But while Callie managed to hold it together on the outside—her hand was almost completely steady as she poured herself a glass of juice—she couldn’t make herself relax on the inside. Her mother’s mention of the wedding had broken through her sleepy haze and brought back all her anxiety about the coming evening, deep and sharp. Her stomach churned as she imagined sitting in the same room with George. And what if he wanted to sit with her? Talk to her? What if he actually asked her to dance or something?
The toast popped up with a clang of springs, making Callie jump. Shooting her mother a glance, Callie was relieved to see that she hadn’t noticed her consternation. She grabbed the toast, tossing it onto a plate as it burned her fingertips. After slapping some butter on the hot surface, she grabbed the plate and her juice and escaped from the kitchen.
Soon she was back upstairs in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on her unmade bed as she ate her breakfast and tried to figure out how she was going to survive the next twenty-four hours. I can’t do it, she thought as she chewed mechanically on a bite of toast. I can’t go to this wedding. No way.
“Callie? There you are.” Scott yawned as he strolled into the room, still in his pajama pants and T-shirt.
Callie frowned. “Do you mind?” she said testily. “You might try knocking.”
“The door was open.” Scott blinked at her curiously. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” Callie muttered, feeling sullen. She really wasn’t in the mood for Scott’s usual cheerful morning chatter. And she definitely didn’t want to get into some big debate with him about her own bad mood.
To her surprise, he didn’t push it. Instead he wandered over to her dresser, picking up a hairbrush and staring at it for a second. Then he set it down and picked up the lipstick that was next to it.
“What are you doing?” Callie asked. “I don’t think that one’s your shade.”
“Huh?” Scott glanced up, then hastily set down the lipstick. “Oh. Nothing.” He walked over to her bookcase and stared at her trophies for a moment, then turned and headed back over to the dresser, seeming restless.
What’s his problem? Callie thought. He hasn’t acted this weird since he was about to break up with that girl he met at Dad’s inauguration party.
With that, it clicked. “Hey,” she said. “Isn’t today the day when Lisa and Alex decide if they’re getting back together?”
Scott glanced at her. “Yeah,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “Any inside track on what she’s thinking?”
“Sorry.” Callie shrugged. “If she’s talking about it, it’s not to me.”
“Right. Well, I guess we’ll all know soon enough.” Scott bit his lip and stared at himself in the dresser mirror. “Soon enough.”
“I guess so.”
Scott sighed loudly and shot Callie a sidelong glance. “Would you think I’m a horrible person if I told you I hope they decide to call it quits?”
“No,” Callie said. “I’d think that was perfectly normal. I know you like her. And you don’t have much of a shot if she and Alex get back together, so of course you’d hope they break up for good. Sounds normal to me.”
“I know,” Scott said. “But still, I mean, Alex is a great guy. And he and Lisa have a history. It’s always sad when two people outgrow each other, and—”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Callie interrupted impatiently. “It’s okay for you to want her for yourself. It’s not like you had anything to do with them deciding to take this little break in the first place.”
Scott brightened slightly. “That’s true.” Then his shoulders slumped again. “On the other hand, I’m sure I haven’t exactly helped Alex’s cause by asking Lisa out so often.”
Callie frowned, wishing he would go away and leave her alone. She had her own problems to deal with, and they were a lot more serious than a hopeful crush. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’d say Nicole Adams hasn’t helped the cause much either. She and Alex are practically attached at the hip these days. So stop obsessing.”
Scott sighed again, looking so pathetic that Callie softened toward him. “Look,” she said. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted. I’ve got stuff on my mind.”
“Really? What is it? You’re not having trouble with your horse, are you?”
Callie hesitated. Her brother was looking at her with real concern. Should she confide in him about what had really happened out there with George? It was awfully tempting. Scott could be a little shallow and clueless sometimes, but when it came right down to it, he had a good head on his shoulders. Maybe he could help her figure out how to deal with what had happened.
“It’s not that,” she said slowly. “Actually, I haven’t really told anyone about this yet. But…”
“What is it?” Scott must have sensed something in her voice, because he took a couple of steps closer, his face serious.
At that, the floodgates opened. As Scott listened quietly, Callie poured out the whole story, from the moment George had appeared way out there in the middle of nowhere—and more or less admitted he’d tailed her there—to several tense minutes later when Scooby had kicked out nervously, knocking George into a tree.
“…and so when I realized he was unconscious, I hightailed it out to the road and flagged down a car, and the driver called the paramedics on his car phone,” Callie finished at last. “I borrowed the phone to call Red, and he came out and picked us up in the stable van, and the rest is history. Ever since then, I’ve been totally freaked out. That’s why I’ve hardly been to the stable for the past week.”
Scott remained silent for a moment. “Wow,” he said at last, shaking his head. “That’s really something. I had no idea.”
“I know.” Callie picked up her toast, which was cold by then, and stared at it. “Like I said, I haven’t told anybody what really happened.”
“Um, but what do you think George was doing out there?” Scott looked uncomfortable. “I mean, I can totally understand why you, um …” His voice trailed off helplessly.
