. Stitching needs to be secure. It's very important to check the bit for any dirt or rough edges. They can damage the horse's mouth and again, make a horse crazy." An hour later, Ayla was struggling to remember the different parts. Was the cantle on the front end or back end? The buckle guard- it was on top of the saddle flap, right? At least she knew where the seat was! "It's a little overwhelming at first, but we'll review it later and go over it. No pop quizzes, but you have to know what you're working with." Ayla nodded. The bridle was easier to remember, the pieces were mostly named after the part of the face they went on or near. "Ready for a little review?" he grinned. Ayla smiled weakly. "Um, sure." Regan was pleased with her memory. Several times she hesitated when he pointed a saddle part but after a moment of thinking, picked the right one. Ayla herself seemed surprised she could remember as much as she could, admitting her short term memory wasn't too great. "Let's go outside for a few minutes, I'll introduce you to some of our residents, then we'll get into tack care, all right?" Regan smiled down at her and she felt her chest constrict. The man was driving her wild. Ayla wondered if he'd ever had sex in the stable, maybe a blanket down on the hay. . . up against the stable wall... “This is Jupiter,” Regan led her to the big black stallion who stood quietly, chewing his hay. Big, dark eyes watched Regan as he leaned over the stall and rubbed Jupiter’s nose. “He thinks of himself as the big man around here. Not quite as rowdy as he used to be, but still likes his walks in the evening. Only three people have ever been able to really handle him well. I’m one.” He grinned as he moved to the next stall. “This here is Lady. She was Mrs. Wheeler’s mare. Very tame, gentle. She does a lot of training.” Regan rubbed the dappled gray mare between her eyes. Ayla met Strawberry, Susie, Starlight and several other horses as they walked through the stables. Regan knew where to rub each one, and he spoke to them all lovingly as he told her their histories. Ayla tried not to think about him finding places to rub on her. Trying not to blush as she pushed her naughty thoughts away, she followed him out to the tack room. “Make sure your tack room is dry. Humidity or dampness can ruin the leather and mold it. And if it’s too dry, it’ll dry out and crack.” Ayla nodded, trying to look eager to learn. She was more eager to learn about him. “All right, now your cleaning methods are going vary because of the type of tack. We use all leather here, so that’s what you’ll learn. Tack needs to be cleaned after every use, end of story. A light cleaning is sufficient usually. Leather gets a damp sponge, and a wipe with saddle soap,” he held up the bottles as he spoke. Again, Ayla nodded, a sudden image of them in the shower suddenly came to mind and she blushed. “Once a week, the bridle should be completely taken apart and the saddle stripped down. All buckles and straps should be undone and stirrups, girths and guards removed from the saddle. This is the best time to check all fastenings like the cheek pieces, reins and stirrup leathers. If they look worn or cracked, replace them immediately. Don’t fool around and keep using them until you get around to buying a new one. You do not want something breaking while you’re out riding.” Regan was running his hands over a saddle as he talked, pointing to different parts. “Now, next, you get to do it as I instruct,” he smiled and Ayla made a less than enthusiastic face. She found the items Regan told her too, and stood ready. “Find your bit and stirrups . . .good. Wash them in warm water, and use that brush to scrub off any dirt. Now, we can polish the stirrups later with dry metal polish, but never, the bit. With me?” “Dry metal polish on stirrups, not bit,” she repeated. Regan nodded, trying not to notice the pretty, elegant hands that deftly washed the tack. Her nails were well kept, he’d bet manicured, but she didn’t wear false nails or ornate jewelry. In fact, she only wore two silver rings, and one each on the right ring and middle fingers. They weren’t fancy with jewels, he wasn’t sure what the patterns on them were. “Now if it’s real muddy, you’ll wash it in cold water and leave it to dry naturally, but not in a hot place. Heat can dry it out permanently. Make sure you get the undersides there, under the flaps and all . . . good.” The way he said “good” sent a shiver down Ayla’s spine. “Now, a couple of tips when cleaning. Saddle soap can be used to clean the saddle before you put a leather dressing on. And if you have clumps of grease that don’t want to come off, use a bit of tail hair to rub it off. And because there are so many products out there that vary, make sure you read the instructions. They’re all different. Don’t just slap it on and expect results.” “Yes sir,” she said with a wink so fast he thought he’d imagine it.. “All right, now show me the girths . . .good. These need to brushed regularly-meaning every time used. Some of them can be machine washed. Leather requires a soft dressing. If they’re left dirty and or stiff, the horses know it and they don’t react well.”
