Free Affair of the Heart by Joan Wolf

but she was counting on her own notoriously soothing influence to calm him down. For some reason she had never been able to fathom, horses always found Caroline very relaxing. All kinds of people were always asking her to ride their hunters to calm them down. And, invariably, the nervous horse that had been jiggling along, shying at shadows, turned into a tranquil, easygoing old-timer after Caroline had been in the saddle for fifteen minutes. For some reason, she just got along with a horse. She was not as confident that she would get along with Mahogany as she appeared, however.
    She began by walking him across the field on a diagonal. When she reached the other side she turned him and returned along the same line, this time at a trot. The horse’s ears flicked up and back, wondering at the change of weight on his back and the change of riding style. Caroline posted effortlessly, and the horse’s stride began to lengthen. His head came down a little. He was beginning to relax, and when they reached the fence she turned him along it, still posting. Mahogany’s stride lengthened even more. Caroline held him firmly between her legs and let him lean a little on the bit. Without any signal on her part he moved into a canter. He was on the wrong lead, and she managed to pull him back down to a trot. She nudged her outside foot along his side and sat, and he began to canter again, this time on the right lead. “Good boy!” she said. “Good boy!” The horse’s stride lengthened, and Caroline tightened her inside leg, holding him firmly to the rail. A minute later he swerved, cutting into the center of the field, his powerful hindquarters driving him forward.
    Caroline tightened her right rein and pushed with her leg. The stallion cantered in a circle and she had him back on the rail again.
    She had the reins in a strong grip, and, using her body as a brace, she held him to a hand gallop as they moved along the rail. He cut out again before the turn, and once again Caroline circled him and brought him back. He hadn’t bucked on her, and she managed to run him into the fence and stop him.
    “Had enough?” one of the men called. They were farther down along the fence, standing now on the outside so as not to startle the horse as he went by. Caroline ignored them and crossed her stirrups over in front of her saddle. “Hey, what the hell you think you’re doing?” someone yelled.
    “Getting a better leg grip,” she said, and turned the horse along the rail once more, riding now without irons, her legs tight against the horse’s sides.
    She worked the stallion for half an hour, holding him on the rail with her leg, patiently bringing him back when he broke. He was very strong and got away from her a few times, but she always managed to get him back. The last few times he went around the entire field on the rail, extended to a full run, Caroline forward on his neck without, she knew, a hope in hell of stopping him until he got tired. It was glorious, like flying. She was almost sorry when he did begin to slow down a little. She sat back, applying a steady pressure on the bit, and he responded and slowed even more. They went around once more at a canter and then she got him down to a walk. She loosened the reins and said praisingly, “What a guy! What a guy!” all the time patting his neck in approval. They walked over to the fence, and one of the men slipped through to hold the stallion’s reins. Caroline slid to the ground and felt her legs begin to shake. She patted the horse once more and turned away. “God, but he’s strong!” she said and met the glacial dark-blue eyes of her stepbrother.
    “What the hell were you doing on that stallion?” he asked.
    Caroline couldn’t resist. “Riding him,” she said with biting sweetness.
    His mouth thinned and temper flared in his eyes. “That horse is a range stallion, half-broke, not one of your tame, fox-chasing hunters. He might have killed you, for God’s