Tommi shrugged, not bothering to be coy. “We’ll see. He’s cool.”
“Definitely.” Court took a chug of her beer. “The first time I saw him, I told Parker he’d better watch out. With something that hot around, I might decide to trade up if he gets on my nerves too much.”
Tommi laughed. Before she could answer, Alex was back, clutching two dripping beers in one hand.
“Looks like we’re out of light,” he said. “Regular okay?”
“Sure.” Tommi took the beer, even though she hadn’t finished her first yet.
Just then they all heard a loud whoop. There was a flurry of movement on the ocean side of the fire. Tommi squinted, but couldn’t tell what was going on beyond the glare of the flames.
But Court stood up for a better look. “Oh, man,” she said, tugging at the top of her bandeau swimsuit. “Looks like Duck-face decided to go skinny-dipping.”
Within moments almost everyone was gathered at the surf line, watching and cheering as Duckface frolicked in the waves. Tommi stood and stretched, not really in the mood. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen Duckface naked before. The boy had been pulling the same stunt for as long as she’d known him.
Luckily Alex seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked quietly.
Soon the two of them were strolling down the beach with the waves lapping at their feet. The sounds of the party faded behind them as they passed one beachfront estate after another. Most of the houses had lights on, but there was nobody else out on the beach, making it feel almost as if Tommi and Alex were the only two people in the world.
“What a gorgeous night,” Tommi said, breathing in the sweet-sour scents of sand and sea. “Almost makes me want to ditch the city and move out here.”
“You totally should.” Alex leaned close enough to bump her shoulder with his as they walked. “Anyway, I’m glad you decided to come out, even if it’s just for a couple of days.”
“Me too.” Tommi meant it. Still, his words had reminded her of what she could—should?—be doing instead, and she couldn’t help wondering how things were going at the showgrounds. What had Jamie really thought when she’d told him she wasn’t turning up until Thursday this time? Would Legs get antsy cooped up in a show stall without her there to hand walk and ride him to keep his restless mind occupied?
“Hey.” Alex reached over and caught her hand, turning her to face him. “You okay? You, like, went a million miles away all of a sudden.”
“Sorry.” Tommi smiled at him, feeling a little sheepish. “I really am glad I came. Thanks for inviting me, this is great. I’m just maybe feeling a little guilty about ditching the first part of my show.”
He squeezed her hand, his palm warm in hers and scratchy with sand. “I know you’re totally serious about riding and everything. But I guess I don’t get it. There’ll be another show soon, right? Is it really that big a deal to miss a couple of days of this one?”
“No. I mean, yes. Kind of.” Tommi hesitated, not sure how honestly she wanted to answer. She’d already told him about Legs, including the part about her father putting up some of the money. But she hadn’t filled him in on all the details of their deal.
That was no accident. Most of her crowd wasn’t even thinking much about college yet, let alone the rest of their lives. Would Alex think she was weird for being so focused on this deal with her dad?
If he did, maybe it was time to find out. Otherwise what was the point of taking things any further?
“Yeah, I don’t think I mentioned it earlier, but I’m actually on kind of a tight schedule with Legs,” she said. “See, I’m thinking maybe I want to go pro after I age out of juniors—do horses for a living. My dad’s not sure that’s such a hot idea. So we made a deal. If I can sell Legs for a profit by the end of the fall shows, he’ll think about letting me make a go of it instead of, like, majoring in something boring at Georgetown.”
She shot Alex a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction in the milky-dim moonlight. “That’s cool,” he said, looking thoughtful. “And trust me, I totally understand what you’re talking about. My folks want me to go into law or finance or something dull and safe like that.”
“And you’re not into it?” Tommi guessed.
“No way. My thing’s music, you know that already. I want to be, like, a producer or a promoter. Maybe manage a club. Something like that.”
“Yeah, that definitely seems more up your alley,” Tommi said. They’d spent part of the drive out here listening to his iPod and talking about favorite music, and Tommi had been impressed by his depth of knowledge of bands old and new, popular and obscure.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Kind of sucks when your family doesn’t believe in the dream though, huh?”
