The chestnut horse thundered like a phantom out of the woods; his coat glowed like the oak leaves that scattered from his hooves, and his breath snorted steam as his rider urged him over a last fallen log and up the hill.
Dora reined Copper in then, and he fought her briefly as she asked him to stop. He'd enjoyed that crazy thundering through the woods, hopping over logs and risking badger setts and rabbit holes.
"That was a stupid thing to do, wasn't it?" She patted his neck, breathing as heavily as the horse. "You could have broken a leg down a hole. Sorry, Copper. We'll walk back through there later."
She dismounted, her heart still pounding in anger. The moorland view that stretched below her didn't have its usual calming effect. Normally she'd enjoy the tones of autumn, the heather turning the same colour as Copper's coat, the woodsmoke rising from the farmhouses scattered few and far between, and the inane grazing of countless sheep, dirty white blobs among the green.
"Parents!" She watched Copper's mouth tear greedily at the grass as he realized his mistress had other things on her mind.
Dora hated seeing her parents. They'd been absent for much of her childhood, placing her in boarding schools and finishing schools while her father rose in an upward spiral of ambassadorship in far-flung corners of the earth. She'd have rather enjoyed living in different places like Australia or Brazil, but had come to the conclusion that her parents saw her as a burden during her childhood, a girl better off in dear old England with housemistresses and holidays spent at school with dreams and books for company.
Unfortunately they were making up for it now. They'd summonsed her to afternoon tea this afternoon at The Colonel's big rambling house, having driven up from London where they were now happily retired.
Dora, feeling miserable as she knew she'd be in for another round of criticism at her short fingernails and ever-present horsy smell (such a nice smell! How could her parents dislike it, when it was all clean animal and fresh hay?), put on her one item of clothing she thought would pass muster and the shoes that matched it. With a sinking heart she realized the dress was not even last year's fashion, but the year before's, and that would cause another arrow to be unleashed in her direction. What was the point of buying expensive dresses? She never had anywhere to wear them. She topped off her hated ensemble with a white floppy hat that had been chewed – just a bit! – by Willy the mule and, as a conciliatory gesture, sprayed a soft lily of the valley cologne onto her neck.
It hadn't helped that Ron had whistled at her, and Steve had joked. "Off to Buckingham Palace, madam? We've a horse here that could take you – but you'd only get half way."
"Oh, shut up!" Dora tugged at her hem, aware her long, coltish legs were pale from a life lived in trousers. She felt Steve's eyes on them, which didn't worry her, and Ron's, which did.
The Colonel picked her up in his sports car. "Very nice, m'dear," he said. "I'm sure your parents will think so, too."
"I'm not." Dora was even more aware of her legs as her dress crept up when she sat down. "Why are they coming, Uncle Geoffrey? Did they tell you?"
"My brother never tells me anything," the Colonel said rather glumly. He distrusted his brother Arthur and his wife as much as Dora did. He was very much hoping they weren't going to make another attempt to get Dora to go back to London with them. He looked on her as the daughter he had never had.
It turned out to be worse than that.
The Rolls Royce purred into the Colonel's drive with three people on board, and the third was the Hon. Toby Cuthbert, every deb's dream with slicked blond hair, pale blue eyes, a neat cravat and a signet ring on his little finger.
"We thought it was time you met people your own age," Dora's mother Prudence said as she airkissed her daughter's cheek.
"I know people my own age," Dora protested, thinking of Steve and how he'd be in stitches if he saw The Hon. Toby.
"That dirty stable boy." Prudence looked as if she hated even being on the same planet as Steve. "WHAT happened to your hat?"
Dora had tried to disguise the chewed bit with a plastic flower, which had fallen off when the Colonel turned into the drive. She whipped her hat off and hid it behind her back, refusing to be drawn into an argument about Steve.
Afternoon tea was the most uncomfortable meal Dora had eaten in ages. When he wasn't carefully placing cucumber sandwiches in his mouth or covertly eyeing Dora's legs and breasts, The Hon. Toby was happily talking about himself. Dora's parents nodded and smiled and made Dora sit next to him so her nose was assaulted by the strong aftershave he wore. He called Dora a pretty filly, which made Dora and the Colonel wince and her parents smile even more broadly.
"Praps we c'n go huntin' this winter, Dora?" the Hon. Toby said eagerly. "Got the most marvellous new hunter, big black brute, unstoppable. I'm Master of the Bexley, y'know."
"Hunting's such a nice sport, you meet lovely people," put in Prudence.
