Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

required for any purpose other than to cruise, there was a moment when she came to realise that, although she had colleagues and acquaintances, she had very few friends; people she could confide in and trust implicitly. In fact apart from Kristine, her childhood friend, and fellow police officer, she had no one.

How she ended up at the stables, given the gloom that consumed her brain Charley had no idea, but she was glad she had. The farmhouse was deserted, so it was obvious to her that Kristine was at work, at the police station. In Charley’s experience, shift work did not help relationships, although it appeared that people who worked in the emergency services needed to form a solid understanding amongst family and friends if their relationships were to have longevity.

On the positive side, Wilson, her favoured ex-police-horse at the yard, greeted her with a gentle grasp of his lips. Charley smiled, and scratched the bay’s neck which Wilson stretched out, allowing him to shove his nose in her face to ‘lip’ her.

Playfully he laid his ears back and showed his teeth, his eyes as plain as the writing on the wall. ‘Cupboard love mister,’ she laughed. ‘You’re not after a kiss, you’re looking for treats.’

Wilson nudged her several times before she reached deep inside her pocket and retrieved a packet of Polo mints. He showed her his equine happy face.

As Charley rode out of the stable yard along the single dirt track peppered with mud-holes, she felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. With a deep sense of trust for the horse, she allowed Wilson his head. For a short while they traversed the fringe of the copse, past the beech trees, continuing along the well-trodden path. She saw the trees thickening further, forming a tunnel, arching together to blot out the sky. The dense light was just enough to navigate the gloom.

Eventually, and not a minute too soon, they left the depressing, grey-brown behind them and welcomed the thinning of the trees which heralded the green lushness of the windswept Yorkshire moor ahead. Charley heard the wind in the distance hissing through the long grass, and it made her heart swell.

It appeared to her that Wilson had sensed her need for solitude, and he had decided to bring her here. He was sharp, alert and at the same time she felt he was in charge, and she thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

In her enthusiasm to break free, riding high onto the ridge of the moors to survey the domain, Charley leaned down over Wilson’s neck and called for him to respond to the clenching of her thighs, to encourage his full speed ahead. As his trot turned to a canter, so a high snorting noise came from Wilson’s flaring nostrils, and his excitement heightened hers, resulting in an overwhelming energy coursing through Charley’s body. For the first time in a long time her mind was crystal clear. The incredible high gave her strength, resolve and freedom from the constraints recently placed on her by her mind and body. She felt more alive than she had in a while, but that brought with it the rawness of an open wound. Charley fancied she could feel Wilson’s wordless feelings, primeval instincts, and his carefree spirit more acutely as they rode on. Soon her doubts and fears were stored neatly away, not erased, but in a place where accessing them required a conscious effort, and for that she was thankful.

Tightening Wilson’s reins, she allowed him to continue at a gait that would cool him down, until at last they arrived back at the stable yard. Effortlessly she jumped down from the saddle and quickly removed it. Rubbing the bay down, she brushed him until her adrenaline wore off. Patting his neck she spoke soothingly as she buried her face in his mane, took a mint from her pocket, put it in the palm of her hand for him to take, and reluctantly said goodbye.

Having spent every emotion and ounce of anxiety she had unwittingly suppressed for some time, Charley was breathless and sweaty, but she felt good.

Charley’s alarm clock brought her out of a deep sleep at six thirty the following morning. With one eye open she silenced it with the swipe of a flailing hand, and the clock tumbled to the floor. Both eyes instantly wide open, she caught a breath, and at the same time grabbed hold of her hot-chocolate mug that had been in its flight path. Holding the handle a little too tightly, she noticed her hand was shaking, and it reminded her of the strain her body had endured yesterday. With a groan, she threw back the covers and slid out of bed. Hobbling to the bathroom, she wished that she had paced herself – riding for so long, and so hard was not for the novice, or one who had not been in the saddle in a while. Biscuit crumbs on the floor felt like grit under the soles of her feet. Charley cringed.

She saw nothing to smile about in the bathroom mirror. A puffy, pale face looked back at her. She had gone to bed early, as well. ‘What’s happened to that fun-loving person?’ she asked herself. Early nights, she decided, were not good for her!

Her sore muscles made getting dressed harder. She struggled into her dress, straining for the zip at the back; it was at times like these she wished she didn’t live alone. Her determination to succeed however could be likened to her desire to keep the double murder enquiry’s momentum going – she refused to give up.

A message in Annie’s handwriting, from James Thomas, awaited her at the office: Not a happy bunny! He wants to know when it’s likely he can get on with the demolition at Crownest?

Screwing the note tightly up in the palm of her hand, Charley aimed it at the bin until she realised that Annie stood, leaning on the door jamb, her expression questioning. ‘Until