Vivvie took a step back. “Oh my God, Ri. What is it?”
He can’t speak. Everything is stuck in his throat. Vivvie looks so anxious, concerned.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m sorry I was pissed off at you. You have to tell me, what is it?”
Now the tears stream down his face. Vivvie reaches her hand out and wipes them away, then takes both of his hands. “Hey, it’s okay. It is. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t, Vivvie,” he whispers. “My parents will disown me if they find out.”
“Find out what?” she asks.
“I’m gay, Vivvie. I am gay.”
CHAPTER thirty
I want to hold Riley’s hand all evening and infuse some sort of strength, or compassion, or whatever he needs from me in that moment. I cannot even grasp the concept of a parent being unwilling to accept a child for who they are, although I am not naive enough to realize that this is not a reality in life.
It’s in a moment over escargot (snails; I had never had them before—surprisingly delish) that it hits me how lucky I am. I mean, let’s face it, I am weird. I’m not getting around that one. I talk to horses. I do. And they talk to me. Mom, she not only accepts me for who I am, she believes me, loves me, lets me decide what I want to do with it. I think we both believe that if word got out about my “gift,” I would get a lot of criticism. Some people would make fun of me; others might hound me to talk to their horses. I’m not ready for any of that.
What would happen to Riley if he “outed” himself? I am thinking about all of this as the waiter brings our entrees. Earlier, his father raised an eyebrow when Riley took my hand. To me, it looked like a warning.
Joel has been scowling at me pretty much all night, and anytime Riley speaks, the guy is all eyes and ears.
I wonder if he and Riley…
Oh. Oh.
Joel and Riley.
It would explain a whole heckuva lot.
“What type of horse do you have?” Joel asks.
“She’s actually a Trakehner. Dapple gray. A splendid mare.” I couldn’t pass it up. Had to throw the word in there.
“Oh gosh, they are on the high-strung side. I think they can be on the dumb side, too. No. I prefer a good, old-fashioned Thoroughbred when it comes to the sport of eventing. So reliable. They are all heart.”
Ears heating up to dark purple. So happy my hair is not pulled back. I smile oh-so-sweetly. “As you say, Thoroughbreds are all heart. Makes me question their intelligence, at least at times. I’m not sure what you’ve discovered in your experience, but I have been very pleased with my horse. I think she is a splendid breed.” Okay, so it’s a twinge of an exaggeration, but for the past few days, Harmony and I have been making some real strides together. For the record, I really don’t think that Thoroughbreds are stupid.
“Yes, well, we all have our opinions,” Joel replies as he dips his spoon into this ice thing that I am told by Riley’s mother is to “cleanse the palate.” Tastes like sherbet to me.
Joel and I are eyeing each other like two coiled snakes ready to strike when Mrs. Reed says, “Now you two children are aware that premarital sex is a sin?”
I choke a little on my steak.
“Yes, Mother,” Riley quickly replies.
And it’s on to dessert.
On the walk back to my dorm room, we are pretty quiet.
“Your folks are nice,” I say, trying to make small talk.
“You don’t have to lie, Vivvie. My folks aren’t nice.”
We walk a little farther.
“Riley? What’s up with you and Joel?”
He stops walking, and so do I. The full moon illuminates his handsome face. The breeze coming off the Pacific carries with it that salty, clean ocean scent. If things weren’t so tense, this would be a perfect night.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says. “I have never told a soul. Please. You just can’t. I am sorry I put you in this position. I really am. My dad kept asking me if I had met a girl I liked yet. Maybe he suspects. I don’t know. Maybe he suspects that Joel and I… So I told him I liked you. That part is true.” He looks down again. “Just not in that way,” he clarifies. “If Joel transfers here, then everyone will know. My parents would probably put me in some kind of institution where a shrink or priest will try and convince me that I can be straight.”