“Why I freaked?” Callie asked bluntly. “Can you really? Because if I hadn’t been there myself, I don’t think I would. I would think I was nuts. I sort of do as it is,” she added quietly.
Scott cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said. “I mean, I don’t think you’re nuts. If you felt threatened, that’s real enough for me, you know?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Callie forced a smile. She could tell that Scott wasn’t sure what to think—an unusual situation for him.
He probably thinks I’m exaggerating, she thought, picking a crumb off her bedspread. He probably figures George came across my route map and got some kind of idea about hacking around with me, and then got clumsy with the shoe and the phone and all the rest of it because he could tell I was angry about him being there.
She couldn’t really blame her brother. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been trying to convince herself had happened? Didn’t she think she was exaggerating what had happened, too? The trouble was, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Don’t worry, though,” Scott said. “I’ll definitely run interference for you tonight if you want.”
“Tonight?” Callie repeated blankly.
“The wedding,” Scott reminded her. “It’s tonight, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Callie muttered. “Actually, I’m not sure I’m going to go.”
Scott looked shocked. “Not go?” he said. “But you have to go! You can’t let George stop you from celebrating with Red and Denise and the rest of our friends. That would be like letting him win.”
Callie hadn’t thought of it that way before. “I guess,” she said reluctantly. “But I just don’t know if I can deal with it. Seeing him, I mean. It’s too soon.”
“Listen.” Scott stepped forward and put a hand on her arm, his blue eyes concerned. “You have to do what you have to do. But for what it’s worth, I think this might be one of those situations where it’s better just to get right back on the h
orse. So to speak. And it doesn’t have to be so terrible. I meant what I said. I’ll keep George away from you tonight if you go. Scout’s honor.”
Callie smiled weakly at her brother. “Thanks,” she said. “And maybe you’re right. I can’t let this keep me locked in my room forever.” She took a deep breath, trying to banish her fear once and for all. “Okay, then. If you’ll play guard dog, I guess I’ll go.”
Stevie reached for the syrup bottle, which was in the middle of the kitchen table beside the butter dish. “So I’ll bet you don’t get food like this for breakfast up there at college, huh?” she asked Chad, who was sitting across from her, steadily shoveling an enormous stack of pancakes into his mouth.
Chad glanced up at her, chewed, and swallowed. “No way,” he replied. “The dining hall at NVU believes in recycling. As in, recycling old tennis shoes into something resembling food.”
Stevie laughed. “This from the guy who once ate dirt as a protest when Mom served us liver,” she teased. Covering her mouth to hide a slight burp, she reached for the glass of orange juice at her elbow.
She glanced up as Alex walked into the room, yawning. “Morning,” he muttered, heading for the refrigerator.
“Morning?” Stevie said with a grin. “It’s practically afternoon. And I thought I slept late today!”
Alex didn’t respond. He pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass, then took a long drink before topping it off again.
Chad stabbed another tower of pancake pieces with his fork. “Yo, Alex, you’d better grab some pancakes now before Stevie gobbles them all. Dad made them like an hour ago, so they’re a little cold.” He shrugged. “But hey, that’s what microwaves are for, right?”
“No thanks.” Alex took another sip of orange juice. “I’m not hungry.”
Stevie made a big show of shaking her head and cleaning out her ears. “What?” she said. “Am I hallucinating? Because I would swear I just heard one of my bottomless-pit brothers say he wasn’t hungry.”
“Bottomless pit?” Chad grinned. “Hey, I resemble that remark!”
Alex didn’t laugh. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I’m just not hungry, okay? Drop it.”
Stevie opened her mouth to continue her teasing, but she clamped it shut again. It had just dawned on her why Alex was acting so weird. Sleeping until after ten. Not wanting breakfast. Dragging around like the walking dead.
She cleared her throat. “Hey,” she said in a gentler tone. “So, um, when do you think you’ll talk to Lisa?”
Alex shot her a suspicious look. “What?”
“You know,” Stevie prompted. “Isn’t today the deadline? The day you guys talk about, you know …” She let her voice trail off.
Alex looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I guess,” he muttered, putting his empty glass in the sink. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Stevie winced. Judging from Alex’s demeanor, he wasn’t looking forward to his talk with Lisa. What did that mean? Was he just nervous about how the talk would go? Was he worried that she wouldn’t take him back? Did he think Scott was going to steal her away? Or—Stevie could hardly force herself to consider the last possibility—was he dreading telling her that he didn’t think they should get back together?
He wouldn’t be that stupid, Stevie told herself, shooting her twin a sidelong glance. Would he?
She really wasn’t sure of the answer to that. A few weeks earlier, she wouldn’t have expected him to ask out a bimbo like Nicole Adams, either, let alone bring her home to meet Mom and Dad.
Stevie opened her mouth to ask him more questions about his plans, but Alex hurried out of the room.
Chad blinked after him. “Wow,” he mumbled through a mouthful of pancake. “What’s with him?”
Stevie sighed. “Today’s the day he and Lisa decide what’s up with them,” she explained. “They decided that on New Year’s Eve, they’d talk and figure out where they want to go from here. As in, whether they’ll stay broken up or get back together.”
