Shattered Dreams (Dreams Series Book 1)

by Hicks, Braxton

  As I approached, Jenna’s smile faded. “Well, I see your star pupil's back, Mark. Good luck with that.” She gave me a smirk as she walked away.

  “Hi Mark,” I said, grinning. “I’m so glad that I give Jenna something to be catty about. What would she do without me?”

  Mark grinned, shaking his head. “Women are brutal.”

  I wasn’t sure if Jenna was continuing with her “Twinkie” campaign. Nothing had been mentioned to me lately, but most everyone else here had far too much class to repeat the venomous things she spread around.

  Derringer and I had a constructive morning session. Mark practiced traditional dressage, and he placed significant importance on the communication and rapport that must be established between the horse and the rider prior to training. Every day, Mark and I reviewed videos taken at the morning session. It was a good tool for me to observe weaknesses in our routine. Mark would point out areas that needed more work, and take me through what movements and aids I should have given to keep Derringer’s gait consistent like a metronome.

  Later in the afternoon I brought Derringer back out into the arena. We'd nearly conquered the rhythm, gait, and tempo. Mark wanted to work on the regularity of the gaits; the evenness and levelness of the stride. He wanted me to start practicing the half halt to improve the horse’s cadence. Derringer was sensitive to both the leg and rein aids; he was reaching for the bit. His stride was collected. We both could tell he was more than ready.

  I mounted Derringer and put him through the beginning paces. We worked into a trot, circling the outer perimeter of the arena several times. At the third round, second turn, I could feel Derringer sidestep because I'd given too much inside leg in my execution. I over-corrected, trying to align his hind legs to follow the path of his front legs. Mark asked me to halt and walked over to us.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Dismount for a moment.” I did as instructed, and stood beside Mark. He mounted the horse and then reached his hand down, pulling me up behind him in the saddle.

  “It might be easier if I show you how the half halt is properly executed. To the naked eye, it looks as if the rider applies all three aids at the same time. However, if we could freeze-frame it you'd actually see that the aids are applied separately, in sequence. We’ll go through this a few times so you can feel what your body is supposed to do in conjunction with what the horse is doing, okay?”

  “Sure,” I agreed.

  “Okay, I want you to rest each of your hands on the outside of each of my thighs, as close to the back of my knees as possible.”

  I did as instructed.

  “Now remember what we talked about earlier. There is no ‘halt’ in the half halt. That's a misnomer. Every half halt should contain what?” he quizzed me.

  “The surge,” I answered.

  “Correct,” he said. “It will contain the surge, the drive, and the energy from Derringer’s hind legs, just as if you were asking for a medium gait or a lengthening, right?”

  “Right,” I responded. “But we don’t want him breaking into the medium gait, until after the surge, correct?”

  “Yes,” Mark agreed, “because we know that we always ride the horse from back to front, which is what the surge guarantees.” Mark started Derringer into the routine, my hands placed on the outside of each of his muscular thighs.

  “If we’re lucky, you'll be able to feel my calves close first. It will be a steady squeeze for three seconds, just before the surge. Here we go.”

  We went through the motions three times and, like clockwork, Mark would close his calves with a steady squeeze; I counted to three in my head and the pressure released. Mark then had me put my hand on his hand holding the outside rein and my other hand on his hand holding the inside rein. Through this exercise, I was able to understand that each of these aids occurred separately, though very close in time. It was a steady squeeze of the calves for three seconds, then outside hand on the reins to direct the horse’s power back to the hind legs, then inside rein held with medium contact to keep the horse flexed and straight.

  “Okay,” Mark said, dismounting and handing me the reins.

  “Scoot up, it's my turn.” He remounted Derringer, this time behind me, putting his hands on the outside of each of my thighs and we went through the routine several times. We continued with the reining as well until I was executing the half halt nearly as well as Mark. I was proud of myself. When we brought Derringer back to the gate, I noticed that Trey was sitting in the grandstand. I couldn’t tell how long he’d been watching, but he appeared upset.