Dora thought of the frightened fox, running for its life, and like a fox longed to go to earth and escape from her pursuers. She found nothing nice in the idea of chasing an animal with hounds and watching it get ripped into pieces. She had a sudden vision of the Hon. Toby on his unstoppable brute, cheering and holding up a sad, bleeding fox's brush, his face spotted with fox blood, and put down her teacup with unsteady fingers. She felt sick. "I don't hunt," she managed to say.
"Don't hunt, y'can't come to the Hunt Ball," the Hon. Toby said, as if the Hunt Ball should be the pinnacle to which every person should aspire. "You'd be belle of the ball, y'know. I can see you in a red frock, swirling around the floor with me, your diamonds gleaming."
At least it was better than the vision of the fox. Dora in a red frock and diamonds – the idea made her laugh out loud. And who said "frock" these days? "Not my scene," she said, choking back laughter.
The Hon. Toby, like a true hunter, then started a keen pursuit of his prey, inviting Dora to his country house, to a weekend in London, to shooting in Scotland and half a dozen more equally horrifying jaunts.
"Dora darling, do at least go to Toby's house," Prudence said tightly when the men had gone at the Colonel's insistence to show Toby the picture gallery. "He'd be a wonderful catch and he seems smitten with you."
"Only because I'm not interested in him. Mother, no. I don't want you trying to marry me off to some smarmy fella who smells like toilet cleaner and loves killing small, harmless animals." Dora's eyes flashed. "You made all the choices for me during my childhood, many of them wrong except sending me to Uncle Geoffrey. I can make my own choices now."
She stood up. "Tell Uncle Geoffrey I've borrowed his car. It's time for evening stables. He'll understand."
And before Prudence could stop her, Dora had stormed out to the sports car and spat gravel. She drove back to Follyfoot in a rage, throwing the hat onto the muck heap and changing into her riding clothes with relief.
Copper, who'd been dozing, was surprised to find a saddle on his back and bit in his mouth.
"How was madam's afternoon tea?" said Steve, watching Dora tighten Copper's girth with unusual force. "Cucumber sandwiches? Without the crust? And did you remember how to hold a cup with your little finger out?"
Dora glared at him. "Horrible. Worse than ever. They brought The Hon. Toady Cuthbert with them in the hope I'd fall head over heels for him." She almost knocked Steve over as she opened the stable door. Steve watched her go, feeling her palpable anger, but also relief that the Hon. Toady Cuthbert, whoever he was, had met with Dora's dislike. She could move in circles with titled people, and he was very aware of that, and how little he could give her. But he knew Dora well enough to know she cared for kind hearts more than coronets. And coronets were something he'd certainly never have. But kind hearts…oh, he had that for her!
And Copper was even more surprised as Dora urged him along the bridle path at a swift canter and into the woods.
At last she was calming down. The clean air had cleared Toady's scent from her nostrils, and Copper's busy grazing and chinking bit had a rhythmic, hypnotic effect. This was where she belonged. In horsy clothes, with a horse, on a hill.
Dora watched the sheep in the distance until the sky started to darken. Copper saw ghosts in the wood when there wasn't much light, and the badgers would be coming out soon, which spooked him even more. Sighing, she mounted and turned him for home.
The earlier gallop had let Copper give vent to his energy, and he walked calmly through the woods like an angel, and didn't even shy at any of the energetic rustling on either side of the path.
The Colonel was waiting in the yard. "You'll have to apologise, you know."
"I'll send a note," Dora said, dismounting. "I couldn't stay there and have them planning my wedding. I couldn't."
"Nor could I. Awful man. Not a brain in his head. I had no idea they were bringing him." Which was the Colonel's form of apology. "I know his family, unfortunately. He's the spoiled eldest son and trouble on two legs, if only your parents knew."
"Tell them."
The Colonel followed Dora back to Copper's stable, and helped her brush him down and put a warm rug on him. "He was sent down from Oxford for being obnoxiously drunk and having girls in his room among other things. Drugs too, if the stories are to be believed."
"But he's SUCH a good catch." Dora mimicked her mother.
"Worst of all, he mistreats his horses. Chap I know who used to be with the Bexley says young Toby hit his horse so hard last season he broke his whip."
Dora felt sick. "Didn't anyone report him?"
"Money talks," said the Colonel economically. "And his parents are friends of the Chief Constable."
