by Leigh Hutton
Praise for JUMP GIRL and Leigh Hutton
‘Jump Girl] gives us a look into the fierce yet glamorous world that is Show Jumping, as well as; Love & Romance, Action & Adventure, Murder Mystery, Redemption & Self Discovery, all woven together beautifully in this fast paced coming of age novel. I have been lucky enough to read Jump Girl before it’s release and let me say it is brilliant … It made me yearn to have a Monster or Gallant of my own. I immediately fell for Ebony. Her life felt so real and I was drawn into it heart first. I practically read it in one sitting … Five of five stars for Jump Girl.’
SARAH FAIRBAIRN, author and Goodreads reviewer
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‘Intriguing, fun, challenging, ‘real’, action packed. A fascinating, fast paced adventure that had me hooked … Hutton is an author to keep an eye on. Can’t wait to see what she writes next.’
CAROLYN MARTINEZ, author and editor
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‘I haven’t had much experience with show jumping or horse riding, but by the time I finished the book I felt like I was there in front row seats to every show and experience Ebony had. What I enjoyed the most was the hope this book gives people. That no matter what happens in life if you persist and give what you love everything you can achieve so much. Ebony shows strength, determination, love, friendship, control … You must read. You will not be disappointed and by the end of the book you will feel like part of the story.’ JACINTA LUDLOW, reviewer
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‘Leigh has a talent for making the reader be captured in their imagination. I was able to imagine scenes, accents, and how people looked. It was different and refreshing.’
ANGEL READS, book blogger [review of REV GIRL]
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‘Wow. Talk about a proper, real-world protagonist. This chick has got to be in my top 5 of all time. This book is amazing.’
MARYAM KALIF, book blogger [review of REV GIRL]
First published in 2014
Copyright © Leigh Hutton 2014
All rights reserved . No part of this book may be reproduced or transmit-ted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Leigh Hutton Books
PO BOX 828
Samford, QLD 4520
Australia
www.leighhuttonbooks.com
ISBN 978-0-9924956-4-0 (eBook)
Internal Design by Rosie Lalonde
JUMP GIRL, the story and its characters, are fictional. The book is, however, inspired by the author’s life and experiences as a competitive show jumper to make this story as real and relatable as possible. Although some celebrities’ names and real entities, places, venues and events are mentioned, they are all used fictitiously. Any resemblance of any characters in this book to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Leigh Hutton Books have used Australian spelling for the text of this book, while staying true to Canadian slang and pronunciations within the dialogue. This has affected words such as: colour, honour, rumour; apologise, organise, realise; centre, fibre, metre etc. However, they have remained consistent with the American spelling of ‘Mom’ (and not used the Australian ‘Mum’), as it is essentially a character name and pronounced ‘Mom’ by the North American characters.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Acknowledgements
Contact Leigh Hutton
About The Author
For my parents, Donna and Gordon, for giving my sister and I the unbelievable experience of being show jumpers.
And for my unforgettable horses: Misty, Chief, Shawnee, Rocky, Natasha, Odie, Harry, Pearl, Joey, Scooby Doo and Monty.
‘Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion.’
~ Emerson
‘Hope is the only emotion more powerful than fear.’
~ President Snow, The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins
Annika Scott Harris walked swiftly through the archway into the gleaming kitchen of her Royal Lakes home. She stopped at the edge of the island bench, surveying the girl who lived with her, hunched on one of the stools.
Ebony curled her shoulders, turning away from the most horrible woman she’d ever been forced to live with. She quickly finished the last few bites of her Fruit Loops and went to stand, bringing the bowl to her lips to drink the remaining milk.
Annika swiped the cereal from her grasp with a bony hand, letting it fall to the marble bench top. ‘Crazy much?’ Ebony asked, catching the spinning bowl just before it hit the tiled floor.
‘Luther finally had enough of your back chatting,’ Annika said, standing back and folding her arms across her ample chest. She was scary, icy and plastic, scarier than any of the ‘badass’ or ‘Emo’ girls that eighteen year old Ebony had met through her foster homes or at school. The ‘Real Housewives’-type women were usually the worst. ‘He kicked you out,’ Annika said, flipping her bleached-blonde hair for dramatic effect. ‘I didn’t have a choice, the horses are on their way to Marcus Frank’s.’
Marcus’s … Ebony wasn’t prepared for good news, not this morning, and especially not from Annika. Did she just say Marcus Frank’s?
‘He’s twice the price of Luther and a total prat,’ Annika said, sharpening her glare. ‘If it wasn’t for Paisley Chamfer’s son and The Princess being Marcus’s clients, there’s no way in hell I would have resorted to it.’
