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mounting block, Sean stood in front of her before she mounted. “You’ll have no need for this.” He pulled her crop out from where it was wedged between her arm and torso.
    Catie watched nervously as he tucked it out of sight behind his back. She had never ridden without her crop before and didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t protest.
    “Mount up!” He took the reins from Clancy to hold the horse steady so the man could get back to his work. “You’ll take the lead. I like to observe the skills of a new student. Just follow my instructions. I’ll mostly be watching today.”
    Wishing she were anywhere else in the world right now, Catie nodded.
    “All right then, we’ll walk for a bit then move into a working trot,” he instructed as he hoisted himself into his saddle. “Away off now.”
    The day was hot for England’s Midlands, making the afternoon crawl slowly along. By the time they reached the flat grassy fields that ran along the riverbank, Catie had grown hot and thirsty.
    “Halt,” Sean called out, and she gratefully pulled Chloe to a stop. He rode slightly past her and pointed down the long low lands by the river. “See the end of the field there?” He waited for her acknowledgement. She nodded. “You’ll wait for me to reach it, and when you see my hand drop, gallop hard in my direction.”
    “Gallop?” she repeated. Of course she knew this was coming but wasn’t expecting it the first day.
    “Yes, gallop . . . is there a problem?”
    Having no desire to share her fears with him, Catie argued back, “I have no crop. You took it from me, remember?”
    “You have no need for a crop. Your legs and position will tell your horse what you expect of her.”
    “But that’s not how I’ve learned.”
    “Then you will,” he said resolutely.
    Catie’s mind raced back to that day eight years ago when she was thrown from her pony. She remembered lying alone in the grass. She remembered being afraid. Afraid she was hurt, afraid that Ben would find out and be cross with her. She remembered the pain from the fall, the loneliness of her father’s recent death, and the agony of Ben’s grief. She remembered the stinging tears that had finally come. She never wanted to sit astride a speeding horse again, but she couldn’t tell this man why.
    “It cannot be a fear of speed,” he declared impatiently, growing tired of her dithering. “I’ve certainly seen you race by the cottage on your bicycle fast enough.”
    “You have seen me on my bicycle?” she asked, happy to draw out the conversation.
    “Well, yes.” He leaned forward in the saddle and gave her a stating the obvious expression. “We have occupied the same grounds for more than three days now.”
    “But I . . . haven’t . . . seen you,” she stammered, uncomfortable with his close proximity.
    He released a cynical sounding grunt. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
    “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, detecting the sarcasm in his voice.
    “It means nothing.” He waved off the question and started off.
    “Wait!” Catie quickly caught up to him. “If you have something to say to me, Mr. Kelly, say it!”
    Straightening in his saddle as if he were heading into battle, Sean stared at her. “It’s not my place to correct your manners, Miss Catie. Now, if you’ll please gallop hard in my direction when I reach the end of the field there, I’d appreciate it. I need to check your balance and position.”
    “And do you think my manners need correcting?”
    “Maybe you should ask Clancy that question.”
    “Clancy!” she repeated incredulously, but then remembered snapping at him for not having her horse saddled. Still, who was Sean Kelly to reprimand her? And furthermore, it wasn’t Clancy’s opinion she wanted. Narrowing her eyes, she raised her chin in challenge and stated boldly, “I asked you.”
    Sean Kelly’s mother may have been English but he was an Irishman from his flat cap to his boots, meaning he had