  Holy Moses, now what's wrong?

  Mark set the video camera up and had me take Derringer back out so that he could video tape how a proper half halt should look to an observer. Once finished, we called it a day. Mark told me to take the video camera with me to review everything that we'd gone over today.

  I dismounted, leading Derringer to where Trey was sitting.

  “Well?” I asked. “What did you think?” I was smiling, hoping to be praised for the progress we’d made.

  “I think I’m confused as to why Mr. Montgomery needs to have his hands all over you while training you in dressage. I’ve never seen that style of training.”

  “I was having some problems getting the feel of the surge. Mark thought this would help and it did.”

  “I felt the surge,” Trey replied, “the surge of my blood pressure.”

  “You're being ridiculous, Trey.”

  “Oh am I? You seemed to be enjoying yourself trotting around that track with him all over your backside. I was worried Mr. Montgomery might need a hosing off had the training not ended when it did.”

  “Stop it,” I couldn’t help from laughing. “You’re being silly and you know it.”

  “I’m serious when it comes to you, Tylar.”

  When he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, so serious, so sexy, I wanted to mount him right then and there. I could see that beneath the sarcastic humor, Trey was bothered by Mark’s touching me. I didn’t want him getting into a worse mood. I led Derringer over to him, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him sweetly and longingly. He wrapped his arm around me, tightly, brushing my hair back from my face.

  “You've nothing to worry about,” I told him, snuggling into his chest.

  “Just see that I don’t. I don’t share. I'll see you at the main house at six.”

  I remounted Derringer, riding him back to the stables. I told him what a good job he did today. I got him situated in his stall, removing all of the dressage tack. I brushed him down thoroughly, cleaned his hooves, and brought him his treat for a fine day’s work. I put my face next to his as he chewed the last carrot and I kissed his nose. Derringer was born to compete.

  Having concluded my duties in the stables, I started up the path leading to my cottage. Ray’s was the first cottage from the stables. I saw Denise on his porch, shaking throw rugs outside.

  “Denise!” I yelled, running over toward his porch. I hadn’t seen her since the hospital and I was ashamed for not calling her before now.

  “Hey girl,” she hollered back, waving, “how are you?”

  “I’m great,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to call you, I really have…”

  “Hey, I know how it is. Shit, I’ve been swamped down at the salon. There are all kinds of weddings this summer. I was thinking maybe we would be adding yours to it?”

  “What?”

  “Ray says you and Trey are really close. He says he’s never seen Trey like this before…you know, in love," she teased.

  “Oh please," I giggled. Hey, did Ray know his former fiancée, Tess?”

  “Hmmm, not sure…You want me to ask him?”

  “No, no,” I replied quickly. “So what are you doing?” I asked. “Cleaning Ray’s cottage for him? Now that's definitely a woman in love.”

  “Nope, just finishing getting him packed up.”

  “Why, where's Ray going?”

  “Sweetie, he’s finally mo
ving in with me. Hell, he’s there practically every night anyway. He was worried Trey might object and want him to be near the stable if needed, but Trey was fine with it. Trey's a good man, Ty. You make sure you treat him right, you hear?”

  “You do the same with your man, Denise,” I waved and continued on to my cottage. I wasn't as afraid to be there as I was before. I showered and changed into a tight little white jean skirt and dark purple tank top. I blew my hair dry, wearing it down perfectly straight. Being in the sun had really intensified the blonde highlights.

  An hour later, Trey and I were cruising down the highway in his Lamborghini. He looked magnificent in his emerald colored polo shirt and taupe Dockers. Trey was extremely attentive in the car, which was a complete one-eighty to his temperament earlier. He rested his hand on my knee possessively, occasionally letting it travel up to my thigh while he drove. Maybe I had Mark to thank for that.

  When he turned the car into Morelli’s parking lot, I was glad. Somehow, Morelli’s had a good vibe for me. As soon as we stepped inside the door, Carmelita greeted us.

