This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 Michele Scott
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
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ISBN-13: 9781477847268
ISBN-10: 147784726X
Book design by: Ryan Michaels
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request.
To the girls of Summer 2013 Camp GME. I loved being your camp mom, and I can’t wait until next summer to see your beautiful faces and awesome horses again!
CONTENTS
PART I the return
CHAPTER one
CHAPTER two
CHAPTER three
CHAPTER four
CHAPTER five
CHAPTER six
CHAPTER seven
CHAPTER eight
CHAPTER nine
CHAPTER ten
CHAPTER eleven
CHAPTER twelve
CHAPTER thirteen
CHAPTER fourteen
CHAPTER fifteen
CHAPTER sixteen
CHAPTER seventeen
CHAPTER eighteen
CHAPTER nineteen
CHAPTER twenty
PART II the missing
CHAPTER twenty-one
CHAPTER twenty-two
CHAPTER twenty-three
CHAPTER twenty-four
CHAPTER twenty-five
CHAPTER twenty-six
CHAPTER twenty-seven
CHAPTER twenty-eight
CHAPTER twenty-nine
CHAPTER thirty
CHAPTER thirty-one
CHAPTER thirty-two
CHAPTER thirty-three
CHAPTER thirty-four
CHAPTER thirty-five
CHAPTER thirty-six
PART III the event
CHAPTER thirty-seven
CHAPTER thirty-eight
CHAPTER thirty-nine
CHAPTER forty
CHAPTER forty-one
CHAPTER forty-two
CHAPTER forty-three
CHAPTER forty-four
CHAPTER forty-five
CHAPTER forty-six
CHAPTER forty-seven
CHAPTER forty-eight
CHAPTER forty-nine
CHAPTER fifty
CHAPTER fifty-one
CHAPTER fifty-two
CHAPTER fifty-three
CHAPTER fifty-four
CHAPTER fifty-five
CHAPTER fifty-six
CHAPTER fifty-seven
CHAPTER fifty-eight
CHAPTER fifty-nine
CHAPTER sixty
GLOSSARY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PART I
the return
CHAPTER one
I sigh heavily as the plane lifts off the Portland runway, rain hitting the window, the weather in some ways mimicking my feelings, which are somewhat dark and melancholy. I pull the shade closed to avoid the dismal view and shut my eyes, thinking about Christmas break and everything that happened. I wish that going back to Fairmont felt easier.
It’s true that I can’t wait to see my mare, Harmony, and my friends at school, but it’s hard leaving home again. Even the thought of seeing Tristan when I land in LA doesn’t take away the sadness of saying good-bye to my family and my friends in Oregon, not to mention my big Thoroughbred, Dean, who I first started riding when I was only eight. Maybe it’s also hard to return to Fairmont because I’m worried the second semester will be as crazy as the first one. But . . . how could it be? Between the start of school and Christmas break, I’d tangled with some of the school’s elite students and—oh yeah—solved a murder. Then, there was that part where I’d almost been killed. Needless to say, leaving all that behind and coming home for the holidays was a break I really needed.
As the plane reaches cruising altitude, I recline my seat and close my eyes and let the memories of the past few weeks rush through my head. For sure, it was a high point to be reunited with the horses I grew up with both at home and at Gail’s barn. Riding Dean felt so good—I’d missed him so much. During vacation, I’d finally made good on the promise I’d made him before leaving for Fairmont at the end of last summer: that we’d trail ride through the parts of the Cascades that are close to my mom’s small ranch in the tiny town of Sodaville, Oregon. During our time on the trail, I’d told Dean all about the drama I’d lived through at school. Some people might think it sounds weird to confide in a horse, but my relationship with horses, especially Dean, is extra special.
The truth is, though, that I can communicate with all horses, not just Dean. I guess I could be called a horse psychic or equine telepath—that is, if anyone knew that I have this “special gift” and tried to give it a label. Only my mom knows that I can sense horses’ feelings, translate their emotions, and have an actual dialogue with them. It might sound crazy, but it is true. But, of all the horses I have communicated with, Dean is probably the one I understand the best, and I am sure that is because he was my first horse and we have an unbreakable bond.
I told him about meeting my beautiful gray mare, Harmony, at school and how together we figured out who had murdered Dr. Miller, a vet who worked at Fairmont and Harmony’s former owner. I told him about my friendships with Riley, his horse Santos, and my roommate, Martina, and about the host of mean girls that I’d termed the DZ—the Drama Zone. And of course, I couldn’t leave out Tristan, who I was officially now calling my boyfriend.
