Rising Trot
From Blushes 12 It seemed that she’d come every day since the holidays began. Walking down across the meadow in the afternoon sun or dodging the potholes in the lane on her bike after tea, leaning on the gate of the paddock and watching Tregowan Evergreen being led out for exercise and cantered and galloped around the field. She brought sugar or a carrot or an apple and the horse had got to know her, wanting to walk across to the gate for the titbit when exercise was over. He’d got to know her as well, had got used to seeing her bicycle propped against the fence and her sun-bleached hair catching the light. Her long legs and her tight little bum in faded jeans or snug shorts. She’d been coming for a week, a week of polite ‘Hello’s’ and ‘How’s Evergreen’ before she’d asked — not really asked, knowing the answer would be ‘No’, more like just said it, let it pop out, as if she’d simply had to say it or burst. ‘I’d love to ride him, Mr Walters — I’d just love to!’ she said it with a litt