I take his hand. “I like you, too, Ri. You haven’t put me in a bad position. Tonight was—well, it’s what friends do for one another. And as far as Joel goes, let’s cross that bridge when and if we have to.” I hesitate, then blurt out, “What about Shannon? I heard you two were kind of hot and heavy, you know?”
He laughs. “Yeah, she was a good cover for a while. But she was always wanting more. I have to admit something to you that I’m not proud of, but when you came here I did see you as a way out from her, from that whole group. You seemed nice, kinda normal and cool. I figured making friends with you, I could seal my fate with them.”
“Okay. And I kinda appreciate you being honest, but don’t ever use me again.” I shove him lightly, and we start laughing. “Jerk.”
“Well, I won’t deny it,” he says. “So, we’re cool?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” I say.
Then… “There’s more,” Riley says.
“More?” He points to a bench next to the pond. I sit down.
“Yeah. More. And you aren’t going to be happy about it.”
I look up at him and speak before thinking. “Okay. Bring it.”
CHAPTER thirty-one
He tells me about “the Bet.”
“What?” I shriek, drowning out the night insects’ serenade. I start to stand, and he grabs my hand.
“Please sit down. Please, Vivvie. I can explain! Please.”
“Well then, you better start explaining. Now.”
He tells me how the “scholarship girl initiation” works. “So… you are number one, Nate is two, and Tristan is three?”
“You got it.”
“And you, you signed on because… because…” My heart was thudding so hard against my chest, and I couldn’t help but let the anger continue to rise. “Let me guess why—wait, wait! Because you don’t want anyone to know what I now know about you.”
“Partly. Yes.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“Please, just hear me out.”
I cross my arms. “I am waiting for something to come of this that makes any sense to me on a friendship level.”
“Okay. When I heard Joel was coming with my parents, that is when I agreed to get into the bet, but”—he holds up a hand before I can yell at him again—“I am telling you about it because I want to involve you.”
“This is rich. Really rich, Ri. Do tell.”
“I told you how I can’t let my parents know about me—not now. And I am not stupid enough to think that I can go through life living a lie. I don’t want to do that. Really, I don’t.”
He is so nervous and upset, I am having a hard time being as mad as I have every right to be. Damn Riley.
“But that doesn’t mean you can just lie about me, and use me to—”
Riley flinches, but cuts me off. “Wait, here’s the deal. After I graduate, I am going to go to Europe. I’ve been saving money for two years now. You know as well as I do that if I can get on at one of the big barns in the UK, my living and some schooling expenses will be paid for.”
“How? How have you been saving money? Even if you are hired on as a working student, you’ll need a decent sum to get by on.”
“Poker. We have a not-so-on-the-up-and-up poker game in one of the guy’s rooms every other Saturday night. I’ve won a lot. That money is going to provide for me that first year when I leave.”
Then the lightbulb moment hits. “Wait. I get it. You want to win the money in this bet, and that is why you need me.”
He nods.
I get up and start walking away.
He blocks me. “List
en, it’s at eighteen thousand dollars right now. We can split it, Vivvie. Look, you know how you’re always saying that you don’t want a boyfriend and it’ll interfere with your goals and blah, blah? Well, wouldn’t people thinking you and I are hooking up get rid of that worry for you?”
I stop. There’s something to what he’s said. “What about Tristan? Did he accept his position as number three?”
Riley looks down before answering me. “Yes.”
I shake my head. “Great. I’m in. I want half. And I get to be the one to orchestrates how this all goes down. Deal?”
“Vivienne Taylor, I will be your obedient servant.” He gives me a peck on the cheek.
“I am still a little bit mad at you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good night, Riley.”
“Night, Vivvie.”
I decide that I don’t want to go back to my room and be alone yet. Martina left me a voice mail while we were at dinner, saying that she’s staying at her parents’ house and will be back Sunday afternoon. I go down to visit Harmony.
It takes me a few seconds to locate the light switch in the dark barn. I hear horses shifting in their stalls, some still eating dinner, some walking in and out of their runs. I am greeted by a few at their stall doors, their curious eyes watching me.