  “Saluto Signor Trey. Vedo che avete la tua amore con voi questa sera.”

  Hello Mr. Trey. I see you have your love with you this evening.

  “Buena sera Carmelita. Si puo abbiamo un tavolo privato? Ho molto da discutere con lei.”

  Good evening Carmelita. Yes, may we have a private table? I have much to discuss with her.

  “Naturalmente mio dolcezza. Mi segua, per favore.”

  Of course my sweetheart. Please follow me.

  “Voi e la vostra amore, si farà bellissimi bambini!”

  You and your love, you'll make beautiful children!

  “Lo spero, Carmelita, un giorno.”

  I hope so Carmelita, one day.

  Trey and I were seated at the same table as our first date. It was romantic and secluded. Carmelita held my chair out for me. I smiled at her. She winked at me. Trey sat down and immediately ordered a bottle of Chianti.

  “What would you like, Tylar?” he asked gently.

  “You choose. I’m not fussy.”

  Trey ordered chicken Parmesan for both of us, with spinach salads. The Chianti arrived at the same time our warm bread did. Trey poured me a generous serving of wine.

  Hmm . . . must be bad news…

  We made small talk while waiting for our salads. I told him about running into Denise earlier at Ray’s cottage and asked him what he thought about Ray moving in with Denise.

  “About time,” was his only comment.

  Our salads arrived. More time passed as we ate. This was getting uncomfortable for me. Finally, I spoke up.

  “There's something you want to say to me, I can tell, so will you please just say it?”

  “Tylar, I didn’t want to say anything to you while we were in Atlanta celebrating your birthday this past weekend. I wasn’t in Atlanta last week.”

  My stomach knotted. What was he getting ready to do? Confess?

  “Oh?” I asked, acting as if this was news to me.

  “I visited the agent for the LLC that owns your house in Radcliff.”

  “You went to Jackson, Mississippi?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I needed to investigate your case. I found some things out, but not everything.”

  “Well?” I asked.

  “The good news is that when you turned 21 last week, the deed to that house was transferred into your name. You now own that house, free and clear.”

  “I do?”

  “Your mother obviously knew that this was set to happen, which explains her disappearance with your trust money. It would have been next to impossible for her to defraud you out of real estate with the deed plainly in your name. What I haven’t been able to find out is who the trustor is, in other words, the identity of your father.”

  “Well, couldn’t you ask the agent?”

  “It’s not that simple. Many companies assign agents for the sole purpose of protecting their identity. In an LLC, the owners, shareholders, or principals of the company do not have to disclose their identity. They can, as they say, hide beneath the corporate veil. The agent’s purpose is to protect those identities and handle any filings or notices against the particular LLC.”

  We sat in silence for several moments.

  “I made a trip back to Louisville also.”

  “Why?” I asked, truly puzzled.

  “I wanted to check birth records in Hardin and Jefferson counties. You weren’t born in either one.”

  The surprises just kept coming. Was everything about my life a lie?

  Our food was brought to the table so our conversation paused for a few moments. Trey refilled our wine glasses, and for the next few minutes we ate in silence. The chicken was delicious. I was hungrier than I thought, or perhaps I simply didn’t want the conversation to resume at all. Trey finally broke the silence.

  “How is it you have made it this far without having a copy of your own birth certificate?”

  “I don’t know," I shrugged. "When I got my learner’s permit my mom was with me so I guess she had it. My college only required my driver’s license and social security number.”

  “Speaking of which,” he interrupted, “I called back to the office while I was out to get your social security number. You know that the first three numbers of anyone’s social security number identifies the issuing state. Your prefix is 434. That indicates that it was issued from Louisiana.”

  “Louisiana? I’ve never been to Louisiana.”

  “As far as you recall,” he corrected, “that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have been born there. In particular, if your mother had collected any type of federal or state aid, she would have needed to get a social security number assigned to you at infancy.”

  “Thank you, Trey," I smiled weakly. "If there was any doubt in my mind before, you have now made it perfectly clear that I’m descended from pure trash.”

