Ballantyne's Battle

By Lisa James

Rane Ballantyne is instantly attracted as he watches his niece’s riding instructor, Brit Andover, flying over jump after jump as she pilots her big gelding around the Grand Prix level course. When they meet, he is gratified to see she feels the same spark of attraction he does. But while Rane wants to see where it leads, Brit is wary of any possible romance. She’s busy, too busy, trying to keep her head above water in the uncertain and demanding business of training and showing horses as well as giving riding lessons.

Rane becomes her newest student, and insists on private lessons. Brit cannot afford to turn away a paying client but she does try to dissuade him by turning his lessons into torturous episodes of endurance. Over time, his determination slowly overcomes Brit’s resistance. She admits she, too, wants what he wants for them: Even as Brit aches for what he describes, even as they do grow closer emotionally and physically, she is still afraid because she has never told how he reminds her of her first love, a man who is still very much part of her world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Uncial Press
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781601742315

Lisa James

Lisa James is married and lives with her husband and six children in the north of England. In 2005 she reported her step-father to the police and three years later, when the case came to court, he was convicted.

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CHAPTER ONE

Now on course, number 23, Papillion, ridden by Brittany Andover. Papillion is a ten-year-old, seventeen-hand Thoroughbred gelding.

Brit heard the announcer, followed by the horn indicating she was cleared to begin her round. The warmth of the early spring sun soaked through her show coat, making her uncomfortably hot, but she barely noticed as she concentrated on the fourteen hundred pounds of horse under her tight control.

She gritted her teeth. She wanted this win. Every round counted, every class counted, every show counted. She continued on down to the far end of the arena at a forward trot to give Papillion a glance at the Liverpool jump. Water jumps were his least favorite type of obstacle.

The people in the grandstand were hushed, having already witnessed some spectacular feats of horsemanship and anticipating more. Most appreciated the years of effort it took both horses and riders to rise to the level of a Grand Prix competition. The colorful jumps, set at various heights and widths, loomed large in the oval arena, where the dirt was dragged so smooth it looked like chocolate frosting on a cake.

Once Brit circled by the water jump, she picked up a canter and headed for the first obstacle that was bracketed with electronic eyes. Even in this first round, there was a set time contestants could not exceed without penalty. She'd already ridden the course in her mind and had walked it earlier with all the other riders so she knew exactly how she wanted to ride each fence.

The first jump was simple and Papillion cleared it with ease, his powerful body rising beneath her as she folded her body along his. She bent him slightly to the left to head for the next, six strides away. When she'd walked the course, she'd decided to go for five because of Papillion's large stride. Her strategy worked perfectly. A quiet spatter of dirt hit the bottom panel of the fence as they shot into the air. Upon landing they passed the most solid looking jump on the course. Brit knew they would take that one from the opposite direction three fences later. She hoped the diagonal panels and flower pots all across the bottom wouldn't distract Papillion.

Brit yanked her attention back to the next fence, a tall, airy-looking vertical, inviting the horse to underestimate its difficulty. Papillion's stride was a little strung out from clearing the wide spread, but he obediently slowed and collected at her tug on the reins. She carefully rode him to the takeoff spot she saw, and again he cleared it effortlessly.

Brit steered Papillion around the arena, pointing him at each obstacle in turn, keeping him under tight control until he launched himself into the air. Then she turned from driver to passenger. Her job was to stay out of his way so he could clear each fence. They were still clear as they approached the last line of jumps, where the course designer had strategically placed a combination of three closely-spaced fences that headed straight towards the out gate. Slightly tired and anxious to get out of the ring, most horses tended to speed up. Papillion was no exception, but Brit tightened the reins and sat deeper in the saddle. She heard the collective groan of the crowd as his hind leg rapped the back rail of the last fence, but then a relieved murmur as the pole only bounced hard before settling back into the cups.

And we have our fifth clear round of the afternoon, the announcer proclaimed as the spectators broke into appreciative applause.

Brit gave Papillion a well-deserved pat and then listened for her time to use as a reference during the jump-off round. After exiting the arena, she dismounted quickly, ran her iron stirrups up the leathers, and loosened Papillion's girth slightly. She stripped her coat and gloves off before wiping at the perspiration on her face, and tried not to sigh. She was in the jump-off, wasn't she? Just what she'd wanted, wasn't it? She unfastened the chin strap on her helmet and pulled it off, reveling in the sense of lightness this small act of freedom provided.

The stable's groom, Ellie, appeared at Papillion's side. You were a good boy, Pappy. Come on, let's walk you out.

Brit threw a distracted 'thank you' in her direction, but the young girl's attention was centered on the horse at her side, leaving Brit to concentrate on how she wanted to ride the jump-off. She knew there were seven more horses to go after her which probably meant one or two more clear rounds. She would use the intervening time to try to relax and yet stay focused on the task before her.