Trail riding with Dean had helped me feel like life was getting back to normal. So did seeing my oldest friends, Kait and Mia, who still go to my former high school. We’d spent what seemed like half my vacation hanging out at our former trainer Gail’s place and being our typical goofball selves. We’d stayed up until all hours talking horses and guys, and gossiping about my old schoolmates. It all felt charmingly boring and normal compared to being around the glossy queen bees at Fairmont. When I was there, I’d missed boring and normal, in some ways. However, the drama at Fairmont was worth dealing with, considering all the opportunities that came with going to such a prestigious school.
Besides playing catch-up, Mia, Kait, and I pigged out on pizza, chips, and pretty much any food item that could be qualified as junk while listening to Carrie Underwood, Miranda Lambert, and Taylor Swift.
And then, there was Austen.
Given the kiss we’d shared at the end of the summer, right before he’d left for UC Davis and I left for Fairmont, the thought of seeing him over the holidays had made me just a little nervous. Austen Giles and I had been friends for almost eight years—and that kiss had changed everything. Because before we’d locked lips, I’d had no clue that Austen had any interest in me. Or even that I might have feelings for him—feelings I’d pushed aside when I’d
gotten to Fairmont. No point in pining away for a guy leaving for college. At least, that’s what I’d tried hard to make myself believe during my first months at school. It got easier after I met Tristan and fell so hard for him, though—especially when it finally became clear that he had fallen for me. With his short golden-blond hair, light-green eyes, and amazing talent for riding, it was almost hard to believe he was real. But he was, and I found him impossible to resist. I think it must have been sometime around the first time Tristan and I kissed that Austen got shoved far back into the recesses of my mind.
Until this last Christmas break.
Because the memory of that kiss Austen and I had shared the September before came rushing back the first time I saw him walk into Gail’s barn. Even from yards away, the sight of his tall, muscular body made my stomach lurch. A few months of college looked good on him. Let’s just say, he’d obviously been working out. I had always noticed his dimples, but not so much the chiseled definition of his face. This time, I noticed. My buddy Austen Giles was no longer the boy I remembered growing up with. He’d kind of graduated into that man territory in a way that seemed impossible to ignore.
“Hey, V,” he said, lifting me off my feet and twirling me around. He set me down. He put on a terrible English accent, running a hand through his dark brown hair that held just the right amount of wave and fell kind of sexily into his intense blue eyes. “How’s the Fairmont Academy treating you?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, first off, it’s not in the UK, so the English accent isn’t working.”
“Huh. It’s not? Seems to work on the sorority girls on campus, at least.” He smiled widely and winked at me.
I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Those poor innocent girls! You never change.”
Austen’s ability to charm girls with jokes and accents has been a running joke between us for years—now that he was charming me, too, I didn’t quite know how to act.
Clutching his shoulder dramatically like I’d somehow managed to injure his rock-hard muscle, he smiled. “Easy there, slugger. You might knock me over with that right hook.”
“You should see the left jab.”
He smiled in a way that made me feel we were back to our normal routines, almost like the kiss that I remembered so well had never happened. And after that, as Christmas break continued on, our occasional meetings at the barn seemed totally normal.
But my sense of relief only lasted until Gail’s Christmas party, when I found myself alone with Austen in the barn. He plopped down next to me in the tack room on one of the old trunks. I’d come outside to say good night to the horses before leaving the party.
“So, how is school?” he asked. This time, his tone of voice was serious.
“It’s good. It’s a little crazy.”
“I heard all about what happened.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like hearing you got hurt. How’s the ankle, by the way?”
“It’s fine. I haven’t had any real issues with it, outside of worrying that the metal rods they put in there might set off alarms at airport security,” I said, smiling.
“You got my card and e-mails, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yes. I did.”
“You didn’t reply and I thought . . . I thought maybe you were mad at me or something.”
My stomach sank. “I wasn’t mad at you at all. Why would I be mad at you?”
“You know,” he replied.
“No. I don’t know.”
“The kiss. When we said good-bye last summer.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. I shook my head. “No. No, I wasn’t mad at you for that at all.” I knew why I hadn’t responded to his e-mails, and avoiding the subject any longer seemed unfair to him. “I have a boyfriend now.”
He nodded. “Oh. Yeah. I know. Mia and Kait mentioned it. I was just waiting to hear it from you.”
I leaned back against the wood-paneled wall. “I mean, I’m sure you have a girlfriend.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What about all of those sorority girls who like your English accent?” I laughed.
He looked at me and gently pushed the loose strands of hair that had come out of my ponytail back behind my ear. “No, Vivvie. I was joking about that. I’m not into sorority girls.” He paused. “I’m into you. I meant it last summer when I told you not to forget about me.”
I didn’t know what to say. We had been friends for years, and the kiss was nice. I mean, it was great, but really? C’mon, the guy had been heading off to college. I figured that he would be living up his freshman year with as many girls as possible. With those eyes, those dimples, the great hair, and that disarming sense of humor? Girls had to be all over him, and here he was saying this to me?
