Page 6 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“I will.”
Such a stilted conversation between two people who had once meant so much to each other. But that had been a long time ago. “Well . . . I’ll see you around then.”
“Yes.” Another quirky little smile. “See you.”
He watched her go, across the beach and up the cliff steps. His first love. Why the hell had she had to come back? He didn’t need to have all those old memories dragged up from the furthest corners of his mind. He was doing okay — he had his daughter, his family, his friends, his work.
He was doing okay.
The Bandit seemed to pick up his tension, stomping impatiently on the sand. He nudged him forward, and the horse surged into a gallop, his movement smooth as silk. Another few days and he could go back to his training yard, and he’d be racing again in a couple of months.
Meanwhile, he had a full day’s work ahead of him. Vaccinations, dental checks and visits to a couple of mares who were due to foal in a few weeks. And a pre-purchase vetting for a young show-jumping hopeful who was aiming to progress from her pony to a full-size horse.
Enough to put Cassie Channing and her orange swimsuit out of his mind. Completely.
* * *
Cassie strolled up the beach. Her heart was beating faster than usual, but that was understandable — she’d just been for a vigorous twenty-minute swim in water that was not much above fifteen degrees.
She wasn’t going to watch Liam Ellis galloping along the beach . . . But as she climbed the steps up to Cliff Road she found herself glancing back, as if her gaze was drawn by a force stronger than gravity.
After all, there was nothing wrong with looking. He was just a man, riding a beautiful horse.
The motion was like poetry, as if they were one. He had been tall as a teenager, and now those wide shoulders and lean stomach were a man’s physique, not a boy’s. He still let his hairgrow over the nape of his neck, and he hadn’t shaved yet, a morning shadow darkening his hard jaw.
And his eyes . . . Impatiently she shook her head. At seventeen, eighteen she had let herself drown in those eyes. But she was a grown woman now, and she wasn’t going to let herself drown in eyes the colour of espresso coffee. Nor let herself be mesmerised by that tempting mouth . . .
Yes, okay, the attraction was still there, but it was unlikely to go anywhere. They were two different people now. He had a kid, and she . . . she hadn’t made up her mind yet. Use that airline ticket, or leave it tucked in the poetry book?
She still had six weeks to decide.
At the top of the steps she paused again and looked down at the village, curving around the bay. Home. She had dreamed of it so often while she had been away — that was part of the reason why she had stayed away so long, why she hadn’t once come back for a visit. She knew that if she stayed too long she might never want to leave.
* * *
The Bandit was enjoying his gallop. Liam could feel the smooth power in his stride as raced along the water’s edge. Maybe dreaming of winning the Derby? He turned him again at the end of the beach and gave him his head — down the home straight and first past the winning post!
Another half a dozen laps and then he turned him for home, up the ramp and along the first few yards of the South West Coast Path.
Though it was early a few of the serious walkers were already out, with their backpacks and their sensible walking shoes, some of them set to hike the whole length of the path which wound over six hundred miles around the peninsula.
Later the casual strollers would be along in their shorts and tennis shoes, with babies in buggies and kids on their scooters, admiring the view and picking blackberries along the way.
He greeted several of the walkers with a wave as he turned in through the gate and rode across to the stable yard.
“Well done, lad. You’re doing great.”
He slipped down from the saddle, led the horse over to the row of stables that edged two sides of the yard, and removed his tack. He stroked his hand over the warm russet flanks and down the horse’s legs.
The Bandit’s eyes were bright as he peered inquisitively around, his breathing already steady and slow, and best of all, he was standing square on all four legs with no sign of favouring the one that had required such delicate care for the past six weeks.
Liam sponged him down with cool water and checked his hoofs, then led him over to the trough and let him drink his fill. Then he brought the jar of liniment and smoothed it thickly over the horse’s leg — he always seemed to quite enjoy the treatment, standing still to allow him to do it.
“Okay, lad — turn-out time.”
The horse rested his head trustingly on Liam’s shoulder as he followed him over to the gate into the grassy paddock behind the house. Liam patted his nose affectionately as he opened the gate. He would miss him when he was gone.
He leaned on the gate, watching the horses grazing happily on the lush green grass, looking for any signs that one might need more attention. Most were rescues — failed racehorses, or here to recover from neglect or ill-treatment.