Brit! Brit!

Brit swung around at the sound of her name. One of her newest and best riding students was coming towards her at an excited jog. Jackie Ballantyne, tall, slim, and dark-haired, was a confident, enthusiastic sixteen-year old. Inwardly, Brit smiled because Jackie reminded her of herself more than ten long years ago.

Brit, you were wonderful. Even my uncle thought so and he knows absolutely nothing about horses.

Brit's gaze slipped to the tall man approaching them at a more leisurely pace. Her brow furrowed. What was it about him? He was familiar somehow...

This is my uncle, Rane Ballantyne. Rane, this is Brittany Andover.

Brit stared at him, puzzled at her suddenly heightened senses.

She noticed his smoky dark hair and felt a sense of relief. Relief?

A good-looking accountant. But no mere accountant would have hair that curled so attractively despite such a short haircut, glasses that served to accent the narrowed, hawkish gaze above a nose whose bridge added even further to the look of a bird of prey. And that faintly quirked mouth. Lips firmly pressed together as if trying hard not to break into an amused grin.

Probably at her expense, because she was staring.

Her gaze snapped to his for a second and then down to his mouth again. Definitely at her expense. She took a shaky breath and unwillingly continued her inventory. No. No accountant, even one with a weekend warrior type exercise program, would have such a sleekly sculpted musculature.

She judged him to be about five years older than she which would put him in his early thirties. She came out of her confused daze long enough to slowly reach out and grasp the large, bronzed hand he was holding out. When his warm hand engulfed her own, her heart did a little bump-bump before racing away at a furious pace.

What is the matter with me?

But she knew. He reminded her of Jeff. He was a little taller, but he had the same build, the same direct, steady blue-eyed gaze that always seemed to see right to her soul.

How do you do, Ms. Andover.

His voice was deep, soft, sexy, different from Jeff's. Incredibly better. She took a shaky breath as she removed her tingling hand, and managed a polite, Mr. Ballantyne.

Please, call me Rane. He paused to give her time to extend to him the same courtesy, but she remained silent. I've never been on a horse, but suddenly I see the attraction. Do you give lessons to adults?

Yes.

Good. Do you have a private lesson available Saturday morning?

I don't recommend private lessons for beginners because you'd be too busy getting used to being on a horse to benefit from my undivided attention, she said.

But that's what I want, your undivided attention. He held her gaze.

Her eyes narrowed. In her old life, she would have reacted flippantly to his advances. Flirting had been second nature to her during the years she had attended numerous parties and functions, but she'd never really enjoyed it. Of course, after her father's downfall and subsequent death almost six years ago, she'd become persona non grata at such affairs, so she hadn't had any recent practice in the frivolous art. Now she cultivated an unapproachable air that managed to repel most approaches. Mr. Ballantyne had obviously picked up on her momentary reaction to him, and he was letting her know he intended doing something about it.

But she had neither the time nor the inclination to start anything with any man, even one who so obviously called to something deep and needing inside her. Just as Jeff had, she thought with an inward wince of anguish.

Her chin automatically rose as she said, in a deliberately cool and remote tone, Perhaps we can discuss it further after the competition's over. If you'll excuse me. She sent a genuine smile in Jackie's direction before turning away.

Of course.

Brit's skin prickled with awareness, her heart thumping as hard as if she'd run a mile, as she walked away from Jackie and her uncle. She ran her hand along the back of her neck and took several deep breaths to blank the disturbing encounter from her mind. You have a class to win, she said aloud, and drew an understanding glance from a nearby member of the ring crew. She stood near the in-gate and watched the last few rounds.

There was only one more clear round, which meant the worst she could do was sixth place. That was still in the money.

The ring crew shortened the course and raised the remaining fences for the jump-off. One last time she went over in her mind how she would ride the more difficult course. She put her coat on, buckled on her helmet, and pulled her gloves back over rock steady hands. With perfect timing, Ellie brought Papillion to her with his girth already tightened and the irons lowered. She cantered him around the warm up arena twice before returning to the in-gate to see how the riders before her rode the jump-off course.

When her name was called, she decided to go for broke, as she knew very well the one rider after her would. The big gelding surged forward when she urged him towards the first fence. He thrust powerfully upward, and before he'd landed she was already directing him to the next fence. They flew over that one, too, and she immediately pulled him around to the next fence, barely a stride away. He never hesitated. His ears swiveled forward only to flatten again as he attacked the fence. They jumped the last fence at an all-out gallop. Once again her luck held. Papillion didn't even nick the back rail.

A clear round in 43.96 seconds, ladies and gentlemen. Our new leader! But our last entry will be just as determined, I'm sure. Jeff Stanford on Blue Knight will give it all he's got.

