Chapter One

There was a knock at the door. Brett looked up from where he was transferring hand-written notes onto the practice’s computer system—he hadn’t yet gotten comfortable with taking the iPad out on calls. He was paranoid he’d drop it in a cow pat, or worse. “Yes, come in!”

One of the veterinary surgery’s receptionists—an efficient blonde called Natasha—sidled in, a wry expression on her face. “Hi, Brett. I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s a woman on the phone, and she’s being, um, rather rude.”

Frowning, Brett replied, “Who is it? And why is she being rude?”

Natasha blew out a breath and shrugged. “She won’t tell me what the issue is. Won’t even tell me what animal she has. She just keeps saying she’ll only speak to a ‘trained professional.’ I don’t know who it is, either. All I know is her first name is—”

“Samantha?” Brett supplied, his shoulders slumping and eyebrows raising.

“Uh, yeah. How did you know? Oh God, I haven’t gone and insulted one of your friends or something, have I? I didn’t mean to, honestly. It’s just she’s being a bit difficult…”

“Natasha, don’t panic. She’s no friend of mine. I’ve never even met the woman. Besides, if she was one of my friends, I’d be giving her a bollocking for being rude to one of my staff, wouldn’t I? Anyway, if it’s the Samantha I think it is, then she’s being very difficult, and you’re being overly polite. Andrew warned me about her.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. Bloody typical that she’d phone while he’s away. The man barely ever takes a holiday, and now he finally has, his most awkward client is on the blower. He damn well owes me one after this.”

“If she’s a regular client, how come I’ve never spoken to her before?”

Shrugging, Brett replied, “Dunno. Maybe she’s got Andrew’s mobile number or something?”

Natasha gasped. “But he never gives out his mobile number to clients. He’s very strict about that—always asks us to take a message and if it’s urgent, pass it on to him directly.”

“Yeah…” Brett scratched his head. “He didn’t say much about her, beyond that she can be difficult. Honestly, I was a bit distracted when he mentioned it so I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention. I wish I’d asked more questions now, but I never thought I’d have the misfortune of having to deal with her.”

“You haven’t, yet.” Natasha raised her eyebrows and jerked her chin towards the phone on his desk.

“Good point.” He gave a wan smile. “Suppose I’d better find out what she wants, hadn’t I? If she’s special enough to have Andrew’s precious mobile phone number, then I ought to keep her sweet.”

“Probably wise.” Natasha left the room, closing the door behind her, but not before Brett spotted the slight smile on her face. Relieved to pass on the bitchy customer to him, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. “Hello, Brett Coulson speaking. How can I help?”

“Oh,” came the reply, “Brett. Ah, yes. You’re the other vet, aren’t you? Jolly good. Know what you’re talking about, do you?” The woman’s accent was posh, southern. Like she’d been to a finishing school or something.

Gritting his teeth, Brett then pasted a smile on his face, hoping it would be apparent in his tone, despite the daggers he was actually staring at her through the handset. “Yes, I most certainly do.” Should fucking do, after five years of training and the same again working in the profession. I’m not on bloody work experience here.

“But you sound so young.”

Glad she couldn’t see him, Brett rolled his eyes. Her problem obviously wasn’t an emergency, the way she was waffling on, time-wasting. “I’m almost twenty-nine, Mrs…”

“It’s Ms, actually. Samantha Hanson-Bishop here. So you’re still a baby then.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms Hanson-Bishop? Only I’ve a call to go out on in a few minutes.” He couldn’t help the emphasis he’d put on the Ms. It could be construed as sarcastic, but it was still a damn sight more polite than anything he really wanted to say. Would she just get to the point already?

“Yes, yes, of course. That’s why I’m telephoning. I just wanted to make sure I was speaking to someone who actually knew what they were talking about. Clearly your receptionist doesn’t know anything about animals, much less my thoroughbred horses.”

Ah, okay, that made things clearer. The stuck-up, posh bird ran a stable. Now the haughty attitude made sense—she was entitled, bored, and thought she was better than everyone else. Wanting to defend Natasha—who was, in fact, very knowledgeable about animals, it being part of her job and all—Brett had to bite his tongue. If the woman, however snobby and irritating, ran a stable of thoroughbreds, then she was no doubt bringing plenty of money into the practice. They were doing okay, but the loss of a big customer without a replacement wasn’t something they’d be able to sustain for very long. And word of mouth was very important in this game—he didn’t want her bad-mouthing him or the surgery.