Dora rested her head against Copper's warm neck and the horse breathed sweetly on her hands. "I don't want any Honorable Toby Cuthberts in my life, Uncle Geoffrey. I want to be here, with the horses. That's all I want. No hunt balls, no weekends in London and above all no shooting things. You, Steve, Ron, Callie and Slugger. You're my real family."
The Colonel patted her shoulder. "This is your home," he said gruffly. "I'll make sure Arthur and Prudence understand that."
Dora hugged him, feeling a tremendous relief. "Thanks, Uncle. I hope you have more luck getting it through their heads than I do."
The Follyfoot grapevine had been busily growing and when Dora finally finished feeding the horses and went into the house for her own food, she was astonished to find the usually bare dining room table – which they never used - laid with a white cloth and a lot of rather tarnished silver.
Ron had taken off his leather jacket and was wearing a western bolo tie. Steve wore his best shirt – the only one without fraying cuffs and collar – and his only tie, both of which clashed with each other. They were sitting primly at the table and, grinning at each other, stood up when Dora entered the room.
Steve pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, a hundred retorts on her lips. All she said was, "I'll thump the pair of you."
"Dinner is served, Madam." Slugger, wearing a large white paper bag over his knitted cap like a chef's toque, brought in a covered silver platter. Dora's mouth dropped open. She didn't even know that Follyfoot farm possessed such an item as a silver platter, and Slugger's headgear was beyond comment, although like Steve and Ron she bit the insides of her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
With a flourish Slugger put the platter on the table. Dora dreaded to think what might be under it. Had Slugger gone mad and tried his hand at a posh French recipe?
Slugger lifted the cover. "Prime English beef sausages with creamed potato and peas," he said carefully, a tea towel draped over one arm like a maitre'd.
"In other words, bangers and mash," Steve said cheerfully, poking at the charred sausages with his fork. "Slugger, tell me, how do you manage to burn peas, of all things?"
Dora started to giggle then. "You're all awful," she said. "I've had the most horrible afternoon."
"We know," Steve said. "The Colonel told us you were going to the Hunt Ball in a red frock, of all things."
"With diamonds," added Ron. "When's the wedding? We'll train up two broken-down nags to pull the carriage."
Dora threw a pea at him. She was home.
* * *
The Hon. Toady was soon forgotten as life at Follyfoot resumed its usual routine. Even a letter from her mother expressing severe disapproval and disappointment didn't dampen Dora. She was too busy caring for the horses, worrying that they were strong and hardy enough to make it through another North Yorkshire winter.
Slugger occasionally wound her up by making cucumber sandwiches and pouring his strong brewed tea into a chipped cup and saucer for her, and Steve kept offering to take her into Leeds and help her choose "a nice red frock for the Hunt Ball", but Dora didn't rise to their teasing and they soon let Toady settle into the past.
The chill winds of winter had started to blow, and the horses of Follyfoot grew coats like mammoths. Even Copper's thin thoroughbred coat became tufty.
Dora looked up at the sky, one of those beautiful deep blue Yorkshire skies that sometimes stray from summer to late autumn. "I wish we could go for a ride," she said to Steve.
"Why not?" They were sitting on hay bales sipping hot mugs of tea, their morning's work done and the sun on their faces.
"It's a weekend. We might get visitors."
"Callie's here," Steve pointed out. "And the Colonel. And Slugger. And it's my afternoon off so I was going to ride anyway. Why don't you take some time off, too? You can't work all the time."
Half an hour later they trotted out of the yard, Copper snorting and Cobbler's Dream swishing his tail.
Without speaking, they both pushed their horses into a canter, Cobby like a rocking horse beside the rangy Copper. Despite his failing sight, Cobby was a safe and confident ride, especially with other horses. Communicating as they did with thought, Cobby relied on Copper to keep him from danger he couldn't see.
"Through the woods?" suggested Dora, asking Copper to slow to a trot. She still felt guilty about her mad dash through the woods weeks before.
Steve let her go ahead, and Cobby followed Copper's tail, bouncing over small logs joyously and trying to canter. He tugged at the bit as the woods thinned out and the hill loomed in front of them, and Steve gave him his head. "Race you!"
The two horses thundered up the hill, clods of earth flying behind them, necks stretched out like racehorses. The wind and speed whipped tears into Dora's eyes and by the time they reached the top she was laughing because she couldn't see.
"I feel like Cobby!" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "That's better. Isn't this grand, Steve? We're on top of the world."
They walked their horses along the top of the hill, feeling their heaving sides return to normal under the saddles.
