“I like watching you ride.” She smiles suggestively.
Alicia giggles. “I think most of us do.” She grins at Riley, who feels his face burn.
When he doesn’t respond, Shannon follows him. Riley begins brushing Santos down.
“Where were you at lunch today? Lydia and all of us were wondering.”
He swipes the bristles against the horse’s coat. “Oh, you know, I had some stuff to do, then I ran into Kayla and the new girl.”
“The new girl?” Shannon crosses her arms. “The scholarship girl?”
“Ooh, fascinating.” Alicia comes out of the tack room, fastening her helmet strap. “What’s she like?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replies. “Seems okay.”
“Only okay?” Shannon asks snottily.
“Uh-oh, jealousy alert,” Alicia snorts.
“Am not.”
Riley so wants out of here.
“Maybe you should be,” Alicia replies. “They haven’t given out many scholarships and if I remember right, you were the last one to get one, Shan. Lucky to keep it, too.”
“Don’t be such a bitch.”
“So, really, Ri, what is the new girl like?” Alicia persists.
Riley turns and heads back into the tack room to get his saddle pad and saddle. “I told you that I don’t know. She seems okay.”
“Is she hot? Pretty? Stupid? How did she dress? You know she’s poor if she needed the scholarship,” Alicia says and opens the door on the stall where her mare Lilah is kept.
“Hey, my family isn’t exactly poor,” Shannon protests.
Alicia laughs and hollers back as she enters her horse’s stall, “Don’t be so sensitive. Sure, I guess your family isn’t poor by normal standards, but around here…”
“Lay off, Alicia,” Riley says.
Shannon mouths thank you and smiles at him.
God! Why did I do that?
“C’mon, Shan, we love you. You know that. You’re one of us. But the new girl? I’m waiting, Riley… what is she like?” Alicia walks out of the stall with Lilah on a lead rope.
“Like a girl. She seems like a very nice girl who no doubt has worked her ass off to get here. Maybe you two should chill for once. Does every day have to be a bitchfest?” Unhooking the cross ties, Riley’s slides the bit into Santos’s mouth, slipping the bridle on and over his ears.
“God, Ri. What’s up with you? We just want some info,” Alicia says as Riley leads Santos out of the barn and over to the mounting block.
“I know you guys better than that. You’re already planning to harass the new girl. Why don’t you try being nice for a change? Retract the claws.”
Shannon and Alicia, are left speechless by this very unexpected demand.
On the back of Santos and heading out to the dressage ring, it hits him. Once Lydia Gallagher—queen bitch of the bitches—gets wind of the conversation he’s just had with Alicia and Shannon, Vivienne Taylor’s life will be turned into a living hell. On top of that, he knows Nate will pursue her with a vengeance. He hopes that the look in Vivienne’s eyes when he met her is reflective of who she really is. She is going to need that type of grit and fierceness to survive this place.
CHAPTER six
OMG. Matz Hall. This has to be a good sign. Kayla and I walk through the halls of the dorm named after the most successful show jumper ever. Wasn’t a rich kid, came from a regular family. Made it to three Olympics, medaled in the World Equestrian Championships, won the team gold medal in the World Championships. And then he becomes this incredible trainer—and a hero! The guy saved three kids when the plane they were all on crashed near Sioux City, Iowa. Who does stuff like that? Heroes do!
But then I look around a little bit more, and I notice this: everyone is staring at me. Guys, girls, even some adults take a long look—kind of like one of those teen movies where the new girl arrives and gets the major up-and-down once-over. I am sweating at my bra line at this point. I grew up with practically the same group of kids since kindergarten. I’ve never been the new kid. And I’m definitely not in Albany, Oregon, anymore.
Kayla pulls me out of my thoughts. “Because we have a year-round program, a lot of the kids—especially those whose families live close by—tend to spend part of their summer vacation at home. We’ll be full up by late afternoon tomorrow, but some lessons have already started. My husband, Holden, is out teaching a dressage lesson right now. I should tell you—he seems like a tough guy when you first meet him, but he’s hardest on those who he thinks have the most potential. And you, Ms. Taylor, arrive with some pretty steep expectations.”