“I can assure you, Ms Hanson-Bishop, that I’m a highly-trained, fully-qualified veterinary surgeon, with a great deal of experience. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll be able to deal with it.” The sugar he’d dripped into his voice made him want to vomit—and he might have even given himself diabetes. He’d chosen rural work, rather than something in a town or city, because he was down-to-earth. He preferred to deal with farmers simply looking to earn an honest wage or folks with crazy, scruffy dogs that went everywhere with them. Socialites with tiny dogs they kept in handbags, or pampered cats with dyed fur and painted claws weren’t really his thing.

Apparently, though, even the Yorkshire Dales had its fair share of prissy, precocious types who thought they were the centre of the universe.

The prissy, precocious person in question replied, “Hmm… well I suppose Andrew wouldn’t have you working with him if you weren’t competent. A wonderful man, Andrew. Wonderful vet, too. My horses just love him, even when he has to poke around with their unmentionables.”

Yanking the phone away from his face just in time to stop himself spluttering with laughter into the mouthpiece, Brett clapped his free hand over his mouth. Taking a moment to compose himself, he cleared his throat before replying, “Yes, Andrew is a top notch vet. I’m not surprised your horses like him. In his absence, however, I’d be more than happy to come out. Can you tell me what the problem is, please?”

“Of course. One of my mares has thrush.”

Brett frowned. From her tone and lack of urgency, he’d already guessed that the situation wasn’t dire—but thrush? Someone in her position should be able to deal with that type of minor issue with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back. Spotted and treated quickly, the condition wouldn’t affect the animal too much and would have no lasting effects. And Samantha had already diagnosed the problem, so she clearly knew what she was talking about—or had someone working for her that did.

Still, if she wanted a vet to see the animal, to pay their not-inconsiderable call out and treatment fees, then that was down to her. “I see. All right, no problem. Bear with me for just a moment, please, Ms Hanson-Bishop. I’m just going to pull up the diary on the computer and see when I can get to you.”

“Certainly.”

Pressing the ‘hold’ button on the phone, he placed the handset down on the desk before switching to the relevant programme on his computer and pulling up his schedule. Next up was his visit to Brian Thatcher’s place to see a cow that was having a difficult pregnancy. Then he had to get back to the surgery because another farmer was bringing in his three sheepdogs for their annual checkups and inoculations. That would easily take until close of play—if not a little longer—so Ms Hanson-Bishop and her horse would have to wait until the following day.

Preparing himself for some bitchiness, Brett took a deep breath before retrieving the handset and pressing the ‘hold’ button again. “Ms Hanson-Bishop?”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid my schedule for the rest of today is full, but I can squeeze you in first thing tomorrow morning. Would that be all right? I’m on my own, you see, so things are manic here, to say the least.”

“That’s fine, dear boy. I know Andrew has taken a well-deserved holiday. My mare is hardly going to keel over due to mild thrush. Tomorrow morning is absolutely fine. What time should I expect you?”

Shaking his head incredulously at the sudden change of attitude, Brett swallowed hard to try and combat his sudden dry mouth, and finally forced out, “8 a.m. If that’s not too early?”

Letting out an unladylike snort, she replied, “I’ll have been up three hours by then. Not too early at all. You’ve got the address and contact details in your system, I presume, so I’ll see you then. Toodle pip!”

She’d put the phone down before Brett got chance to reply. Immediately he logged into the client database, hoping like hell that her address was indeed stored, otherwise he’d be up shit creek without a paddle.

Favor was on his side, it seemed, and he heaved a sigh of relief before inputting the call information into the diary. Then he shoved all thoughts of Samantha Hanson-Bishop out of his mind and hurried to finish what he was doing, before he had to leave for the Thatcher farm.