“I guess you forgot about me, though.” He broke the silence, but not the tension between us.
“No. Of course not. I just thought . . .”
He put his arm around me. I caught a look in his eye that made me turn away for a second. There was hurt there, and I didn’t want to ever be the source of any pain for him. I didn’t know what to say.
He pulled me in close. “It’s okay, Vivvie. No matter what, we are always going to be friends.”
I know it was wrong, but in that moment, I didn’t just want to be friends with Austen. I wanted to kiss him again. I leaned my head on his shoulder and we stayed there for a few minutes like that.
Then my phone rang.
I glanced at the screen and saw it was Tristan. I smiled meekly at Austen, but I didn’t answer the call and shut off the ringer instead.
“Boyfriend?” he asked.
I nodded.
He stood. “I guess I’d better get home. My parents have been complaining that I haven’t spent enough time with them this break.”
“Yeah. I’m getting some of that from my mom, too.”
“I’m taking off tomorrow for Hawaii. Family vacation.”
“Sounds nice,” I replied.
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he stood. “I guess I’ll see you this summer.”
I looked down at my feet. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I, um, I . . . well, I’ve been offered . . . I mean, it’s only a possibility, but I may be going back to Virginia to train—out at Liberty Farms. That is, if I qualify.”
“Oh. That’s great. I mean that would be so good for you, Viv. I hope that happens. I know what that will mean for you.” He reached his hand out and I took it. He pulled me up and into him. We hugged for longer than just friends would. Then he whispered in my ear, “Someday, Vivienne Taylor. Someday,” and he walked away.
I stood there a moment, confused. The realization that he possibly meant that someday the two of us would be together came over me slowly, and brought with it a sense of bewilderment and also desire. I couldn’t ignore that piece of it—I’ll admit it was a pretty big piece.
When the flight attendant leans over and asks me to return my seat to the upright position, I almost jump in surprise. I lift the shade on the window and see the city of Los Angeles spread out below me, shimmering in the glaring sun. Oregon—and the good time I had at home—is hours behind me now. Get it together, Viv, I tell myself. Time to get back in the game, which includes dealing with school, enduring the drama that I am sure awaits with the mean-girl crowd—why does every school have one?—and, also, being with Tristan. I know the easiest part of coming back will be seeing my horse Harmony, who I adore as much as I love Dean. Yes, it’s time to wrap my head around being back in LA, and at Fairmont.
In what seems like minutes, I’ve got my baggage in hand, and I’m walking through the automatic doors. Blue sky and sunshine are overhead—I am back in Southern California, which I have learned is truly the land of golden gods and goddesses. It has to be due to all the sunny days—it can’t be a resu
lt of fresh air because, let’s face it, that isn’t as prevalent in Los Angeles as the sunshine is. But what I do know is that despite the way things look on the surface in LA, nothing here is perfect. Especially for me. There is always a good and a bad side to everything . . . isn’t there? The good is that I have made friends—some really great friends—despite coming from a different world than the rich kids around me. My grades are good, my riding is better than it’s ever been, and, like I’ve mentioned, I adore my horse. And I have Tristan. But then there’s the bad, which at Fairmont is dealing with psycho rich girls like Lydia Gallagher and her crew. Not to mention always sensing that I don’t completely fit in . . . and part of that feeling comes because of my gift. I keep it to myself, but the fact that I have a higher level of communication with horses makes me very aware that I may go through life never truly fitting in anywhere.
I only wait for about two minutes before Tristan pulls up in his black Jeep Cherokee. He gets out and is all smiles, which melts my insides. He looks tired to me, even though his green eyes shine and his smile is sincere and sweet. The minute I throw my arms around him, I leave Christmas break behind.
“I missed you,” I murmur into his ear.
He pulls away for a second and gives me a quiet look, reaches out to touch my face, and sends a surge of electricity through me. Then he kisses me, which turns that electrical surge into an instant reaction of crazy butterflies and stars in my head and my stomach—all over. I wish I could find a less stereotypical way to say it, but the truth is that Tristan’s kiss and touch puts me in such a dazed state of happiness that I have to lean on stereotypes to even put my feelings into words.
A minute later, we pull apart with smiles, and he walks to the passenger side and opens my door.
I sink into the leather seat and close my eyes, happy to be back, and wondering what challenges I’ll face this semester at Fairmont. God knows it couldn’t be nearly as—how should I put this?—exciting as last semester. And, frankly, I’m looking forward to some calm and having the chance to put all of my efforts into schoolwork and moving up in my riding abilities with Harmony, so that we can hopefully ride at my first one star instead of wasting my energies on unexpected drama.
Dark Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 2) Page 1