“Ah.” His curiosity satisfied, Chad returned his attention to his plate.
But Stevie stared off in the direction her twin had gone, her appetite suddenly gone. What was Alex thinking right then? What was he feeling? She wished she were a mind reader so that she could know.
But I guess I’ll just have to wait until tonight and find out along with everybody else, she thought, anxiety twisting her overfull stomach into a sort of bloated knot. In the meantime, all I can do is hope that the wedding and everything will be so totally romantic that it will bring Alex and Lisa to their senses and make them realize that they belong together.
TWELVE
Carole smoothed the skirt of the red dress she had just zipped up, turning this way and that in front of her dresser mirror. The bold color looked nice against her cocoa-colored skin and dark hair, but Carole wasn’t sure she had the guts to wear it. The full skirt was shorter than she was used to, and the fitted bodice emphasized her slender figure in a way that made her feel self-conscious. Still, both her best friends had sworn that the dress was perfect on her. They had talked her into buying it despite her doubts, and now she was trying to decide whether she dared to wear it to the wedding that evening. Would Cam like it? Or would he think she looked silly, like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes?
He’ll probably like it, Carole told herself uncertainly, twisting again to get a view of her back. He likes everything I wear. At least he says he does. Of course, I’ve never worn anything quite like this for him before.…
Deciding she needed a second opinion, she hurried downstairs to the living room, where her father was sitting at his desk paying bills. “Hey, Dad,” she said. “How do I look? Is this dress better than the other one I had on?”
Colonel Hanson looked up and smiled. “You look beautiful, honey,” he said. “And you looked beautiful in the other outfit, too.”
Carole rolled her eyes. “Big help,” she muttered. “Seriously, Dad. I need to know. Which one should I wear tonight? Which one do you think Cam will like better?”
“The one you have on is great,” her father replied firmly, still smiling. “You have to forgive me for being a little indecisive. This is kind of a new experience for me, you know.”
“What is?” Carole was still distracted by worrying that the dress was too tight. “What do you mean?”
Her father shrugged. “Hey, if you were asking me which one of your ratcatcher shirts showed the fewest wrinkles, or which shade of breeches looked best with your navy show jacket, I’d be in my element. But getting dressed for boys instead of horses?” He spread his hands helplessly. “That’s something I don’t know too much about.”
Carole blushed. “Stop it,” she said sheepishly. “This is serious, you know.”
“I know, I know.” Colonel Hanson grinned. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just can’t resist a little teasing. But you really do look lovely in that dress. I’m sure Cam will love it.”
“Do you really think so?” Carole twirled around once, making the skirt flounce out. Then, feeling a bit foolish, she stopped. Her father was right. It really wasn’t like her to get so obsessed with what she was wearing unless she was entering an important horse show and needed to be dressed properly for the judges. And that was different. Carole knew what she was doing there. While she might be more comfortable in old worn-in breeches and a sweatshirt, she knew how to do herself up in full formal hunter dress when necessary.
Thanking her father for his help, she headed back upstairs to her room. Slipping off the dress, she hung it carefully over the edge of a chair. She had a few hours to think about what to wear to the wedding that evening. In the meantime, she had her reunion and gift exchange with Cam to look forward to.
I can’t wait, she thought with a shiver as she slipped back into her jeans and sweater. I just hope he likes his present.
She walked over and picked up the neatly wrapped package sitting on her bedside table. She had ch
osen a tasteful maroon paper with a smalldot pattern and a matching maroon ribbon. Now she couldn’t help admiring the gift—it looked classy and masculine, perfect for Cam.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Now all I have to do is survive the wait until Cam calls.”
She glanced at her watch. Cam had sent her an e-mail from his relatives’ house the day before, telling her that he expected to get home by two o’clock. It was almost two now, and Carole wasn’t sure she could stand it if she had to wait much longer.
With an impatient sigh, she flopped onto her bed and picked up the book she’d left lying there. It was a new hardcover about training jumpers, and she had been looking forward to reading it ever since she’d first heard about it. Still, as she flipped through the pages, she couldn’t seem to focus on it at all. Every time she looked at a photo of a rider flying over an obstacle, she started picturing how Cam would look performing the same move. Whenever she came to a chapter or paragraph that seemed interesting and started to read it, she would quickly come across a word or a phrase that somehow reminded her of Cam.
This is ridiculous, she told herself, tossing the book aside and leaning back against her pillow. I can’t just sit around waiting for him to call. That’s too pathetic, even for me.
As she was debating whether to go downstairs and try to find something to distract her on TV, the phone rang. “Cam!” Carole breathed.
She leaped off the bed so fast that her legs got tangled in the bedspread. With a grunt, she flew headfirst to the floor. She caught herself with her hands, but one knee connected solidly and painfully with the edge of her bedside table.
“Ow!” she moaned, grabbing her knee as tears sprang to her eyes. Blinking them back, she rubbed the sore spot gently and then climbed carefully to her feet. Her knee throbbed and she could already tell she was going to have a monster bruise, but she would live.
Setting the Pace Page 10