  “That wasn’t my intention at all. You know that. My only purpose in getting involved at all is to help you recover your trust money.”

  “And it looks like that's not going to happen. Well I don’t care. I can just sell the house, maybe not quickly enough for fall tuition, but in the end, it's worth more than the trust was anyway.”

  “We don’t have to discuss it any more this evening. I can see that it upsets you. But this isn't the end of it. We'll get the answers.”

  “And what if the answers are worse than I imagined?”

  “Then we'll deal with it.”

  I knew he was right. The only way I could put closure on my past was to know my past. Trey and I declined dessert. I just wanted to get home and put an end to this officially sucky day. Trey paid our bill. I told him I needed to use the restroom; he said he would bring the car around. When I came out of the restroom, Carmelita saw me and came over. She could tell that I'd been crying.

  “Why so sad tonight, mia cara?” she asked, putting one of her heavy arms around me.

  “Solo uno di questi, Carmelita. Spero di migliorare, prima di coricarsi,” I replied.

  Just one of those days, Carmelita. I hope to improve it before bedtime.

  Carmelita raised her eyebrows at me then burst out laughing, pulling me into a big, Italian bear hug.

  “Signor Trey è fortunato ad aver trovato una compagna perfetta.”

  Mr. Trey is lucky to have found such a perfect mate.

  “Grazie, Carmelita,” I said, hugging her back.

  On the way home, Trey was quiet. I was hoping he wouldn’t unveil any more bombshells tonight. I had other things in mind to help finish the day on a much better note. It had been two days since we'd made love. I needed my Trey fix.

  I leaned over toward Trey in the car, focusing my full attention on him. He glanced over at me, smiling. My hand found its way to his crotch, rubbing it gently in a circular motion. I could feel him harden beneath my touch, which in turn made me wet. Trey took his right arm off of the steering wheel, pulling me closer to him, his lips brushing
my forehead.

  “You want to stay with me tonight?” he asked huskily.

  “What do you think?” I had his index finger in my mouth, licking it and sliding it in and out suggestively. Trey and I barely got into the house without tearing each other’s clothes off. We stood in the front entry, our lips locked in a passionate kiss; Trey’s hands were all over me. I had my fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants, pulling his groin close to mine. I was ready to grind myself into him when Thatcher cleared his throat behind us.

  “Ah-hem, excuse me, Mr. Sinclair.”

  We broke apart immediately. I fumbled with my clothing, trying to smooth my skirt.

  “Yes Thatcher?” Trey said, a hint of irritation present.

  “Forgive me sir, but your office in Atlanta has called several times. Apparently your cell phone was shut off. You're required to call them at your earliest opportunity, the jury has come back.”

  Trey nodded, and turned to me. “I’ve got to make that call,” he said. “Go on upstairs, okay? I’ll be up in just a few minutes.”

  An hour and a half later, fully bathed, shaved, and moisturized, I lay waiting for Trey. I must have finally drifted off, because I wasn’t sure how much later it was that I could feel him next to me, removing my silk underwear, and caressing my skin with his mouth and tongue. He was totally naked, fresh from his shower. His hair was still damp and tousled. I melted as his tongue traced my belly button and moved down very sensually.

  He loved me harder tonight; there was urgency to it and we both responded with equal energy and passion. I cried out with pleasure as he brought me to climax once again.

  Once spent, I crumpled over next to him, exhausted yet fulfilled at the same time. He stroked my hair with his hand, kissing my lips sweetly, bending over me. He whispered softly in my ear. “You're mine, Tylar. Don’t ever forget that. You're mine.”

  I snuggled next to him feeling totally satisfied and secure.

  Chapter 26

  Trey and I awoke the next morning with 'just-fucked' hair and smiles on our faces. We showered together then went down to breakfast holding hands. I felt so close to him once again. Thatcher was all smiles as he served Trey his coffee and brought me my usual fresh fruit, bagel, and juice.