Quit Horsing Around

by Susan Duffield-Lodge

From the moment our eyes met I knew in my heart that he was the one. I’d never been a believer in love at first sight. Until now. Destiny can be funny like that; sneaking up on you when you least expect it—one of those magical, memorable moments when love gently taps you on the shoulder.

I was immediately transfixed by the sheer beauty and magnificence of him as he began slowly ambling toward me. I found myself assessing his physical bearing from afar—his stealthy prowess. He was tall, solidly built, his body smoothly sculpted in a sweet mellow cognac sheen. I couldn’t stop myself from blushing.

I wasn’t normally attracted to long hair, but his tresses were glorious—the colour of warm honey—subtle streaks of arctic blonde sprinkled throughout, flowing loosely in a curtain reaching below his wide shoulders—I mused that he must spend a great deal of his free time outside working under the bleaching sun. (I hated when others had nicer hair than I did).

The distance between us lessened and I noticed the masterful way he carried himself, a subtle trace of aloofness in his step—a distinct sense of pride in the manner in which he held his head.

I experienced a moment of lightheadedness as he drew ever closer.

Matching his quickened steps, I closed the distance between us until we stood nose pressed to nose. In that moment of intimate union, I gently placed my forehead against his, staring deep into his large, exquisite chocolate-coloured eyes—eyes of an almond shape and soulful—reflective and reminiscent of peering into a looking glass—deep and dark shadowed pools that a girl could easily fall into and lose herself in.

In that moment I saw the truth in the time-worn adage which touted the ‘eyes being the mirrors of one’s soul’.

As I drew a cleansing breath, I inhaled his musky, masculine scent—a mixture of sunshine, morning dew, and the aroma of newly mown hay. Sweet and sensual hints of earthiness lingered.

Putting aside any trepidation, I boldly took the liberty of running my hand down the inner aspect of his leg where I detected, beneath my outstretched hand, a faint responsive tremble coursing through him.

Reaching up I gently brushed aside an errant lock of hair resting on his forehead. I caressed his face and nuzzled my cheek alongside his softly whiskered chin. In turn his hot breath whispered a trickled path down the side of my neck, warming the skin beneath the open collar of my cotton blouse.

I had heard locals talk of him, commenting that he was worth a great deal of money. I didn’t care a whit about his financial worth.

I'd also heard that he had quite the reputation with the ladies. The exact rumour which had made its circuitous journey throughout the community, was that he was quite a stud. 


Word had it that he had a couple of young offspring roaming the open countryside as a result of his wild and wicked escapades.

Those revealing facts—if they were even true—didn’t detract from my attraction to him. If anything they only added and heightened the mystery and allure of him.

Shyly hesitating, I stood up on my toes, placing a light wisp of a kiss upon his cheek, and then reluctantly turned to slowly make my way back towards the out-buildings located on the far side of the pasture.

I was embarrassed and surprised at how brazen I’d been; it was so out of character for me, but it provided me the impetus to hasten my steps attempting to increase the distance between us.

Pausing mid-step, I remembered I’d grabbed my camera bag that morning prior to leaving the house. I reached into it and pulled my Nikon free, and began fiddling with the zoom lens, hoping I was far enough away from him that he’d have gone on about his business and not notice that I’d stopped and turned back.

I proceeded to pivot and posture myself behind a large chestnut tree, searching for the perfect angle — the perfect photo. Suddenly it was imperative that I capture the true essence of him; otherwise one might never believe the serendipity of the moment the two of us had shared.

I climbed up onto the fence rail surrounding the pasture to attain some height for the photo and I let out a shrill whistle, feeling a bit of a fool as I flapped my hands above my head to grab his attention.

As he turned in response I caught the full glory of him and snapped the picture.

***

I shared his photo with the girls at our next scheduled luncheon, wanting to hear what they thought of him and our unexpected tryst.

The group eagerly leaned forward over their salad plates, jostling one another to grab a peek of the photo. After each had scrutinized it carefully, the collective response amongst the group was indisputable.

He was, they mutually concurred, the most beautiful horse they’d ever seen.