Harmony stands in the darkened corner of her stall. “Hi, sweet girl.” I take her face in my hands and look into her eyes. The light from outside the stall casts an eerie glow. I close my eyes to summon communication with her. “Can you tell me what happened to Serena? Do you know what happened to her? If you can tell me, then I think I can help you feel better.” I show her a picture of a broken heart, and then I show the heart stitched up. “You’ll miss her still…” I slide my palm down the front of her face, but she doesn’t respond. “But I promise I can help make this better.” I hope that what I’m telling her is the truth. Can I keep this promise?
The thought scares me that I might not be able to help her as much as I’m saying. But, I am compelled to discover what happened to Dr. Miller. I may not have known the woman personally, but I have been getting pieces of her through Harmony. This horse is such a good mare, and I know she is intelligent and sensitive. I have a strong sense that Serena cultivated those qualities in this horse.
Harmony suddenly shifts onto one of her hind legs and shows me an image of… her right eye. She is shrouded in a pitch-black darkness. Her face is turned to the side, and a hand is reaching out to touch it, but she pulls back, snorting as if scared. She is scared!
Then she shows me another other horse. The pretty bay again, and there’s Lydia looking at the horse. Lydia is crying… Not just ordinary tears, but tears of blood!
Harmony’s breathing is heavy, and I speak in hushed tones. “It’s okay, good girl. Tell me. Tell me what you saw.”
A stream of blood. Serena’s face—distorted in pain but with dead eyes. A baseball cap is beside her, and a scorpion is crawling toward her face.
Then, total darkness.
I feel so dizzy. I slump against the stall wall and close my eyes, trying to breathe in steadily.
Harmony lowers her head next to me, her hot breath filtering down on me. I look up at her. “I’ll find the truth. I will. I’ll find out what happened to Serena for you. I promise.”
CHAPTER thirty-two
I stay in my room all morning on Sunday. After last night and all of the emotions from Riley to Harmony, I kind of feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.
I focus on what I’ve discovered, learned, and been “told” by human and horse since my arrival at Fairmont. I open up a notebook and begin tapping my pencil.
So, what have I learned?
I have a traumatized horse who truly loved Serena. She is afraid of a bad man, baseball caps, and that jacket. Does the jacket Riley and I found at the Olympic House really belong to Holden? As far as I know, Riley still has it. I have to ask him. I call his cell, but it goes straight to voice mail. It’s possible he is sleeping in, since it’s Sunday morning and only eight o’clock.
But why would Holden want to hurt Dr. Miller, his own cousin? Really, she was more like a sister, since Holden’s family had raised Serena since she was ten years old. But Martina said they didn’t always get along. Why? Could their lukewarm relationship have been about sibling rivalry, since they’d been raised together? Speaking of relatives: there was that weirdo brother of Serena’s who had been at her place when we went to pick up the blankets. He was all mad about her having a will. A will!
Did he push her off the ladder in anger over her will?
A new thought hits me. Christian Albright—the fiancé. Is he still in town? Serena had drawn up a will at his urging. He had gotten everything, according to him. And he had on a baseball cap the night I met him. Oh, God. What if he’s a murderer? And what about that intimate embrace I saw between him and Kayla? And she’d been given Timmy after Serena died. Holden said that Timmy was finally the match that Kayla had been seeking in a horse.
These what-ifs are running rampant in my mind.
Then there is this element of Lydia Gallagher and a horse. I mean, seriously, what is that about?
I get up, go to the bookcase, and find last year’s yearbook. As I flip through the pages I spot a photo of Lydia Gallagher with a horse whose name was Haute Couture. There is a RIP insignia in the caption. I suck back some air. Haute Couture is the horse in the image Harmony gave me out on the trail and then again last night.
What does it all mean?
I look at other photos, not really sure what I am looking for but hoping I might find something else.
And, I do.