“I hear you,” Tommi said ruefully. “My dad seems to think my plans are about as serious as me collecting Breyer horses when I was little.”
“Forget about that. You’ll show him.” Alex reached out with his free hand and carefully brushed back a strand of hair that the ocean breeze had just blown into Tommi’s eyes. “He’ll believe in you then. Hey, that reminds me of that song I was playing for you earlier—it’s called ‘Believe in Me,’ remember?”
Tommi nodded, a little distracted by the lingering warmth on her forehead where his fingers had brushed against her sunburned skin. “I remember. It was one of my favorites,” she said.
He smiled, leaning a little closer. “ ‘Believe in me, ’cause I believe in you,’ “ he sang in a light, husky tenor. “ ‘Believe in us, ’cause our love is true …’ “ Trailing off, he laughed self-consciously. “Okay, now you know why I’m interested in the business end of the music scene or maybe playing guitar or whatever instead of singing.”
“No, that was amazing!” Tommi said quickly, squeezing his hand. “Seriously, you have a great voice. I can’t remember the last time a guy sang to me.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He lifted his free hand, running it up her arm, his eyes suddenly intense in the moonlight. “You’re the amazing one, Tommi Aaronson.”
Tommi held her breath, knowing what was coming. His hand slipped around her shoulder, pulling her toward him. She tipped her head up, letting her eyes fall shut as his lips found hers.
Perfect.
“Easy, señor,” Miguel murmured to the rangy bay Thoroughbred, who was shifting his weight impatiently at the end of his lead. “You just let Kate rinse you off, and then we’ll go for a nice walk and see if we can find some grass, sí?”
“Almost done,” Kate told the groom, giving the gelding’s legs one last blast with the hose. The water pressure at the show grounds wasn’t as good as it was at home, but it was good enough. “There, that should do it.”
“Good. I’ll take him out to dry.” Miguel ran a sweat scraper expertly over the horse’s body, knocking off most of the water.
“You sure? I can take him if you have other stuff to do.”
The groom glanced at her over the horse’s back. He was a compact man with broad, strong shoulders and an expression that usually verged on sleepy. But Kate had worked with him long enough to know that his looks were deceiving. Miguel had forgotten more about horses than most people would ever know, and was always willing to share that knowledge. He’d taught Kate as much as Jamie had—maybe more.
“Nope. All caught up,” he told Kate with a smile. “We should enjoy it, sí? Things will get busy again tomorrow.”
Kate glanced around, surprised to realize she was caught up, too. It was Wednesday, early afternoon, and Jamie had just finished riding the Thoroughbred jumper to prep him for his owner, Dani. She was due to arrive tomorrow, along with most of the other juniors and some of the ammys, which meant that what Miguel had said was true—things were about to get a lot busier.
“Oh,” Kate said. “I guess you’re right.”
She’d been running nonstop since getting to the showgrounds on Monday, and it felt weird to suddenly have nothing much to do
. Sort of like being on course in a jumper class and not being quite sure which was your next fence.
Miguel clucked to the gelding. “Come on, amigo.”
“I guess I could sneak in a quick hack on Fable,” Kate said, thinking aloud. “Or maybe I should lunge Legs first. He needs to get out of his stall, since Tommi’s not here yet to exercise him.” She was still a little surprised that her friend had changed her schedule. Tommi took showing more seriously than anyone Kate knew, except maybe Jamie. Especially now that she was prepping Legs for sale.
Miguel stopped and glanced back at her. “Go for your hack,” he said. “I’ll lunge Legs when I finish with this guy.”
“Are you sure?” Kate said. “I mean, I really don’t mind doing it, it’s just that I haven’t even been on Fable since Monday, and—”
“I’m sure,” Miguel said. “Go ride!”
“Thanks, Miguel.” Kate watched him go, feeling guilty. Still, she reminded herself that her rides on Fable weren’t all fun and games. If he did well enough in the eq, he’d fetch a much higher price, which meant a bigger commission for Jamie. That made her feel a little better—like she was earning her keep, not just going on a joyride.