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Two

Samantha watched the slightly grubby 4x4 make its way up the track towards the courtyard of her stables with mild irritation. Curse Andrew Norris for having a holiday and leaving her to deal with his spotty-faced, wet-behind-the-ears underling. He never went on holiday. The only reason she wasn’t more pissed off about the situation was because Venus only had a little case of thrush. If it had been something serious, she’d have demanded an older, more experienced locum come out. She wanted only the best for her horses. They were all she had, after all. Her babies. Albeit huge babies that dwarfed her petite five feet three frame.

Tucking her bobbed chestnut hair behind her ears, she drew herself up to her full height—meager as it was—and strode into the graveled area where the vet was just parking his car. What was his name again? She snorted as she remembered, glad he hadn’t yet opened the door and therefore wouldn’t have heard her. Or if he had, she could blame the sound on one of the horses. Brett—that was it. Brett the vet. It sounded like something from a children’s book or TV show.

Still, he was a vet nonetheless, and that was what she needed right now. A medical professional, young though he was, to sort out Venus’ problem and get her back to her usual fine form as soon as possible.

After a few more seconds, where Brett appeared to be rooting around in the passenger side of the vehicle, the driver’s door opened and a dirty blond mop of hair appeared. Samantha rolled her eyes. Seriously, did so-called professionals not bother with personal grooming these days?

The mop of hair was quickly followed by what she guessed to be six feet plus of man. Not boy, but man. And not a spot in sight. His bag in one hand, Brett closed the car door and walked—no, loped with an impossibly long stride—around the bonnet and in her direction, a wide smile lighting up his handsome face.

He reached her in just a few paces and held out his hand. “Are you Ms Hanson-Bishop? Hello, I’m Brett Coulson, here to see one of your mares—”

“I know why you’re here, Mr Coulson,” she snapped. “I am Ms Hanson-Bishop. I telephoned you, remember?”

Snatching his hand back to his side as though he’d been burned, Brett blushed. “Y-yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s very nice to meet you. So, could you show me where to go?”

I’d like to tell you where to go, dear boy. Trust me on that one. “Of course,” she replied, the chill in her voice belying the heat that was inexplicably trickling through her body. “This way, please.”

Spinning neatly on her heel, she walked back into the stables, allowing the sounds and scents of the animals to calm her. Though she had no idea what she was getting so wound up about in the first place. Venus would be just fine, even if Brett didn’t know what he was doing, and in her heart of hearts she knew he did. As long as he had the right equipment with him, she could do the damn treatment herself. Either way her precious horse would soon be on the road to recovery.

So why the hell was warmth still flooding her veins, making her tingle, and giving her the urge to do… something? She wasn’t sure what. Punch a wall, perhaps? But then that was hardly her style. Her fighting method was more tongue-lashing than anything remotely physical.

Snatching back the bolt on Venus’ stall door with much more force than was necessary—immediately regretting it as the horse started and stamped a foot—Samantha swung the door open and beckoned Brett in. “Just give me a moment to settle her. She’s very laid back and normally doesn’t present a problem, but I’d just like to be sure.”

“No problem.” He waited by the door as Samantha approached Venus, looking not a bit concerned about the size of the animal he was about to treat. In fact, he was regarding the beast with an expression more akin to awe, admiration. Humph, seems he’s got more about him than I gave him credit for.

Turning her attention to Venus, Samantha moved up close, stroking the animal and chatting softly to her. Reassuring her. “Hello, my sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all right. I know you normally see Andrew, but he’s on holiday at the moment, so this other nice vet has come to make you better. So you just stay calm, and let him do what he’s got to do. I’ll be right here, my darling. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

The horse couldn’t understand a word of what she’d said and she knew it, but it was all about the tone of her voice. Venus nuzzled her hand, demanding more attention. Samantha smiled fondly, rubbing at the beast’s muzzle, gratified to get a contented snort in return.

Giving a soft sigh, Samantha wondered for what had to be the millionth time why it was so much easier for her to deal with animals than it was humans. Around animals, she could be herself, relax, let her guard down, talk utter rubbish and they never seemed to care.

