Page 45 of Never Gonna Happen

Emily nodded and watched as Jamie slid off Luna’s back and heaved open a metal gate, the snow pushing through the bars and piling up behind it. He climbed back on and left it open as they continued at a slow plod, the wind now blowing what felt like shards of ice into the side of Emily’s face. Panic bubbled in her chest, so she focused on her breathing and kept her eyes on Jamie’s jacket between Rupert’s ears. She thought about her mum’s story about the two men in a Ford Cortina and reminded herself that at least that had ended with a wedding, even if the groom didn’t have any fingers.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The shelter loomed into sight after what was probably only another five minutes but felt like hours in the confusion of the blizzard. It looked like a large, single-storey wooden shed with three sets of double doors on the front, all with drifting snow banked up against them. Jamie jumped down and pulled a folding shovel from the saddle bag, then began to dig the snow away from the first set of doors. Emily dismounted too, taking hold of both sets of reins and turning the horses so their backs were to the wind. She watched Jamie battle the drifting snow with the shovel, wishing she could help but also knowing how important it was to keep the horses still and calm. One of the doors creaked open a foot, then more shovelling, then a foot more, then finally a big enough gap for Emily to lead the horses into the dry.

‘Tie them up on the rail,’ said Jamie urgently, ‘then fill that bucket. There’s a tap round the back.’

Emily didn’t ask questions, instead securing the two sets of reins and grabbing a black plastic bucket from inside the door. She waded through the snow to the back of the building, her icy breaths being whisked away on the wind. The tap was stiff but working, but it was much harder carrying a full bucket through knee-deep snow with ice chips blowing into her face. Everything about the experience was horrible, and she’d never been more relieved to be indoors.

‘Help me shift these bales,’ said Jamie.

Emily put the bucket safely in the corner, then grabbed a straw bale from the stack and passed it to Jamie. He had closed one door and was building a wall in the space left by the other, stacking two side-by-side then two across, like a Jenga tower. She thought about why, then realised it was about stopping the snow from coming in without closing the door – if he closed it, the weight of the drifting snow might make it difficult to open again. But the bales could be removed inwards, then they could dig their way out.

After a few minutes the final two bales were wedged into the top of the doorway, shutting out the whistling wind and the last flurries of snow, along with most of the light. Jamie rummaged in the saddle bag until he found a torch, poking it between two bales so it cast a ghostly glow on the roof. They both fussed the horses for a while, wiping the snow from their ears and faces and talking softly to them. Rupert and Luna both seemed fine after their ordeal, and happy to nuzzle their riders and accept a few treats from Jamie’s pocket.

‘That definitely wasn’t in the weather forecast,’ said Jamie, his breathing finally returning to normal.

‘No,’ said Emily. ‘Thank God for this place. What is it?’

‘It’s a field shelter. In the summer we turn the horses out all day and night if it’s warm and dry, but they need somewhere to shelter. In the winter we use it for extra storage.’ Emily looked around in the torchlight and saw bales of hay and bags of feed alongside the straw, along with a stack of buckets and a wheelbarrow. It felt surprisingly warm and cosy considering the storm outside, which was still battering the wooden cladding.

‘We could be here for a while,’ said Jamie, lifting the saddle bags off the horses and moving the water bucket so Rupert and Luna could both have a drink.

‘Can we call anyone?’

Jamie shrugged. ‘If we have to, but I’d rather wait to see if this blows through. Once it stops snowing we can lead the horses back to the road – they’ll be fine from there.’

‘How long will it take us to get back?’

‘We’ve done three quarters of a loop, so the house is only twenty minutes away. We’ll be fine.’ He smiled at her reassuringly, and she relaxed a little. Emily wasn’t used to all this countryside weather; in her world roads and paths were gritted and snow was fun, not something that could kill you.

She took her gloves and helmet off and raked her fingers through her hair where it had stuck to her head with sweat and snow. Jamie pulled some hay from a bale and stuffed it into a string net, which he hung on a hook on the wall so Luna and Rupert could chomp away at it. Then he sat on the straw and pulled a thermos flask out of the saddlebag.

‘Holy shit, did you bring tea?’ said Emily, her eyes wide.

Jamie smiled. ‘Of course.’ He rummaged around in the bag a bit more and pulled out a shiny blue bag. ‘Also chocolate buttons.’

‘Oh my God, I could kiss you,’ said Emily.

‘Well, that’s a huge coincidence,’ said Jamie, ‘because that’s exactly what I need to give me the strength to open this bag.’ He held out his hand and tilted his head, his eyes challenging her to play along.

Emily took his hand and sat astride him, pressing her groin into his as she undid his riding helmet and ran her hands through his hair. Her heart was pounding as she buried her face into his neck and breathed in the familiar smell of sweat and hay and horses. It reminded her of the day she arrived at Bowford, eating dinner next to him in the kitchen, then lying in bed later that night and imagining what it might be like to be this close to him. She’d never considered for a second that two months later they’d be in a barn in a snowstorm, Jamie’s hands roaming her body under her jumper as he whispered everything he was thinking into her ear.

In Emily’s world sex in hay barns was something that only happened in her mum’s books; usually involving chiselled country squires and winsome milkmaids in poorly secured underwear. But fuelled by lust and adrenaline, she was out of her boots and leggings and on her back on the hay bales, guiding Jamie’s head between her legs so he could loosen the knots on all the stress and tension of the past couple of hours. She could feel him urging her on, his fingers matching the tempo of his tongue as he coaxed her to the finish line, then plunged inside her without missing a beat. The soft glow of the torch, the whistling of the wind, the feeling of the cold air on her thighs and the rough straw on her back – all of it gave the experience a more intense edge, as if all her senses had been dialled up to eleven. Emily hadn’t realised that sex could feel like this, and as Jamie cried her name and buried his face in her hair, she promised herself never to settle for anything less.

Emily’s mum had once told her that the best cup of tea you will ever drink is the one the midwife brings you after you’ve had a baby. But even if she one day pushed out twins, Emily couldn’t imagine a cup of tea ever tasting better than the one she drank out of a thermos cup after she had struggled back into her cold, damp leggings.

‘Do you want a chocolate button?’ asked Jamie, holding out the bag.

‘Who eats them one at a time?’ She tipped out a handful and pushed them all into her mouth. Jamie grinned, then stood up to slide one of the straw bales out of the stack. A bright light illuminated the barn, making Emily squint.

‘Looks pretty calm out there now. We should make a move.’

‘Can’t we just live here for ever on tea and chocolate buttons?’ asked Emily, not hugely relishing the prospect of getting back in the saddle.

‘I can’t think of anything nicer,’ said Jamie, ‘apart from taking you home for a shower and a proper dinner.’

‘OK, that also sounds nice.’