"Look, a buzzard." Steve pointed at the sky and they watched the raptor wheel and swoop, following his path to earth.
"I wonder what he got? Poor mouse I suppose. Oh, Steve. There's a hunt over there."
Steve followed Dora's finger beyond the buzzard's path and saw the stream of hounds and the mass of horses and riders behind them in the valley below. As the wind dropped they could hear the excited yelps and the faint thunder of hooves.
"Poor fox!" exclaimed Dora. "Can you see him?"
"Not from here. But he's smart. Look, they're running towards the stream. He's going to go through the stream and put them off the scent."
As the hunt came closer Copper pawed the ground, scenting excitement below him. Cobby, with his sensible pony ancestry, would rather graze as his rider watched the action.
"Oh good. The hounds have stopped," Dora said happily, watching hounds nose the grass around the stream. One of them ploughed into the water and across the other side, nose still to the ground, stern waving busily. "Cunning fox, they won't get him now."
But she was wrong. The hound started to speak, and stood with one paw raised. At once the stream become a flurry of yelping dogs as they picked up the scent.
One of the riders blew on his horn, and the chase was on again. The riders wheeled their horses in order to get a good run at the stream.
Dora saw to her dismay that the man in the lead, wearing a pink coat and brandishing a whip, was riding a horse that could safely be described as a big black unstoppable brute.
"I think it's the Hon. Toady," she said glumly. "The man on the black."
The horse flung its nose in the air, white foam flying from the bit. Its rider jerked the reins and the horse gave a little rear, which earned it a whack from the whip.
"Oh no!" groaned Dora. "I don't want to watch."
But they couldn't walk away. Spellbound, they saw the man whip the horse again and kick him into action. The horse sprung forward with immense thrusts of his hind legs, and was into a full gallop almost straight away, like a panther. Other riders whooped and hollered and suddenly the field was busy with horses aiming for the stream.
"He's going too fast," Steve muttered.
The horse fought his rider as they neared the stream, the fluid stride breaking into jerks as the man tried to bring him back under control.
For a moment Steve was the horse, feeling the pain of the bit and the frustration at the mixed commands he was getting. He felt the weight on his back and the spurs on his side, then he was human again and only felt a dreadful pity mixed with fear for the horse.
Too late the black horse saw the stream, and instead of leaping it – because it wasn't very deep or wide – stumbled into it, throwing the rider over its head so he landed in the muddy banks and slid on his bottom into the water.
Dora laughed. "Look, Steve, Toad in the hole!" Steve grinned. He enjoyed seeing fate deal nasty people a bad card now and then.
From below Dora could hear a mix of screams and laughter.
But then she saw the horse.
Even the people from the hunt, calling ribald remarks to Toady, fell quiet.
The black horse lay on his side in the water, struggling to right himself. Finally he scrabbled for purchase on the slippery rocks and staggered to his feet, shaking himself like a dog. When he tried to walk he put his off fore to the ground and just as quickly lifted it up.
His rider, they could see, was furious. He had been made a fool of. His hat had tumbled off and was being carried downstream, and Dora recognized Toady without a doubt, the blond hair plastered to his head. He was still carrying his whip.
His horse, sensing Toady's mood, tried to move away on three legs, but the slippery stones got the better of him and the animal lost his balance and sat in the water like a dog.
"Oh Steve! The horse!"
For Toady took his whip and cracked it on the horse's rump, so loudly they could hear it on top of the hill like a gunshot.
Steve caught his breath and swore quietly.
"Steve, we've got to stop him! The horse is hurt!" Dora turned pleading eyes to Steve. Then she started to urge Copper down the steep side of the hill.
"Dora, come back!" Steve shouted, but Dora ignored him.
Other hunt members had dismounted and pulled Toady away from the frightened black horse. Two people were trying to gently coax the horse to his feet.
Dora was heading down the hill, Copper's legs sliding beneath him. Steve swore again and sent Cobby after them. Cobby tilted his head to one side and bravely followed. Reliable as he was, picking his way down rock-studded hills wasn't the best thing for Cobby and his failing eyesight, and Steve briefly weighed up helping Dora or looking after his mount. He sighed. Cobby would have to take his chances. The pony slid as he tried to follow Copper and Steve had to hold him back and balance him, guiding him down the hill, making sure there were no rocks too close to his blind side.
Somewhere to the right the hounds were giving bloodcurdling cries, and Dora didn't know whether to feel sorrier for the fox or the black horse, both of which must be terrified, one of which might now be dead.
