Page 20 of The Last Kiss

West let out a long breath, clearly at a loss. What could he say?It’s not his place to offer an opinion. Ashamed of making such a fuss — Captain Albright’s ruined face sprung to mind — Ash looked away, searching for an apology. Before he could find one, West said, “How about we go for a ride?”

Ash stilled. “A ride?”

“Don’t have to go far, just to give you the feel of it again. Maybe to the pub in the village for a pint?”

He hadn’t ridden since he got back. At first it was because he couldn’t stand the idea of riding about the countryside while his company — while West — was fighting at the front. And then, after the armistice, he’d simply not had any incentive to endure the inevitable pain and humiliation of being less capable than he’d once been. But now? “Yes. God, yes, let’s.”

West smiled. No, it wasn’t a smile it was a grin that lit his eyes from within. “Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Perhaps you should ride Bella the first time? I’ll take Sable.”

“If she’ll let you.”

“Oh, we’re becoming friends.” He reached for the saddle he was cleaning and nodded toward the door, eyebrow cocked. “Well, go on then, you can’t ride in your fancy suit. Go and get changed.”

Ash felt a surge of something vital, like electricity, racing through his body. He laughed. “I’ll be right b-back.”

When he was halfway out the door, West called after him. “Uh… Ash?” His heart tripped over itself at the sound of his Christian name in West’s gruff voice and he stumbled as he turned, grabbing the door to keep his balance. West looked serious, tension in his face. “We done our duty. God knows, we gave our all for King and Country —youcertainly did. So I reckon we get this in return. They bloodyoweus.”

Ash tightened his fingers on the door, heart thrashing inside the cage of his ribs. “Yes. Yes, they b-bloody well do.”

***

Harry had both horses saddled by the time Dalton got back, wearing jodhpurs and boots under his half-belt jacket. It looked so much like his old uniform that for a moment Harry froze. Dalton glanced down at himself with a rueful expression.

“Yes,” he said. “I know.”

They shared a look and said nothing more. “Come on then.” Harry offered Bella’s reins and waited for Dalton to come and take them.

“Well, old g-girl.” He stroked the horse’s nose, leaned in and nuzzled against her. “You’ll be good to me t-today, hmm?”

Harry had to look away, a band tightening around his chest. He remembered that gentle tone, the way the captain had adopted it with the men sometimes. He remembered one night, when they were sleeping in the relief trench under a crystal sky, cold falling like blades, watching the captain tucking his own greatcoat over Little Bill, who was dozing, shivering and fevered.There you go, old chap, that’ll help.He remembered how his own heart had swollen with emotions that were easier to allow in the trenches, easier to call camaraderie or fellowship, as he took off his own coat —Come on, sir, we’d best share— and they’d huddled together beneath it, their scant warmth mingling and the captain’s head growing heavy on his shoulder. But here, those feelings had nowhere safe to go and the bands around his chest felt like prison bars.

Dalton led the way out of the stable, Bella following compliantly. Harry took Sable, already frisky with the prospect of exercise. She’d want to race, of course, and would need a firm hand. He doubted Dalton would want to even trot today.

There was nobody in the stable yard, which was good because Harry knew Dalton wouldn’t want an audience. Although he thought mounting wouldn’t be a problem, he could envisage the dismount being more difficult. He hitched Sable to a post and came to take Bella’s reins. “Up you go then,” he said, watching Dalton’s wary expression.

“It feels — It’s like going back in t-t-time, getting on a horse again.”

“You’re allowed,” Harry said. “You’re allowed to go back to your old life.”

Dalton caught his eye. “I’m n-not sure I can, is the thing. It feels like we should b-be going forward if any of it’s to have m-meant anything.”

Harry smiled, helplessly fond. He admired how deeply Dalton thought about the world, but sometimes his tendency to brood was his own worst enemy. “It’s just a horse,” he said.

A huff of breath, a chuckle. “Yes, alright, I’m thinking too much. P-Point taken.” He grabbed the pommel, half lifted his left leg to the stirrup, then frowned because of course that was the bad one. “Other side,” he decided and moved around behind Harry, a hand on his shoulder for balance in passing, his touch, his weight, a nostalgic comfort. “Not used to mounting from this side,” Dalton explained, oblivious to Harry’s flush of feeling. He seemed to manage well enough, however, as he swung up into the saddle. The only problem was getting his other foot into the stirrup. Harry moved around to help him. The prosthetic felt strange, hard and unforgiving in his hand as he slipped the boot into the stirrup. Dalton looked down at him with tight-lipped embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said and patted his leg. Only it wasn’t his leg, so he moved his hand up until he felt the soft give of flesh beneath Dalton’s knee and, past that, the muscle of his thigh. He told himself it was a casual touch, but Dalton’s eyes went very dark, lips parting, and Harry’s hand wanted to linger. “Alright?” he said. “Stirrups the right length and…and everything?”

A swallow, a slight nod. “Yes, very good.” Dalton looked abruptly away, toward a scuff of footsteps from the gate: Boyd, with John Pierson slouching along behind, coming into the yard.

“Boyd,” Dalton said, clipped and jolly once more. “West here has persuaded me to ride. We’re going to try for the Oak.”

Boyd gave a gappy grin. “Good to see it, Mr Ashleigh. Very good to see it.” John lingered by the gate and Boyd told him to hold it open, which he did with his usual sullen-eyed expression. Harry found himself wondering what the boy saw, not that there was anything to see, but John’s mouth twisted in an insolent smirk as he pulled open the gate and it raised Harry’s hackles.

With no choice but to ignore the lad, he unhitched Sable and swung up into the saddle, bringing her around next to Dalton’s horse. “Ready, sir?” he said, self-conscious under the boy’s gaze.

Dalton’s expression flickered but he didn’t protest the ‘sir’, just said, “Shall I lead the way?”

With a nod, Harry watched Dalton urge Bella out through the gate. John touched his cap as he passed, Dalton gave a patrician’s nod in return, and Harry followed. He didn’t look at the boy, just listened for the gate scraping across the path as it closed behind them.

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