Oh. “How steep?”
She wraps an arm around my shoulders and laughs. “Don’t worry. I just mean that you’re good. And scrutiny and pressure are things any future Olympian has to get used to.”
Future Olympian. Those words coming from Kayla Fairmont. I cannot even respond.
And now I notice the whispers. As soon as I walk past, I hear in hushed tones things like “Is that the new girl? I wonder if she’s really all that good”—and yes, most of the chatter is done among those who are indeed tan and golden with perfect hair, perfect body, perfect clothes. Perfectly perfect.
One perfect guy stops us as we head to my room. “Hi, Kayla.” He smiles at me. This one has dark hair, dark eyes, and ridiculously white teeth. What planet have I landed on?
“Hi, Nate. Nate Deacon, this is Vivienne Taylor.”
He turns to me and smiles. “Vivienne. Hi. It’s so nice to meet you. Can I help you with anything?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Emily will be bringing her bags up.”
“Good. Good. Emily’s a great girl,” he says. Now he is walking with us. “It is awesome here, Vivienne.”
“It seems to be.”
“Aren’t you in Mr. Bromley’s barn management class this year, Nate?” Kayla asks.
He frowns at this. “Yeah. I couldn’t get the art of horses class that I wanted for my extracurricular.”
“That is a popular one. Vivienne here is actually in barn management.”
“Really? Terrific. We can study together. I hear it’s a tough class.”
“O… kay.”
“I can show you around campus if you like,” he says.
Why is this Nate guy being so nice? I mean he’s cute and all, but he is just a little too much. “I’m kind of tired.”
“We should let Vivienne get settled in first,” Kayla says.
“Absolutely.” He takes a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, writes something, and hands it to me. “Here’s my number if you need anything. I have a lesson anyway, but for you, I’d totally give it up.”
He would? Cute—yes. Over the top—definitely. “Thanks.” I force a smile.
“See you soon.”
I’m both dizzy and relieved to see him go.
Kayla laughs. “Nate is a bit of a ladies’ man.”
“Hmm. Yeah. I think I got that.”
“He’s harmless.”
“Good.”
We take the elevator to the fourth floor.
“The guys are on the first two floors, and the girls get the better view on the top two. I had a part in making that happen.”
“The view?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” Kayla takes out a key and unlocks the door.
I stand there like an idiot, staring. Am I dreaming? When I realize I might be drooling, I shut my mouth and take a step inside. “Emily should be up with your luggage shortly.”
I nod in my oddly numb state. Again, one word, same word: wow. Or I’ll even go a bit further this time: OMG, and yes, I do know that is an acronym for three words. HGTV would be impressed by this room—correction, suite.
“Your roommate should be up soon. Then whenever you’re ready, just take a look on the map or ask someone where my office is, and I’ll take you down to the barn and have you meet your new partner,” Kayla says.
My eyes grow big. “My hor
se?” Part of being accepted on scholarship means that if you didn’t have a horse to bring with you, the academy provides one.
She smiles. “That’s right. Harmony’s a very pretty gray mare. You could go and meet her on your own, if you’d like,” Kayla says. “Name plates are on the stall doors. Map is on your desk.” She points to a glass-topped desk with a large envelope on it. “That’s your intake info. Why don’t you review it, rest a bit, meet Harmony, and then come see me and I can give you a real tour. By that time we’ll be about ready for dinner. We’re also having a movie night tonight, if you’re up for it.”
I so already love Kayla. It’s like she can read my mind. I do want to meet my new horse by myself for the first time. “Thanks.”
As she opens the door to leave, another girl appears with my luggage, looking none too pleased at carrying it. “Oh, good. Emily Davenport, meet Vivienne Taylor,” Kayla says.
“Hi,” I reply.
“Here’s your stuff. Welcome.”
“Emily…” Kayla gives her a look that reminds me of one of my mother’s don’t-go-there looks.