Of course, you sly bitch! Ebony thought, a flare of hope lighting inside her at this exciting turn of events. It’ll be the perfect place for you to weasel in on the wealthiest of the elite! She straightened her shoulders and pulled a white band off her wrist, lifting her long, thick layers of naturally black hair up into a ponytail. She blinked a few times, and opened her jade eyes wide. Hope was an emotion she hadn’t felt in a very long time, not since the day she’d met Cecile and she’d taken her in when she was eleven years old. ‘Marcus charges the same as any other decent barn in the area,’ Ebony said finally, pushing her nail-bitten hands into the pockets of her favourite riding jeans. ‘Luther is a monster.’
‘Ha!’ Annika laughed. ‘You just hate him ’cos he’s mean to the horses.’
‘Well, yes, Annika. Most horse owners would be concerned for their hors
es’ welfare.’
‘What are you saying, Ebony?’ Annika took a brisk step forward and grabbed her arm. ‘I’m paying for everything round here, the least you could show is a little respect!’
‘It’s all Cecile’s.’
‘That’s it, you ungrateful little beast!’ Annika squeezed her fake nails hard into Ebony’s arm before shoving her away. ‘I should’ve known that taking in a white trash orphan would be a mistake! Your own mother didn’t even want you!’
The dark fingers of rage tore into Ebony’s heart, and she forced herself to take a step back — she needed to distract herself, before she could lash out, and do something to Annika which would only make things worse. So she forced a breath, and looked past Annika to the signed poster of Eric Lamaze and Hickstead, hanging on the kitchen wall. It was a valuable piece of memorabilia Annika made sure to hang in the most high traffic area of her wanna-be-rich-person house.
She stood her ground, glaring — Annika’s designer nose was wrinkled and her puffy lips were pulled upwards with annoyance and hatred. Ebony’s hands started to shake, and the pain stabbed like a thousand knives to her heart. No matter how many times she was looked at like that, she would never get used to it. Every time it hurt more.
‘If you think I’m going to keep taking your crap,’ Annika hissed. ‘You’re dead wrong. This shot at Marcus’s is your last. I will find another girl to take your place.’ She tilted her hollow face to the side and pursed her lips. ‘Actually, it would be great to have a girl who actually tried to fit in. I don’t think that you’re so talented that you can’t be replaced. No matter what my stupid, dead sister might have thought.’
The rage hit Ebony full on, the black rage that turned her eyes to daggers and her heart to a grenade with the pin pulled, ready to destroy. How dare she say that about Cecile! Her hands clenched into fists and she had to force herself to keep from swinging at her.
Annika must have sensed that she’d pushed it too far — her steely blue eyes went wide, and she retreated fast, her shoulder hitting the wall with a thud and then a smash as the Lamaze and Hickstead picture crashed against the cold floor.
Ebony’s hand shot out to save this image that she held so dear. The rider; her idol, the horse; her hero. She clutched at the frame, glass falling away from the front of the picture, then her hand recoiled; a sharp shard of glass had sliced a long cut on the palm of her hand. She rested the print carefully on the floor, pressing her good hand against it. A bit of red blood escaped, falling in a perfect droplet and splaying on the otherwise spotless floor.
She locked eyes with Annika, and the intense pain, from her injury and from her heart, forced her body to shrink away. It wasn’t like her to back down. She’d learned that showing weakness meant defeat, but she wasn’t sure what else to say, or how to play it with Annika. Annika was in charge now — what could Ebony do?
Annika’s face was still, set in a determined stare. Her eye makeup glowed hot and glinted from the slick clamminess of her expensive skin. Annika was ten years younger than Cecile had been when she’d died, at fifty, but if one could look past the strained, Botox skin, her harshness made her seem much older. Cecile had been lovely and soft in appearance, not unlike Meryl Streep.
Annika smoothed the jacket of her Chanel skirt suit across her stomach, then reached down to collect her print, wiped the broken glass away, and hung it back on the wall. ‘Any more trouble with you, and I’m calling the cops.’ Annika glanced back over her shoulder as she turned to leave. ‘The horses, which are mine now, remember,’ she said, ‘arrived at Marcus’s barn this morning. You’ve got your first lesson at ten and at the rate he charges, you’d better make it count.’
Walking from the room, Annika paused, looked at the wall and sighed. ‘Hmm …’ Retrieving the picture of Lamaze and Hickstead, she said, ‘I’d better get this re-framed.’ She tucked it under her arm and tapped out of the room.
She’s gone nuts, Ebony thought, her face twisting with rage. What could be worse than an evil bitch who’s gone completely freaking nuts? Her fit, strong body started to shake, her shoulders heaving from the tension screaming to be released. The rage was too wild, black, intense with frustration. What could she do?