Toady was fighting his captors, hitting them with the whip and cursing loudly. One of them – brave indeed – hauled off and punched him fair on the nose.
Dora heard Steve cheer behind her.
By the time Dora reached the bottom of the hill and pushed Copper into a canter, the black horse was out of the water and Toady had a handkerchief up to his face.
Copper sensed fear and shied at bushes, but Dora pushed him on towards the stream. Unlike Toady, she gave her horse a good look at it first, then wheeled him around and urged him to jump it. Copper, seeing horses on the other side, happily obliged, not even getting one hoof wet.
By now she was furious, and just about ready to punch Toady on the nose herself. "How dare you treat your horse like that!" she yelled, jumping off Copper. "You horrible man! Look what you've done!"
The black horse was trying to hobble away from his enraged owner, and was being comforted by a redhaired girl who was stroking his steaming neck.
"Oh, it's the farm girl," sneered Toady, taking his handkerchief away. Dora saw with satisfaction that his nose was bloody and swelling up nicely. Unbelievably, she caught a waft of aftershave – he even wore it hunting! "Is that wod of your broked down dags?"
"Copper is NOT a broken down nag," stormed Dora. "Look at your own horse – and it's your fault!"
"Useless thig," Toady sneered, blood running over his lips. "Tidy streab and he would't jump id."
"Because you confused him! And then he fell and you HIT him! You should be locked up," Dora shouted. She was vaguely aware that Steve had got Cobby over the stream and was behind her.
"Brig your stable boy with you, did you?" Toady flung a look of dislike at Steve, who was momentarily aware of his dirty old jeans and sweater with patched elbows.
"Don't rise, Dora," Steve murmured. "Think of the horse. We've got to help the horse." He put a hand on her shoulder, and found it trembling under his fingers. He gently squeezed her.
This friendly action seemed to enrage Toady even more. That a girl like Dora could prefer a nobody like Steve was the final insult, and Toady took out his anger as he usually did – on something that wouldn't fight back.
In two big bounds he broke free, reached his black horse and slapped him across the nose, then pummeled his frightened head. The horse reared, reaching a new pain threshold, and struck Toady hard on one shoulder with a strong, ironclad hoof.
The redhaired girl stood by in astonishment, not knowing what to do as the horse screamed and Toady fell to the ground.
Dora and Steve rushed to the horse, ignoring the flailing hooves. Steve took the reins as he came back to earth, gingerly landing on one foreleg. The horse snorted in panic then realized Steve and Dora meant well, and offered only comfort.
Hunt people moved to Toady, many of them looking like they'd rather leave him in pain.
Steve knelt down beside the black horse's injured leg.
"Is it broken?" Dora's eyes glistened with tears as the black horse nervously butted her.
"Don't think so. It's swollen…might be a tendon. We need a vet." Gentle hands probed the horse's leg. Steve could feel the animal trembling and stood up, surging with rage.
"Odly if he's god a humade killer," sneered Toady, who was on his feet and clutching his shoulder. "I'm pudding hid dowd."
Steve counted to five; his temper had got him in trouble before. His fists clenched in anticipation of sinking themselves into Toady's face – one punch for the horse, and one for Dora - but he fought the impulse. With his police record he couldn't afford an arrest. Finally he just said, "Shame nobody would put YOU down. But a bullet's too good for you."
Toady tried to lunge, but men were holding him and a searing pain raced into his shoulder. "Ged a doctor," he groaned, sinking to the ground again, but nobody moved in a hurry.
* * *
In the end Dora and the redhaired girl waited with the black horse. Steve had gone to Follyfoot to get the horse truck. They were on private land and the farmer, glumly surveying the injured horse, told them they could bring the truck in.
"I'll not have him shot here," the farmer said. "Or buried. This is my sheep paddock and it puts 'em off."
"Nobody's going to shoot him," Dora said defiantly. "We'll make him better."
The exhausted horse was dozing with his face buried against Dora's front, his breath all huge sighs.
The redhaired girl's name was Eliza. "How do you know Toby?" she said.
"My parents tried to set me up with him," Dora replied shortly. "I wasn't interested. Not my type."
"I went out with him for a couple of months," Eliza volunteered. "But he gets so rude when he's drunk. He was embarrassing. He punched a waiter."
"Lucky he wasn't carrying his whip."
"I like your boyfriend though, he looks kind."