Emily smiles now and chirps. “Sorry. I’m just a little tired. Anyway, glad to have you at Fairmont.”
Okay, that was about as fake as the “Rolex” watch my grandma brought home from a recent trip to New York. Or am I just being cynical? Maybe all the whispering in the hall has gotten to me. I smile back at her and say, “Thanks.”
Kayla clasps her hands together. “Em, I say we let Vivienne get settled in. Tonight’s movie and tomorrow’s student mixer aren’t mandatory, but they’re good ways to meet people. See you soon.”
“Yes. Thanks again, Kayla, and thank you, Emily, for bringing up my bags.”
I hold back a squeal until I think they are far enough down the hall. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!” I do a little twirly celebration dance like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music when she’s singing about the hills being alive (Mom’s favorite movie; watching it has become an annual event in our house).
Mom.
She would so die to see this. There are two rooms. One has one of those circular couches all in black, and a couple of cool chairs spaced around a coffee table, also in black. On top of that, there are two desks, and a stereo in the bookcase! No visible TV, but seriously, who will have time for TV in this place? The bedroom has twin beds, dressers painted white—that black and white theme is going on everywhere in the room, and there are pencil sketches on the wall, of course of horses. But the best part—I have a view of the ocean. The Pacific Ocean! I can look out my window and see horses grazing in the pastures and then beyond that is the ocean! Oh my God. I have died and gone to horse heaven, or some kind of heaven.
I am really at Fairmont, and this is really an opportunity of a lifetime. I am going to seize every second of this. The adrenaline rushes through me. I want to meet my horse.
I take a look at myself in the mirror. Shudder. Oh, so not good. I sigh. I don’t do makeup well, so I rarely wear it, but I’d figured that today, flying to Los Angeles—my big day and all—I’d at least do some mascara, blush, and lip gloss. Lip gloss has long worn off, blush looks okay because there wasn’t much there anyway, but the mascara has run underneath my eyes—my supposedly best asset, according to Grandma. My big blue eyes. That’s how she talks about me to friends: Oh my granddaughter with the big blue eyes. Oh God. Running mascara. How did that happen? I must’ve rubbed my eyes after I woke up from a nap on the plane. I look like a… a small-town girl who doesn’t know how to wear makeup and is clueless about fashion or anything remotely cool. Riley saw me like this! A ton of kids saw me like this! And my hair. I take out a rubber band from my purse, pull back my hair, scrub my face, and put on a new T-shirt.
As I get closer to the barns, the noises that I’d heard pulling into the property start again. My head jams with thoughts of carrots, spurs, crops, kids, baths—some horses like them and some don’t—and jumping, cantering, hurting, feeling good. If a horse is having a thought, I am hearing all about it, yet I can’t tell from which horses the thoughts are coming.
I stand in the center of the padded aisle of the barn that Harmony is stalled in. The barns are as pristine and beautiful as everything else on the campus, but I can’t take any of it in. Not really. All I’m able to do is try and shut the thoughts out. I close my eyes and shake my head. Why is this happening? I’ve never, ever had anything like this happen before. Thoughts from the horses have always been organized. I knew who they came from, and I never picked up more than one horse’s thoughts at a time. I finally yell out, “Stop!” The horses down the row I’m on turn their heads and peer at me.
A middle-aged guy wearing a baseball cap and riding attire comes out from one of the stalls. “Excuse me?”
“Oh. Hi. I didn’t know anyone was here. I’m sorry. I’m trying to find my horse.”
He steps forward and stretches out his hand. “New student, I’m guessing? I’m Newman Becker.”
“No way.” How did I not recognize him? I guess because the hair sticking out from under his cap is now mostly gray, and he has a few lines on his face that weren’t there when I saw him on TV in the 2000 Olympics. Newman Becker rode jumpers. I knew he was an instructor at Fairmont. “It’s so great to meet you,” I say, gushing and rambling. “I mean you’re, wow, you are Newman Becker.”
He flashes his famous smile. “I am. And you are?”
“I’m Vivienne Taylor.”
