It had been a hectic day at the stable yard. Normally Flora would have been in the office first thing, helping to deal with emails, telephone messages and delegating the team’s daily rota, but today Dylan had insisted she have some time off. He’d noticed how tired she was looking and he instructed that she have a lie-in that morning as he tumbled out of bed. With Flora still recovering from the nasty virus she had got a few months ago he was anxious not to overwork her.
Three of the grooms were busy mucking out the stables as Dylan scurried about in the office trying to get through the mounting paperwork and all the entries for the upcoming races. Although he dearly loved owning a training yard, he missed spending as much time as he had with the horses. When his sole occupation was as a jockey he was racing every week and he had relished the thrill of the competition. Now more and more of his time was spent filling in forms and wading through all the red tape and, not for the first time, he realised how important Flora’s input was. Without her he doubted the yard would run as smoothly as it did. It wasn’t as though he didn’t always appreciate her – he really did – it was just having the time to show it.
He sighed, feeling a touch guilty. Flora was only twenty and yet she had such a mature, sensible head on her, as well as being the kindest and most loving of people. She would be twenty-one in December. That would be an ideal time to show her how much he valued her. He’d take her away somewhere romantic…
Instantly his thoughts turned back to the yard. Who would cover for them whilst they went away? Again, a touch of resentment fired through him, which he quickly dampened down. What did he expect? It was early days; the yard had only just opened and the clientele was starting to build now. Once they were on their feet and properly established it would get easier. More staff could be employed, giving them better flexibility.
His thoughts were interrupted by a black BMW pulling into the yard and parking outside his office. Dylan frowned, wondering who it could be, but as soon as the driver got out and flicked back her long dark ringlets, flouncing her way towards the office door, his stomach dropped. Oh God, it was Samantha Tait.
Samantha’s husband, a rich, successful architect the wrong side of fifty, but with very deep pockets, had contacted him several months ago as a prospective client. He owned two thoroughbreds and needed them in a racing yard, having recently moved them from Ireland. When Dylan had driven to seen the horses, he had had no doubt of their ability and was keen to secure Mr Tait as his client. However, his wife, Samantha, had made it perfectly clear exactly what the terms and conditions had to be. Unbeknown to her husband, Samantha wanted just as much care from Dylan as the horses, and Dylan was to service her too.
Initially it seemed a small price to pay – after all, Samantha was easy on the eye with her svelte body and daring ways – but her constant need for attention had proved too much for Dylan. He soon realised he’d bitten off much more than he could chew but, reluctant to lose a client, he had had to handle her carefully. In the end, he had managed to put a stop to Samantha’s advances, and still keep her husband as a client.
Obviously, Flora knew nothing about this, and it was before they had got together, but Dylan was keen to keep it a secret none the less. So far, Samantha had melted into the background, but now it seemed she was back and, judging by the look of determination on her face, she meant business. Dylan thanked God Flora wasn’t there in the office with him.
Without knocking, Samantha strode through the small corridor and into the office. She cut quite a figure in tight leggings and a brown cashmere jumper. For a short moment Dylan’s gaze rested on her pert bottom, then he quickly looked up to eyes that were blazing. ‘How can I help you, Samantha?’ Dylan calmly asked.
‘Well, you can start by telling me the truth.’
Dylan’s eyebrows raised. ‘Sorry?’
Samantha let out a sigh of impatience. ‘Don’t come the innocent with me,’ she hissed. ‘You tell me you can’t perform…’ she blushed slightly, making Dylan smirk to himself. ‘Then I learn you’re shacked up with the assistant trainer!’ she yelled at him.
Dylan’s eyes fled to the window and he noticed the staff had suddenly started to sweep up nearer to the office. Oh hell. Taking a deep breath he attempted to reason with Samantha, and calm her down.
‘Listen, Samantha, it would never have worked between us.’
‘That’s funny, because there was no mention of that whilst you were rogering me in the hot tub, was there?’ Her voice rose again, making Dylan wince. Still the stable staff brushed away, practically under the window now.
He tried again. ‘Samantha, your husband is a client.’
‘Well, maybe it’s time he stopped being a client.’ Her voice was low and menacing now. To Dylan’s horror he saw Flora’s car drive into the yard. He had to do something, and fast.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked in the same quiet voice.
‘I mean,’ she replied, her eyes narrowed and her face contorted with spite, ‘that we can take our horses out of here anytime I choose.’
‘It’s your husband that pays the bills, I think you’ll find.’ Dylan’s voice had an edge now, too. Outside he saw Flora get out of her car and speak to the staff. He didn’t have long.
‘My husband will do whatever I tell him,’ Samantha batted back.
‘Not if he finds out what you are up to behind his back,’ Dylan retorted.
Flora was making her way to the office now, and a drop of sweat ran down his back, his heart hammering within his chest.
‘He wouldn’t believe you.’ Her chin tilted in defiance.
Dylan rose from his desk in anger. ‘I don’t need clients like you, Samantha. You take your horses if you want to. I’ve plenty more to train. You’ve far more to lose than I have,’ he warned.
‘I’ll tell him you seduced me.’
Dylan heard the outside door slam. Flora must have overheard them in the corridor. He saw her run back across the yard to her car. He gulped in panic and frustration. Samantha followed his gaze.
‘Oh dear, have I made things difficult?’ she chided with a sly smile.
Dylan looked at her in contempt. ‘Get the fuck off my yard. I never want to see you again.’
Samantha gave him a cutting look, turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.
Dylan sat still for a moment, trying to take stock of what had happened. Flora. He had to speak to her. He quickly got up and reached for his Land Rover keys. Running out of the office, he called to the three grooms still taking an interest in sweeping the spotless yard floor, ‘I’ll be back soon, just mind the fort!’ He jumped into the Land Rover and sped off after Flora. To his deep frustration, he got stuck behind a tractor and struggled to overtake it. By the time he got home it was too late.
Flora had obviously driven at top speed to get back to his house, collect a few things and clear off. She’d taken her riding hat, boots and jacket, normally hung in the utility room, along with her toiletries and toothbrush.
Dylan looked at their king-size bed and noticed she’d forgotten her silk nightshirt. He picked it up and buried his face in it. It smelt of her, that lovely familiar faint waft of jasmine. At that moment his heart broke. He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and told himself to get a grip. Flora would only have gone back home to her parents’ house. He’d let the dust settle, then talk to her.
Then another terrible thought occurred to him. What if she didn’t turn up at the yard again? What if she’d decided not to live or work with him? He doubled over, as though he’d been punched in the stomach and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was still clutching her nightgown. With a shaking hand he neatly folded it up and put it on her pillow. She’d be back he told himself. She had to come back.