"Steve? We just work together." But Dora remembered the look on Toady's face when Steve turned up. How much longer could she convince people, including herself, that Steve was no more than just a friend? Eliza was looking at her pensively. "Well, I suppose we do spend a lot of time together. He's like a boyfriend, I guess." Dora felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of pretty redhaired Eliza with her arm through Steve's. She and Steve were intertwined, both outcasts in their own way. She felt more at home with Steve than anyone she knew, despite their arguments and bickering. He was one of very few human beings she actually trusted; when he'd gone away from Follyfoot for a while she missed him like a lost limb. Dora was quiet with her thoughts, the only sounds the harsh cry of a buzzard, and the distant bleating of sheep. Eliza sat on a tree stump, shivering.
As darkness fell the lights of the Follyfoot truck bobbed over the bumpy ground. Steve showed the Colonel the black horse's swollen leg.
"Can't see in this light," the Colonel grunted, his knees creaking as he crouched beside the horse. "The vet will be at Follyfoot by the time we get back. Let's get all these horses on board. Hello, there." To Eliza. "Can we offer you a lift?"
They slowly urged the black horse up the ramp. Sweet-smelling hay enticed him, and he staggered gratefully into the warm truck. Copper and Eliza's little grey loaded without a problem.
Dora made sure she sat between Steve and Eliza, crammed like sardines into the cabin.
Eliza and her horse were dropped off at a crossroads she assured them was mere minutes from home, and Dora waved goodbye cheerfully. She was always cheerful saying goodbye to pretty girls when Steve was around.
The vet made hissing noises which could be interpreted as "bad". "Looks like a tendon, and a bad one too. May need firing to fix it. Might never be good enough to hunt again; we won't know just yet. May just be useful for hacking around. Let's treat it for now and get him comfortable, anyway."
"He doesn't have to be put down?" Dora hugged the black horse's head. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath and let it out in a relieved sigh.
"No, I don't believe he does." The vet smiled, a kind middle aged man who'd left his hot dinner for the black horse.
"Send the bill to Toby Cuthbert," the Colonel said.
The vet made a face. "This is HIS horse? I wonder what happened to old Polo? That was Cuthbert's horse last year. Fine animal but it stopped jumping for him and I heard he sold it on. Some people," he muttered under his breath, "shouldn't have horses."
Slugger poked his head over the loosebox. "Colonel's wanted on the phone, he says."
The hunt grapevine was as eager as the Follyfoot one. Toady had found out where his black horse was, and wanted him put down as he was dangerous.
"Dashed thig attacked me," he complained. "If the vet's there, put it dowd and sed me the bill."
"I understand the attack was provoked," said the Colonel in a voice that his military underlings recognized and didn't argue with. "The horse's injuries aren't bad enough for that, and we will rehabilitate him. But you WILL get a bill, I can assure you of that."
There was silence at the other end of the phone, then: "That horse cost me five huddred pouds."
"And what would the knacker give you? Twenty?"
"Tweddy? Thad's robbery!"
"I'll deduct it from the bill," said the Colonel crisply. "I think the RSPCA may be interested in hearing about your horse, too." He put the phone down on a spluttering Toady, and went to tell Dora that Follyfoot had just received its latest permanent inmate.
She was watching the black horse tuck into a bran mash, his bandaged leg white in the gloomy stable. Steve was standing beside her, an arm around her shoulder.
"Thanks for helping me," she said, leaning a tired head against his shoulder, thinking how much nicer Steve's honest horsy smell was than Toady's vile aftershave.
"I was more worried you were going to murder Toady on the spot."
"I don't like killing things. But for him, I'd make an exception."
Steve laughed and gave her a squeeze, then dropped a light kiss on top of her head. "I think you'd be standing in line after today, girl. I doubt he has any friends left in the hunt if not the whole of Yorkshire."
The Colonel cleared his throat and they jumped apart. "The horse is staying. I didn't find out his name, so you'll have to give him one."
Dora grinned. "He's come here. What about Lucky?"
"Looking at that leg, I'm thinking of Tripod," Steve said, and Dora hit him on the arm.
"Come inside now and let him settle down. Slugger tells me there's some dinner left but it's a bit dried out." Which meant burned.
"Just in time for pudding," Slugger said, talking apparently to the wall. "But there's bangers and mash left for those who want it."
"Pudding will be fine," sighed Dora, sitting at the scrubbed kitchen table. "I'm starving. What is it?"
"Toad in the Hole," said Slugger, and wondered why Dora, Steve and the Colonel burst out laughing.
The end.
© copyright 2004 Sabrina Davis
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