Soon she had the big gray tied in the extra stall used for tacking up. He was in a lively mood, as usual, jumping at each crackle of the PA system and flicking his ears at every passing person, horse, or dog.
“Settle down, you big brute,” Kate told him with a laugh as he spooked at a bird in the rafters of the temporary stabling and almost landed on her foot. “Save your energy for the jumps, okay?”
Just then her phone rang. She answered it without looking, assuming it was Jamie or Miguel. But it wasn’t.
“Hi, gorgeous,” Fitz’s familiar voice said into her ear. “Miss me?”
“Fitz!” Kate quickly switched the phone to her other ear, yanking her currycomb out of Fable’s reach as he tried to nibble on it. “Um, hi! Where are you?”
“At the barn, where else?” he said. “Things are a little warm at home these days. I still can’t believe my parents are making me skip this show!”
Kate didn’t respond to that. She always felt a weird little squiggle of guilt when Fitz complained about his punishment for the Ford situation. As if it was all her fault, because he’d done it to impress her.
Not that I asked him to, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. As usual, that didn’t make her feel much better.
“So how are things at Pelham Lane?” she asked. “Quiet?”
“Too quiet,” he said. “Plus Joy took the stirrups off both my saddles and hid them somewhere.”
Kate laughed at his disgruntled tone. That definitely sounded like Joy. Jamie’s assistant trainer was one of those people who was always smiling and never had an unkind word to say about anyone. But she could be just as tough as her boss when someone slacked off or screwed up. Sure, she did it with a smile. But that wouldn’t make Fitz’s legs ache any less after half a dozen times through a gymnastic stirrupless.
“Just be glad she didn’t hide the saddles, too,” she teased.
“Ugh! Don’t give her any ideas!” he exclaimed in mock horror. “But enough about me. A little stirrupless torture is cake. The worst part about being stuck here is missing you like crazy. So how’s the most beautiful girl in the tristate area?”
Kate was almost getting used to his lavish compliments. Still, as she glanced down at herself, horse slobber, baggy schooling breeches, and all, she couldn’t help wondering if he was really imagining the right girl.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Keeping busy. The usual.” Just then Jamie appeared in the stall door. “Listen, Jamie’s here. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“I’ll be sitting by the phone.”
As Kate hung up, Jamie stepped in and gave Fable a pat. Chaucer wandered in after him, settling onto his haunches and letting his big pink tongue loll out.
“Everything okay in here?” Jamie asked.
“Sure,” Kate said, stepping over to give the bulldog a pat. He was the only one of Jamie’s dogs who came to shows, and everyone considered him a sort of barn mascot. “I was just going to go for a short hack. Miguel thought it would be okay—we already raked the aisle, and Miguel’s going to lunge Legs—”
“That’s fine,” Jamie interrupted. “I think it’s a good idea. The more you ride him, the more in sync you’ll be in the show ring.” He paused, peering at her face. “You look tired. Did you eat lunch yet?”
Kate shrugged. “Is it lunchtime already?” she mumbled, realizing that she’d forgotten to eat anything since her toast and OJ early that morning at the hotel.
Jamie chuckled. “You sound like me,” he said. “Sit tight, I think I’ve got something to tide you over until after your ride.”
He disappeared, and Kate heard him rummaging around in the tack stall next door. In the meantime she went back to work, setting a fitted fleece pad on Fable’s broad back as Chaucer watched.
“Stop that,” she told the horse when he shuddered his skin, making the pad slip out of place. “It’s a pad, not a fly. I promise.”
She replaced the pad and quickly lifted the saddle onto it. As she buckled the girth onto the near-side billets, Jamie reappeared.
“Heads up,” he said.
Kate looked up in time to catch what he’d just tossed her. It was a package of peanut butter sandwich cookies.
“I know it’s not exactly health food,” the trainer said with a smile. “But the sugar rush should get you through the ride at least.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of riding, I’m supposed to be getting on Mrs. Walsh’s mare right now. See you.”