Ayla liked that he hovered over her so closely. She caught a whiff of his cologne, fresh and crisp. “While you’re cleaning it, inspect it. Look for those worn spots, weak spots, or damage. And if you find something, get it fixed or replaced immediately. Especially the stitching.” Ayla briefly wondered what’d it be like to inspect him with her hands. “Break time.” He smiled. “Do you want something to drink? We keep soda stocked for the students.” “Water would be fine.” She smiled. A moment later he returned with a bottle of cold water and she thanked him. "You've worked with the Wheeler’s for a long time, haven't you?" she asked, as they walked back through the stables. "Yep. Since I was about eighteen." "What made you want to be a groom?" she asked. "The only thing I ever loved were these animals. Matt Wheeler offered me a job, so I took it. Few years ago, we went into partnership. Been great the whole time." "You’ve handled all of them by yourself?" she asked, eying Jupiter. "Well, Matt's daughter and her friends were around for a number of years, and they helped exercise and groom the horses a lot of the time. They were good kids." "Isn't his daughter a detective or something?" Ayla tried to remember. She knew Madeleine Wheeler, their mothers belonged to several of the same social groups. Mrs. Wheeler however, had class and breeding that Ayla’s mother could only hope to have. "Yes, she and her best friend, Trixie Belden are private investigators. Those two used to drive me nuts with their mysteries, and they dragged their brothers and my nephew right in with them," he said as he shook his head, but he was smiling. "Sounds like fun," she said wistfully. "They had a lot of fun, I think." Regan smiled at the memory of the boys ready to rip their hair out over the girls’ latest adventure. "But the girls also got themselves in danger a few times." "It still sounds like fun. When you say their brothers-the Wheelers adopted a boy, didn't they?" "Yep. Jim Frayne. Good kid. Jupe here loves Jim. Jim was his favorite rider, and about the only one who could really handle him, other than myself and Matt," Regan reached out to rub the velvety nose of the old stallion, who nickered softly. “The other brother’s were Trixie’s.” "Where is he now?" Ayla asked. "Out in Vermont. Opened up a year-round school for orphaned boys," Regan said proudly. "Teaches them to hunt, fish, survive in nature while learning the basics of schooling." "Impressive," Ayla said admiringly. Regan nodded. "We had hoped Jim would use the land here for the school, but he decided somewhere more secluded would be better. They’re off to a good start though," he added. Ayla sighed. "It sounds really romantic to me," she said sheepishly. "Jim has good intentions. He's wanted that school since he was fifteen." "It's really noble of him," she said quietly. Regan nodded. There was a moment of silence and finally Regan asked if she was ready to get back to class. *** It was almost noon as Regan led her outside to see Ivory, the horse she would train on. Somehow she looked bigger out here than in her stall. Ayla caught her breath as Regan hopped the corral fence and approached a pretty, pale cream colored horse. The horse nuzzled Regan’s ear and he led her by the reins toward Ayla. Ivory’s mane and tail were white against the ivory of her fur. “She’s beautiful,” Ayla said admiringly, reaching out gingerly. The soft, amber eyes watched her as the horse sniffed at her hand and made a soft ‘whoosh’ noise. Her velvety nose rubbed under Ayla’s hand. “What is she?” “American Cream Draft,” Regan said proudly. “One of about 250 in the world.” “And I get to ride her?” Ayla turned and looked at her. The horse flicked her white tail. “Her show days are over and she’s bred four colts. This breed has such a sweet disposition they’re perfect for teaching and showing. That color is their signature. She’s registered as Ivory Silk. My partner’s daughter named her because as a colt she had the softest hair.” “I’ve never heard of the breed, but I don’t know much about horses,” she admitted, rubbing the horse between its eyes gently. “It’s a pretty new breed. They’re the only draft breed that was started in the U.S. The accepted grandmother of the lines was bred with a couple different stallions, but pretty much all of her foals had the cream color. One of them was used to create the line.” “Gorgeous,” she murmured. Regan agreed, and not just about the horse. The morning sun bounced off of Ayla’s golden