People, on the other hand, were hard work. They had certain expectations, they judged, they often wanted something from her, and, most importantly, they answered back.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why she preferred her horses to people. All they wanted were food, water, a roof over their heads, some exercise and attention, and they were content. They didn’t care what she wore, what she said, which side of the damn bed she got out of…

Suddenly, remembering where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, Samantha yanked herself out of her melancholy thought process, gave Venus another hearty rub on the nose, then stepped back. Rearranging her face into what she hoped wasn’t a deranged smile, she turned to Brett. “All right, she seems just fine. She’s all yours. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

With a curt nod, Brett moved towards the horse, bag in hand. “Great, thank you. She’s beautiful, by the way. A stunning animal.”

“Thank you.” As he got closer to Venus—and therefore her—she became painfully aware of his size. Christ, no wonder he didn’t seem intimidated by the mare—he looked as though he could take a kicking from a horse and come out unscathed. Highly unlikely, of course, but he sure was, well, big. Not just tall, but wide, too. He certainly filled out the faded jeans and dark green jumper he wore. Filled them out nicely, in fact.

Stepping back towards the door, she watched with an eagle eye as the young vet dealt with her horse. And, though she’d never admit it—not even on pain of death—she was impressed. Both at his manner with Venus, which was impeccable, and with him in general. It was then, as he bent to gently lift the horse’s hoof to look at the afflicted area—which he must have ascertained himself, as she hadn’t enlightened him—she realized why she’d reacted to him the way she had. She was attracted to him, for heaven’s sake! What on earth was that all about?

She was old enough to be—she did some mental calculations—yes, she was old enough to be his mother. Legally, too. Closing her eyes in a mixture of disgust and distaste, she let her head loll back against the stable door. She was losing the plot—had to be. What other possible explanation was there for her, the self-proclaimed ice queen of the Yorkshire Dales, being attracted to a man she could have given birth to? She hadn’t been attracted to anyone for so long, she’d literally forgotten what it felt like. No wonder she hadn’t realized straight away what was going on.

She held in a sudden gasp. Goodness—there was another potential explanation. Though it wasn’t much better than the first.

Early menopause. Very early, she told herself indignantly. Fluctuating hormones, hot flashes… they could be the reason for the heat that had infused her body since the young veterinarian’s appearance. The heat and the—this time the gasp slipped out before she could stop it. The dampness between her thighs. Good Lord, just what was going on here? She’d had a loveless—animals excepted, naturally—sexless existence of her own making for so long now that even arousal had escaped her.

Some of her friends—well, maybe that word was a bit strong, but that’s what she called them for want of a better description—talked about their “battery operated boyfriends” as a perfectly acceptable alternative to sex, whether it was because they were single, because they didn’t fuck their husbands or boyfriends, or because they weren’t satisfied by said husbands or boyfriends. On their recommendation, after the divorce, she’d gone online and ordered herself what professed to be a top-of-the-range rabbit vibrator with a silly amount of functions and buttons. Surely it only had one job—to vibrate? After fitting it with batteries and attempting to get herself in the mood with a nice bubble bath, a glass of wine and a mushy chick flick, she’d switched it on and prepared to have her mind blown.

All that had actually happened was a great deal of fumbling, pressing of buttons and… nothing. It hadn’t felt bad, exactly, but nor had it filled her with tingles, or rocketed her to the otherworldly heights of orgasm—sometimes multiple—the others had described.

On that occasion, she’d given it up as a bad job, figuring that side of her maybe just needed a rest. It would happen when it happened. But after a couple of months and a few more attempts, she’d shoved the vibrator to the very back of her underwear drawer and forgotten all about it. Forgotten all about sex, masturbation, orgasms. Thrown herself wholeheartedly into running her business.

That side of things, at least, had never been better.

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Three

Once Brett had ensured the horse was comfortable with him, he made short work of looking her over. Samantha’s diagnosis had been spot on—a mild case of thrush in one frog. Nothing to worry about at all.

He’d just carefully lowered the horse’s affected hoof to the ground, ready to retrieve his bag and the equipment he needed when he heard a gasp from behind him. Frowning, he turned to look at Samantha. “Everything all right, Ms Hanson-Bishop?”

She was backed up against the stable door, looking thunderstruck. Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks—which had been as porcelain as the rest of her face earlier—now blazed with color. For several seconds, she seemed to stare past him, as though he wasn’t there. Or perhaps she wasn’t there? In mind, anyway. There was no doubt the petite, curvy posh bird was right in front of him. It was a shame she was such a bitch, because she sure was easy on the eye.