“Vivienne. Scholarship Vivienne. Nice going, kid.”
“Thanks.”
“You and I will be doing quite a bit of work together. I was going over my roster, and I’ve got your group in the arena on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.”
I’m going to be taking lessons from Newman Becker! “Great.” It is great. It really is, but holy crap. Newman Becker. “So great.”
“So why were you yelling ‘stop’?” he asks.
I wince. “I… I was kind of stressing, and I was yelling at myself.” That was sort of the truth. I wasn’t really yelling at the horses, and since I’d started talking with Newman, I hadn’t been picking up anything from my four-legged friends.
“Huh. I can see how all of this newness might stress you out. You’re riding Harmony, right?”
“I am.”
“She’s a fabulous mare.”
That was all he was going to give me about the horse? “Where is she?”
“Around the corner and up three stalls. Want me to show you?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay. I’m sure I’ll see you before Tuesday. Nice to meet you, Viv.”
“You, too.”
I half-skip around the corner. I just met Newman Becker, who called me Viv, which usually I would not like, especially if I didn’t know the person, but come on, he was an Olympian! He could call me dumbass and I’d be totally cool with that.
Taking in the barn—its well-lit breezeway and cherry-paneled stall doors with placards bearing the names of the horses inside each stall—I can’t wipe the silly smile off my face. There is not even a drop of manure on the ground. I think the barns at Fairmont are probably cleaner than my room back home, and I am not a slob.
As I round the corner, some of the noise starts again. I begin to hum, which helps. I hum “I’m Just a Girl.” Who knew that Gwen Stefani’s voice in my mind would shut out who wanted carrots and who wanted me to go away and who wanted me to come and say hello?
When I get to Harmony’s stall, the thoughts and images are quieting, with only one or two here and there, and I can tell where they are coming from. Harmony is outside in her run and seems to have no interest in turning around and greeting me.
The bay gelding on the other side, though, definitely wants a hello, and the chestnut gelding on the opposite side is hoping I have some kind of treat called a Start-to-Finish, and he specifically wants an apple, not a carrot, and he specifically wants that brand. I glance at him and get the feeling that Sebastian—his name is on the sta
ll—has an OCD issue. I don’t let on that I’m on to him. I’m not ready to open that door yet. I want to establish a connection with my new horse first.
“Here, mare.” I kiss and cluck. I call her name. “Harmony. Hi girl. Hey. Hi.” Nothing. She does a sort of half turn with her neck and then goes back to looking out of her run. I hope she isn’t sick.
She is one of the most beautiful horses that I have ever seen. I unlatch her stall door and walk in. Still nothing. Sebastian, though, is fervently hoping I have those treats, and the bay really wants me to come and say hello. He is bobbing his head and practically yelling at me to give him attention. But Harmony gives me… nothing.
She is acting as if I’m not even there as I rub my hands all over her dappled dark-gray body. She stands about sixteen hands. Perfect. Her face is delicate—definitely a mare’s face, with a slight dish to her nose. My guess is she is likely a Trakhener. The breed can be a little temperamental. Her muscles are toned and strong and she is at a great weight—a perfect athlete. “Hey, girl, you feel okay?”
Nothing.
An empty silence.
I look into her large dark eyes. Pretty, but… vacant. I can’t describe them any other way, and it… well, it scares me. I take a step back, blink my eyes several times to clear my head. A rush of air escapes from between my lips. Harmony’s eyes are empty and blank. It truly does scare the hell out of me. I breathe in deeply, feeling off. What is this horse’s story? I’ve seen angry eyes, kind eyes, eyes filled with fear or pain, but vacant is all new to me.
And now noises start again, and it seems as if every horse on the campus is saying something, feeling something, needing something.
Every horse but mine.
And then—a flash of red, dark red, and total panic—and then black.
Me.
And everything goes dark.
CHAPTER seven
Amazing dream. Incredibly amazing godly being is holding me. His eyes are the color of pasture grass, his hair the color of wheat, and his skin is as golden as everyone else’s at Fairmont.
Silent Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 1) Page 4