hair, adding a glow to her. “So, think you’re ready?” “Sure,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “We won’t do much today. Just get you up in the saddle, walk you around a bit. Tomorrow we’ll start the real lessons.” Ayla nodded and climbed over the fence with Regan. She saddled Ivory, Regan instructing throughout, his muscular body so close she was tempted to reach out and run her hand through his thick red hair, wondering if his chest hair was the same burnished copper. Regan led her to what looked like a small wooden box. “Some people laugh at this. With your height, it’s really not needed, but you’re going to learn it anyway. This is a mounting block. Using them prevents the saddle from slipping and doesn’t strain the stirrups as much. Smaller riders should use them. Now, which side is the near side?” he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Ayla looked surprised. “The one nearest me?” Regan laughed. “No, but good answer. Near, is left, the right is called off.” Ayla grinned. “Like port and starboard in sailing?” Regan shrugged. “Sure,” he chuckled. “Now, reins in your left hand, grip the pommel with your left, good. Now, get your left foot in so the ball is resting on the bottom of the stirrup, good. Make sure you don’t kick the horse, because they might take off and that’s no fun.” “Okay,” Ayla waited for further instruction. “Right hand on the cantle, just like that. Now kind of push up or jump a bit and swing your right leg over while you straighten your left.” Ayla forgot to her tighten her hold and toppled backward off the horse. Regan, used to the common mistake, was ready to catch her and for a few seconds, they stood
awkwardly as Ayla got her balance. “Thanks,” she said shyly, trying not to focus on the fact that one of his hands had been on her lower hip. “No problem,” he managed, noting the softness of her body against his. “Ready to try again?” “Sure.” “Remember to move your hand this time.” Ayla nodded and on her third try, made it up onto Ivory. Regan smiled at her, admiring her strong legs. “You have plenty of strength in your legs, that’ll help you.” Ayla bit back the sexual comment that came to mind and smiled. “I ran track in high school and college. Still run every evening.” Regan grinned back and she suddenly turned slightly green. “You all right?” he demanded. “Yeah, I just can’t believe I’m sitting on a horse,” she laughed nervously. “You’re doing fine. Just hold on, I’m going to lead her around a bit.” Regan led the gentle horse around the corral, Ayla clutching the saddle. The green cast finally left her face and she began to relax. At the end of the lesson, she almost tumbled off the horse, but Regan was there to catch her, holding her against his chest just a bit longer than needed. “Sorry,” she murmured, reluctantly moving way from him, once she had her footing. “I’m a real klutz.” “It’s all right,” he managed to get the words out, wondering if her lips were as soft as the rest of her. Ivory whickered softly, nuzzling Regan’s ear and breaking the moment. After she had gone for they day, Regan fed the horses and went up to his apartment to make his dinner, but he couldn’t help but remember the way her soft body had been pressed up against his. Twice. Shaking his head in hopes of clearing it, he pulled a jar of spaghetti sauce from the refrigerator, his thoughts on a pair of ocean blue eyes. Ayla Martin definitely wasn't the usual kind of woman he had for a student. Why did the first woman to attract him have to be a student? She was pretty, smart, and vivacious. And tall, he thought with a smile. That alone was a bonus. And she wanted to learn everything, which meant several weeks of lessons. Which meant she was hands off. Which, in Regan's opinion, really sucked. He had to be imagining those big blue eyes studying him with decided interest. Her mind seemed to wander quite a bit, which worried him. A careless rider could end up a dead rider. This is going to be an interesting week, Regan thought.
Author’s Notes
- a big thank you to my editors, Robin and Lindsay! I did some tampering afterwards, so as usual, all mistakes are mine!
- yes, I see the irony of me writing about someone learning to ride after my accident this year. This was started before then. And yes, I had reread the riding chapter the day before.
- all riding notes taken from http://www.equine-world.co.uk/riding_horses ( Equine World UK)
- Word Count, 3,780
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