“Bye. Thanks,” Kate said, though he was already gone. Jamie never seemed to slow down at the shows—he was always busy riding, coaching, or any of the zillion other tasks he had to do.
Kate set the sandwich cookies on a shelf out of Chaucer’s reach so she could finish buckling Fable’s girth. She knew better than to leave it half done—the big gray gelding had a mischievous streak, and was likely to dump the saddle on the ground if she gave him half a chance.
After she finished with that, she stepped over and grabbed the package again. Now that she thought about it, she realized she was pretty hungry.
She ripped open the package, the strong scents of processed peanut butter and grease making her stomach growl eagerly. Chaucer sidled closer, drool dripping from his jowls.
“Sorry, buddy,” Kate told the dog. “This one’s for me.”
Wiping her hand on her shirt, she grabbed one of the cookies and popped it into her mouth. It actually tasted pretty good, and she glanced at the package in her hand to see how many more there were.
Four. There were a total of four cookies in the package.
Instantly, she flashed to her mother. Four was her magic number—the number that everything had to be arranged into to keep the world from ending. Or whatever it was she thought would happen if she allowed anything in her sight to remain in sets of three, or five, or seventy-nine. If she were here, Kate knew she would have counted the cookies before she ever allowed Kate—or anyone else—to start eating them. If she were the one eating, she’d take exactly four bites to finish each one, and wipe her hands four times to get the grease off.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the thoughts. But her mind just skittered on without her, trying to figure out whether the total number of saddles in the tack stall next door was divisible by four, exactly how many horses were at the show … The half-chewed cookie turned to glue in her mouth.
“Here,” she blurted out, tossing the rest of the cookies to Chaucer. Maybe that would make the thoughts stop.
She was shaking as she reached for Fable’s bridle. But she tried to ignore it. She didn’t have time to be crazy like her mom.
Zara sat slumped on one of the loft’s sleek retro-modern sofas, picking at a hangnail and trying to ignore the chaos going on around her. It was Wednesday afternoon, and the whole
entourage was flying out to Amsterdam in a couple of hours. Whoop-de-freaking-doo.
One of her father’s personal assistants hustled past, carrying an armful of clothes. He stopped short when he noticed her.
“Hey, is the cousin here yet?” he called to Zac’s lawyer.
The lawyer didn’t bother to look up from his laptop. “S’posed to get here any minute.”
Zac sauntered into the room, dressed in snakeskin pants and a jade green velvet smoking jacket. Yeah. Not exactly typical air-travel clothes for most people. But the chartered jet was leaving from JFK, and no way would Zac risk ending up in some passing fan’s Photobucket album looking less than rock-star fabulous. No surprise there. He put on eyeliner to walk to the bagel shop on the corner.
“Hanging in, Little Z?” he asked, wandering toward her with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lip. He’d banned himself from smoking in the loft, claiming he was trying to quit.
Yeah, right. He’d been saying that for as long as Zara could remember. Come to think of it, she’d never noticed him ever actually trying, at least not when her mom wasn’t around.
“Whatever,” she said with a frown. “I’m supposed to sit here and wait for Nanny Dearest to get here, so that’s what I’m doing. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” The corner of Zac’s mouth twitched with amusement. He was always in a good mood when he was about to go on tour.
No wonder. Zara glanced around the loft. Everyone else had to do all the work, and he just got to enjoy the good stuff.
As Zac went over to talk to his bassist, who was sprawled out on the floor nearby reading a motorcycle magazine, Zara stood and stretched. Then she padded over to the window in her bare feet. She was still in the shorts and tank top she’d slept in, having only woken up an hour earlier thanks to hanging out with some new acquaintances at some lame coffeehouse until like 5:00 a.m. Kind of boring, but she’d been making a point. Not that Zac had even noticed. He’d been asleep way before she got home, resting up for the big trip.
Then she smiled as she remembered one not-boring part about last night. That cute friend of Tommi’s, Grant. He’d called around nine, wanting to get together sometime.
My Favorite Mistake Page 5