He waited a couple of seconds for a response, then, worried there was something really wrong with her, took a step closer. He said more loudly, “Ms Hanson-Bishop? Are you okay?” Slowly, he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

His fingers had barely contacted the material of her riding jacket when she suddenly sprang into life. Twisting away from him, she glared and spat, “Don’t you dare touch me, boy! Just get on with treating my horse, would you? I don’t have all day to stand around babysitting you.”

Brett raised his eyebrows, but somehow managed to keep quiet, although his blood was starting to boil. Who the fucking hell did this woman think she was? She was treating him like some kind of second-class citizen, and an imbecile to boot. Did she have something against men, or what? Or men younger than her, anyway? She certainly seemed to think the sun shone out of Andrew’s arse. Prickly as she was, he doubted there was a significant other on the scene—unless she’d been lucky enough to find someone that enjoyed being spoken to like shit.

Then, remembering the way she’d spoken to Natasha on the telephone the previous day, Brett surmised that the snobby bitch just didn’t like anyone. Bar Andrew, of course.

With thoughts of his friend, boss and mentor firmly in mind, he turned away from the bizarrely-acting woman and back towards his bag. He’d put up with her shitty behavior, but only for the sake of the business. Besides, after today he’d never have to see or deal with her again, because Andrew would be back from his holiday next week—thank God.

Retrieving what he needed, he got on with treating the horse, murmuring reassurances to the animal the entire time. It didn’t seem necessary, however—clearly the beast was a lot better behaved and more well-adjusted than her owner.

Before long, he was done. Following one last check of the horse’s other hooves, just to be sure none of them were infected—they weren’t—he packed away his equipment.

“Okay, you’re all set, girl,” he said, giving the horse a pat on the flank. “You’ll be better before you know it.”

He bent and picked up his bag. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned to Samantha. “I’ll leave you with a bottle of this solution—I take it you know the drill?”

Samantha gave a curt nod. Her demeanor and complexion seemed to have returned to normal. “Yes, of course. I’ve dealt with this condition in horses many times.”

Which makes me wonder for the umpteenth time why the hell you called me out in the first place. “Excellent.” He gave a grin that felt so forced he thought his face would split in half. He probably looked like a demented clown. “I’ll get going then. You’ll get your bill in the usual way. Any further problems, or anything you’re concerned about, just give us a call.”

Samantha still stood in front of the stable door, blocking his exit. Seeming to take in his words, she then narrowed her eyes and shifted her gaze from him to the horse. After looking the beast slowly up and down for a moment or two, she returned her attention to him. “Huh. Seems you do know what you’re doing, young man. Venus barely batted an eyelid. Jolly good. Thank you, dear boy.”

Brett only just stopped his mouth from dropping open in astonishment. He covered his surprise by thrusting the bottle of treatment liquid at her. “Ahem. Well, yes. Thank you. I’ll see myself back to the car. Excuse me.”

She didn’t move quite quickly enough, so there was a lot of bodily contact as he pushed past her in his attempt to escape. Unintentional, but, much to his surprise, pleasurable nonetheless. Apparently his hormones couldn’t care less that Samantha Hanson-Bishop was a condescending bitch—the briefest hint of breast, hip and buttock seemed imprinted on his body where they’d touched. The imprint turned to warmth, which built with every step he took out of the stall, the building, and across the gravel towards the car. He fumbled in his jeans pocket for the keys, swearing loudly as he dropped them.

Grumbling as he retrieved the keys, he ignored the activity that was taking place below his belt. Finally, he unlocked the car, got in and shoved his bag into the passenger footwell. Only when the door was closed and locked behind him did he allow his feelings free rein. He let out a string of expletives and gave the steering wheel a sharp thump with his palm.

Then, letting out a heavy breath, he started the engine. Looking up, he saw Samantha leaning on the doorframe of the stables, watching him. Her arms were folded, and the action only served to emphasize her already plentiful bosom. Gulping, he raised a hand in acknowledgement, then quickly put the 4x4 in reverse gear and prepared to get the hell out of there.

