Free Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage by Cathy Woodman Page B

You could be waiting for ages.’
    â€˜I don’t want any old pony. I need one I can rely on – it needs to be completely bombproof for my daughter.’
    â€˜I couldn’t fault him. He struck me as the kind of pony who’d appreciate someone small to love him.’
    â€˜What’s he like then?’ Robbie sighs. ‘Sell him to me.’
    â€˜He’s about 13.2, chestnut with a white blaze.’
    â€˜A good horse is never a bad colour, so they say. How old?’
    â€˜Middling, according to the vet. Fifteen or sixteen. He seems to have plenty of life left in him.’
    â€˜Much as it sounds like a charitable thing to do, he’s no use to me.’
    â€˜He has a couple of patches where a saddle has rubbed and the hair has grown back white, so he must have had tack on at some time.’
    â€˜That doesn’t necessarily mean he’d accept a saddle now.’
    â€˜He might be useful as a therapy pony,’ I suggest, determined not to give up just yet.
    â€˜I’m not sure that a rescue of unknown history fits the job description.’
    â€˜It’s okay if you don’t think he’ll be suitable, but I liked him and he’s had a tough time. I’d like to think of him having a better life with someone like Maisie to care for him.’
    Robbie touches the corners of his eyes.
    â€˜You are bringing me to tears,’ he jokes. ‘God, Flick, you are very persuasive.’
    I wish I was, I think. I wish I could persuade him not only to consider the pony as an option, but me as well, because although I’m virtually falling over myself in front of him, he’s treating me as a new friend, one of the lads. He isn’t looking at me with any hint of appreciation or attraction in his eyes. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s noticed that I’m a woman – and why should he, I ask myself, when I smell of horse and can throw a bale of hay as high as he can?
    â€˜What’s this pony’s name?’
    â€˜He didn’t have one, so we christened him Paddington. I suppose you might want to change it,’ I add when he stands in front of me, his mouth curving into a smile.
    â€˜What kind of name is that? Who chose it?’
    â€˜I did.’
    â€˜Paddington!’ He laughs as he follows me out of the stable. ‘Let me think about it.’
    I close the door behind us. Rafa is in the adjacent stable, fidgeting to get out and scraping the floor. I take a couple of screwed-up notes from my pocket and hand them over to Robbie.
    â€˜Here’s what I owe you for the hay, and I said I’d buy you a drink.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about the delivery. It didn’t take long.’ As I suppress a twinge of disappointment, he moves up to pat Rafa’s neck. My horse looks past him, tossing his head with impatience, as if to say, ‘Stop wittering and let me out of here.’
    â€˜Have you ridden him past the pigs again?’
    â€˜Not yet. I’ve been too busy to take him out.’ I pause, wondering when I’m next going to see Robbie – not because I fancy the breeches off him, you understand, but I could do with a friend to show me around.
    My friends from school and uni are scattered across the country, and busy with their own lives. Even Sarah, who’s been like a sister to me, is currently less available than she used to be because she’s pregnant and moving house. We talk on the phone and keep up on Facebook, but it isn’t the same as meeting face to face. ‘How about going out for a hack sometime?’
    â€˜That would be great. I can’t give Nelson a good gallop when I’m out with Maisie, and Dillon’s not keen on keeping me company. Much as I love spending time with my half-brother, you can have too much of a good thing.’
    â€˜Half-brother?’
    â€˜Everyone thinks of us as full brothers,’ Robbie explains. ‘Although Sally Ann is my mum