Here is Dr. Miller. She was tall and thin, wore her blond hair pulled straight back. Pretty smile, nice eyes. She looks really happy in this photo. Her arm is wrapped around a student. The caption underneath the student reads: Dr. Miller’s Academy Assistant 2012. Guess who it was?
Oh my God. Looks like I need to go make nice with one Emily Davenport.
CHAPTER thirty-three
I spend the next hour looking for Emily Davenport. Then I finally realize that it isn’t just Emily I’m not seeing—the whole campus is practically deserted.
I ask one of the freshmen coming out of the cafeteria about this. “Oh yeah, a lot of kids went to the beach party. It’s for kids whose parents are still here,” the girl says.
What’s a girl to do?
Today, the Indian summer heat is almost ninety and it’s not even noon. I’m going to make lemonade out of lemons. Meaning, I am going to take advantage of the drop in population and take my white legs out in the sun and into the pool!
I rummage through my drawers and find my bathing suit tucked underneath a few pairs of breeches. I put on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts over it and make my way to the pool. There are only a handful of freshman hanging out. I’ve discovered that with the freshmen and even some sophomores, being the scholarship kid is considered pretty cool. They apparently have not received the memo from the DZ and Lydia. A few of them even say hey as I walk past.
I find a lounge chair, face it toward the sun, spread out a towel, and plop down on it. Ah, yes. Perfect. I slather myself with sunscreen because even though I want a tan, I know the color that my skin will turn is cherry red. At least, with some sunscreen I might get a little color. Okay, at least I’d get some Vitamin D. And hopefully a nap.
I’ve brought down some homework with me. Boring, but necessary. I need to read over the “marketing strategy” that Tristan has created for “Goode & Taylor Farms.” He e-mailed it to me so we could go over it on Wednesday during our study session. Just seeing his name on the paper makes my stomach sink. But is it sinking in that oh, I can’t wait to see him way? Or in that I am dreading seeing him way? The latter would be far more appropriate, but the former is, pathetically, probably more accurate. If I were to explore my feelings, which I do not want to do, then I am pretty sure it’s a combination of the two. Which is the stronger feeling is what I’m
not sure about. I can’t even believe that I’m thinking this way. The guy is a jerk. An ass. A total jerk! A delicious total jerk. Yeah, I hate him.
I am curious, though, about his plan. What has he come up with?
I start to read over it. Damn, it’s actually good. He writes that marketing “our barn” at various events, through social media and regional advertising, and by hosting a first-class clinic will bring in the right type of clients we are seeking—for our barn. I know. I totally know that this is all pretend and for a class project, but there is this little part of me getting kind of wrapped up in the fantasy of it all.
Then… specifics—on us. On me, to be exact. My ears burn.
Gold Medal Olympian Vivienne Taylor, partner in Goode & Taylor, will be hosting the clinic. My stomach does that thing again.
It goes on: Ms. Taylor’s gold medal adds to the promotional appeal of the barn. It is additionally beneficial that Ms. Taylor is highly knowledgeable both as a horsewoman and businessperson. She is able to offer a critical eye without making a rider feel discouraged. She’s also attractive, which can be a benefit when dealing with the public, as studies have shown that good-looking people tend to be more successful.
I throw the paper down and ball up my fists. What the hell is this guy trying to do! This is his big move—to win the bet! Does he really believe that because he compliments me in some stupid paper, that I will throw my panties at him? On top of it, that statement about attractiveness and success comes off as pretentious to me.
I shove the paper back into my bag and think of as many mean comebacks as possible. One thing for sure is that come Monday morning I’m heading straight to Mr. Bromley’s office to request a new partner.
But for now, I strip off my shorts, dive in the pool, and swim several furious laps. Finally cooled down, both literally and figuratively, I climb out totally ready for that nap I’ve been yearning for.
The warm sun on my back relaxes me, and a sense of warmth and peace and darkness passes through me. I begin to dream.
Silent Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 1) Page 13