Annika had never threatened to get rid of her before. She had been getting increasingly hostile, as Ebony refused to play the good little show jumping princess and attend her luncheons and kiss the butts of the rich socialites Annika so wanted to call her friends. But there had been time that summer when she’d actually been civil, and would smile her public smile when Ebony saddled up one of her prized show jumpers and scored a clear round. She especially glowed when Ebony won, and everyone clapped, congratulating Annika on her amazingly gifted rider and stunning horses. Only, she wasn’t her rider. And the horses weren’t hers. Ebony had been the beloved foster daughter of Annika’s sister, Cecile, and her money had paid for the lot.
Before her death, Cecile wouldn’t let Annika within a hundred kilometres of her barn or her horses. It was just Ebony and Cecile. It was Cecile’s love and dedication that had taken Ebony to within reach of becoming a professional show jumper and among the best in the country. But Cecile’s death had allowed the evil sister in, and now this quest for social hierarchy had wormed its way so efficiently into Annika’s small brain that the holes were overpowering the matter and all her sense had seeped out.
Ebony forced herself to relax, and to take a breath. Her head was pounding, too hot to think. She ran a finger under her eye, and it became sooty from eyeliner and wet from tears.
She grabbed a tea towel off the shiny oven, and wrapped it around her bleeding hand. After a few moments she checked her wound. The blood had stopped spurting, but had stained patches of her skin red. She moved to the sink and washed, and then grabbed a few Band Aids from the cupboard above the fridge.
She leaned against the sink, taking in the view out the window of Annika’s manicured back yard, which had been shoveled and blown by her gardener to remove the snow from all of its features. The sun was just cracking over the neighbour’s white-painted fence, shining harshly off the big, cheap house behind that looked identical to theirs — only in a different shade of beige. It all made her cringe. She despised this place. She’d been living in a prison for the last six months, and every day she longed more deeply for Cecile and their warm country home. For her love; her family.
But she had heard good news. She would now be riding for Marcus Frank. The tall, gorgeous, Marcus ‘The Gale’ Frank. Annika loathed him, because he’d never paid attention to her. He’d adored Cecile; everyone did. Cecile had always planned for Ebony to ride for him, but had kept her at her dear friend, Jenny Pedrosa’s. After her death, Cecile’s only living blood relation, Annika, had taken hold and moved Ebony and the horses to Luther’s to cut costs and to put Ebony through hell.
At that moment, Ebony was relieved that she hadn’t been able to hold her tongue with Luther. This move to Marcus’s was making her feel lighter and more alive than she had since her years with Cecile. Marcus might have a reputation as a playboy, but he was amazing with the horses; on the same level as a rider as Eric Lamaze, and Ebony was sure he was the best man to help her make the squad for the Nations’ Cup events and qualify for the upcoming World Equestrian Games, to win the money she needed to take control of her horses and take back her life.
You’ve got to be strong, she told herself. And get to work …
Ebony glanced down at her daily barn attire: ripped, skinny jeans tucked in to her black Ariats with half chaps, and a black hoody, with a high enough neckline to hide her cleavage and the jagged white scar across her chest. She’d rimmed her eyes with black eyeliner and drenched her lashes in thick mascara, and she had her piercings in, too: a silver loop through her full bottom lip, an eyebrow stud that she’d had done shortly after Cecile’s death, and several rows of rings up both ears, with her cherished, silver lightening bolt earring in the first hole of her right ear.
Scary enough to
meet my new barn mates? Ha, she laughed to herself, and reached for her studded leather handbag, sitting next to her on the island counter top. She never let her bag out of her sight. It had her passport, wallet, phone, sketchpad and iPad; all of the things she couldn’t afford for Annika or anyone else to steal from her, as well as the keys to her black Mustang, not that Annika would be able to drive it anyway. If only she could fit her horses in here, too. Keep them safe.
I’m going to make it, Ebony said, as if Cecile could hear her, as she fled for the garage. For you and for our horses.
Ebony turned out Princess Drive, accelerating hard enough for the back end of her V8 Mustang GT Fastback to swing sideways on the icy street. Her heart pounded with excitement as she thought of how good it was going to feel to, finally, drive past Luther’s gate and continue on to her new barn; Marcus Frank’s.
She drummed her thumbs on the steering wheel, not letting herself wince at the pain from her fresh cut. Her aftermarket system brought old-school punk to life. She loved her car, which was a gift from Cecile, with its matte-black paint job and custom, red leather seats. She wished Cecile were there, sitting in her passenger seat, chatting away as she always had. She slipped her black sunglasses over her eyes, turned the stereo up, and clicked her tongue as she often did to distract herself from the pain of missing the only mother she’d ever known.