Chapter 2

“She’s the local sports reporter who hates me and is going to print enlarged pictures of my foul-up in the local rag,” I confided.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” This lithe, jeans-clad stranger possessed a soothing manner but immediately ruined it by adding, “By the way, I heard you need a groom.”

Of all the nerve! You’re involved in one little incident where you forget to retighten your girth, and the whole equestrian world thinks you need help getting your own horse ready.

Tartly, I replied, “No, thank you. I’m perfectly capable.”

“No offense meant, only a friend breathed a word in my ear about a possible job opening, that’s all.”

Despite my annoyance, I was curious. “Who was that, then?”

“Ffreddie Phorthwright.”

“Why would Ffreddie think I needed a groom?”

As if I didn’t know. He was always nagging me about the sloppy state of my barn and, after the fiasco today. I suppose he thought I’d finally recognize the need for outside help. Fat chance!