The gravel, followed by the rough surface of the track leading out onto the main road, meant he couldn’t zoom off quickly, as every fiber of his being ached to do. Instead, he had to take it steady. The enforced speed—or lack of it—meant he had time to look in the rear view mirror at Samantha one last time. She grew smaller as she receded into the distance, but, unless he was utterly mistaken, she now wore an incredibly smug smile on her perfectly made-up face.

Brett gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Unfortunately, it did nothing to quell the raging hard on he was sporting. A hard on he still couldn’t quite explain. Yes, he’d sort of touched Samantha’s side boob—not deliberately, and not with a hand—but that was no excuse for getting a stiffy he could chop wood with. Christ, he wasn’t a fourteen-year-old boy, for whom brushing against a female counted as sexual activity, and would fuel multiple furious masturbation sessions, at least until the next thrilling “sexual encounter” came along. He was a grown man—despite Samantha’s snarky comments to the contrary—well versed in the ways of sex and romance. And he didn’t go short, either. Well, not of sex, anyway. Romance had been a little lacking in recent months, but he wasn’t worried. He had plenty of time for all that.

As he steered around a bend in the track, Samantha and her stables were mercifully lost from view. Hopefully now she was out of sight, she would, as the saying went, be out of mind.

Maybe she would be, he thought ruefully, if his damn cock would settle down. At the moment, he was trapped in a vicious circle. His cock was still rock hard and aching for attention, which couldn’t be ignored. Therefore his brain latched onto the reason for the erection, and so on.

Brett growled and smacked the steering wheel again. He had to get rid of this bloody hard on—pronto! He slowed the vehicle, scanning the land either side of the track. It was deserted. It was still early, after all. Hmm…

With one last glance around to make sure he was absolutely alone, Brett made a snap decision. He pulled over and engaged the handbrake, but left the engine running. That way, if anyone did happen to come along, he could say he’d pulled over to make a phone call or something. Plus, when he was done he’d be able to make a quicker getaway.

Undoing his seatbelt, he leaned over to get the box of tissues he kept in the glove box. Then, putting them within easy reach in the centre console, he sat back and set about releasing his still-raging cock from his jeans and underwear. Once it was in his hand, he had a final furtive look around, before beginning to toss himself off.

At the first firm stroke, he let out a hiss. God, that felt good. It’d be even better with a slick of lubricant, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was in the middle of a field, for fuck’s sake! He needed to get on with it and be on his way as soon as possible, before he got caught, or was late to the practice and his next client.

With that in mind, he gave himself a couple more slow strokes, just to get his grip absolutely right before he picked up the pace and got into a rhythm. Satisfied, he slipped his other hand to his balls and began to cup, roll and gently tug on them as he shunted his fist up and down his shaft.

He closed his eyes. Unbidden, an image of Samantha popped into his head, all tight jodhpurs, shiny riding boots and figure-hugging shirt under her jacket. For some reason, fantasy-Samantha also wielded a riding crop. Part of him internally shook his head at the ridiculous cliché, but a much bigger part of him, the part that was yearning for climax, decided that visual was fine. Just fine.

In fact, as he increased the speed with which he tossed himself off, he came to the conclusion it was a very nice image. It was doing the job, in any case, as already his balls were drawing up to his body and… oh shit… any minute now…

Snatching his hand away from his ball sac, he hurriedly yanked a wad of tissues from the box, glad he knew exactly where he’d put them. And not a moment too soon, either. He’d barely cupped them over his glans when his orgasm hit. With a strangled moan, he let go. Thrills coursed through his entire body, centering on his dick as it twitched and throbbed in his hand and jets of spunk filled the tissue.

Finally, with a long, shaky exhalation of breath, he was done. He sagged into the seat and opened his eyes. Thankfully he was still alone, still unobserved. Not a single soul knew, or would ever know, that he’d just wanked off in his car, in a field. And over Samantha Hanson-Bishop, no less. Bitch of the fucking century.

As he cleaned himself up and tucked himself away, he realized with a heavy heart that that wasn’t strictly true. He’d know. And it was something that—short of hypnosis—he’d never be able to unknow.

Fuck. Still, no harm done, right? I’ll never have to see the haughty bitch ever again.

𓆩♡𓆪

On Her High Horse