Brit watched from the in-gate, her fingers gripping the reins. It was awful, but she couldn't help wishing Jeff would have a knockdown because she knew he would probably beat her time. She watched breathlessly as he tore around the course. He rode so aggressively, it seemed as if he lifted the horse over the jumps by will alone. As if in answer to her prayers though, the gray gelding's hind legs caught the back rail of the last fence and brought it down to the collective groans of the crowd.

A time of 43.07, ladies and gentlemen, but with four faults, so our winner is Brittany Andover on Papillion.

As Brit waited with all the other ribbon winners to be called in to receive the prizes, Jeff rode up next to her, the sun glinting off his golden blond hair. Congratulations, Brit.

Thank you. She noticed the sincerity in his light blue eyes before glancing away. She was still feeling the sick, giddy after-rush of adrenaline, and Jeff's presence didn't help. Despite the passage of over three years, she still couldn't help feeling humiliated. Although Jeff had been nothing but kind when he'd turned her down after she'd thrown herself at him for the second time, his gallantry had somehow made it worse. The gentle way he'd treated her only proved he was obviously someone worth loving.

After she collected her trophy and posed for photographs, she turned away, her thoughts going wearily to the long drive home. She heard her name called as she approached her trailer. This time Jackie and Rane Ballantyne approached together.

Congratulations, Brit, Jackie called gaily.

Thank you.

That was some ride. It looked like you took quite a few chances in there, Rane said, his eyes serious.

It's never boring, she managed lightly. She tried to look at him with detachment, now that she had some warning, but again she saw that tantalizing likeness to Jeff. She felt herself react the same way, too, frissons of recognition trickling through her, and that shocked her more than anything else could, because he wasn't Jeff. What was it about him that could make her feel this way?

Brit wrenched her gaze to Jackie. This is quite a drive for you. I didn't know you were planning to come.

Mom and Dad said I couldn't drive this far by myself. And Rane wouldn't promise to take me, even though I begged and begged him, until I showed him this photo of you in New York last year. She showed Brit a glossy photo of herself in what Brit thought of as the People magazine equivalent for the horse world. I didn't tell him who you were, though. I just told him we could probably meet you through my riding instructor. Jackie grinned cheekily at her uncle, who looked not one whit abashed.

Brit tried not to frown as she scanned the offered page. It showed her and Gableman clearing the last fence in the jump-off round that had won them a very prestigious Grand Prix. Right after the win, she'd been offered an amount for the flashy-looking gelding she hadn't been able to turn down, she remembered with a trace of bitterness. Her gaze moved to her own face and she grimaced at the knotted muscles bunched at her jaw, and the ferocious determination in her eyes. She reached out and smoothed the bottom of the page Jackie had folded under. The caption read appropriately enough, Brit's got grit. Was this what was responsible for Rane Ballantyne wanting to meet her?

Apparently, she was a challenge to him because he thought she was some kind of cool, confident Amazon, although he couldn't be more wrong. If only he knew that the foremost emotion she felt lately when she won was surprise. She was amazed that she was ever in the ribbons at all because she was a mass of nerves from one competition to the next.

I'm glad you two could make it. Suddenly, she just wanted to get away. Where was the jubilation, the triumph she should be feeling? All she felt was deathly weariness from the strain of the competition and uneasiness in Rane's presence.

Well, we've got to get going. Jackie, I'll see you Saturday at nine. She dragged her gaze back to Rane, unsurprised to find him studying her as hard as she'd been studying him earlier. She forced her lips to move. And, er, Rane, do you still want a lesson?

How about Saturday at eight?

Private lessons are much more expensive, she warned in a last ditch effort to dissuade him.

I think I can manage whatever your price is.

Were they still talking about a riding lesson? All right, I'll see you next Saturday, then.

Yes, Ms. Andover. He waited, forcing her to return his earlier courtesy.

Please call me Brit, she said, ungraciously she knew. And wear comfortable clothes and some kind of shoe with a heel, preferably a riding boot of some sort.

Okay. May we help you in any way?

No, thank you. Ellie and I have this down to a routine now. She turned away, very conscious that he was watching. Ellie had already untacked Papillion, put his sheet on, and placed his shipping boots on his legs for the four-hour drive they had ahead of them. It would be dark when they arrived home, even if they left right away. Home. Not in the exclusive Great Falls, Virginia, community where she'd been raised, but close enough. Close enough to remember.

Brit climbed into the dressing room in the front of the horse trailer to change from her boots to a comfortable pair of jogging shoes and an old blue sweatshirt. She put her show coat away before removing the bobby pins from her hair and tiredly shaking the long strands loose. By the time she was finished, Ellie had already loaded and