I stroke Bronte along the length of her neck. “Take care of my guy there.” I point to Dean’s stall.
I sniffle and take in a deep breath. The earthen smells of fresh shavings, hay, manure, and of course my favorite scent—horse—calms my nerves. Dean is watching us from his stall.
I give Bronte one last pat on her neck, latch her stall, and open Dean’s. I sigh heavily and bite back those damn tears again.
I’ll miss you, too, kid.
There is an actual tear in his eye. Yes, horses can cry, too. I reach up and scratch behind his ears—his special spot. He lowers his head for me. “I’m sorry. It’s hard. I mean, who am I going to talk to, confide in?” Dean rubs his face against my chest. “Hey, don’t get me dirty.”
I’ll be here when you come home. Right here. Running the show.
He shows me a mental image of him, snorting and galloping at full speed through the pasture, his dark tail flaming up in the air, the other horses watching him in awe. I laugh. “Yes, you will.”
Now you go. Be good. Love your new horse. Go live in the moment.
My throat tightens. “You’ve been listening too much to Mom.”
Your mom is smart.
Like me, Dean doesn’t do emotion real well. It’s what’s made us such a good team—a winning team. We understand each other. We’re totally in sync. But I can’t take him to LA with me. For one thing, he’s too old to compete at the levels I’m shooting for. At twenty, he’s left his best days behind him.
“Ren will be good to you,” I assure him. “She’s a good little rider, and sweet. She’s so excited about riding you and taking care of you. You’ll love her.”
Not like I love you.
Dean and me—together through the years—jumping jumps, scoring well in dressage tests, and flying through cross-country courses. A kiss on his nose, and an apple or two at the end of a ride. I wrap my arms tight around him and kiss his face again. “I have to go. I’ll be home at Christmas. We’ll go on trail rides, and I’ll bring home lots of apple cookies, and…” I sob. “I gotta go.”
I leave his stall, and as I walk out of the barn, he trots out to his run. There, he can see me walk to the truck where my mom, grandma, and brother are waiting. I swallow hard and wipe my tears with the back of my hand.
A fog rolls in off the mountains, weaving in and out of the fir trees and lush green landscape that I’ve loved and known all of my life. A slight drizzle mists down on me. Dean’s whinny echoes off the Cascade Mountains as I open the truck door and climb inside. As our truck pulls away, I press my hands to the window and watch him for as long as I can. With the truck’s tires crunching on the gravel of our long driveway, my brother’s game device making stupid noises in the background, and my grandma already telling my mother what they need to pick up at the store after they drop me off, I silently promise Dean that I’ll make him proud.
CHAPTER four
In LA, I am picked up by Kayla Fairmont, owner/president/principal—I’m not really sure what to call her. She introduces herself simply as Kayla. Kind of informal, but formalities are typically reserved for the show ring.
We are on the freeway in her black Range Rover. “We’re very excited to have you join us, Vivienne. You really blew everyone away with your video and application. We also spoke with your instructors in Oregon. You’ve racked up some impressive accomplishments.”
I shift slightly in the plush leather seating.
“With your show record and your school grades, we felt that you are the perfect fit for the scholarship.”
“Thank you.” Heat rises to my cheeks. Mom says I need to work on taking compliments better and to just respond with a thank-you. “I’m really grateful for this opportunity.” I turn to face Kayla. She is pretty in that California-blonde tan way, thirtysomething. She looks like a rider. There is a look. Her long hair is pulled back taut. She has on a pink polo—polo shirts are big in the horse world—and a pair of breeches and riding boots.
“Sorry about my clothes. I didn’t realize how late it was. I was giving a lesson to Martina Lunes, who is actually going to be your roommate. She’s a nice kid. I think you’ll like her.”
“Great.” I hope she doesn’t hear the hesitation in my voice. The faces of my best friends at home flash through my mind. Having one of them as a roommate would have been something I could get excited about. But all this not knowing… I am a creature of habit, and one who likes what she knows. The unknown? It tends to throw me for a loop.
“You’ll have some great instructors. And I was happy to see that for your extra curriculum you signed up for barn management. We usually only get a handful of kids in that class, and I think it’s one of our best courses. Your teacher, Tanner Bromley, is great. You’ll see.” She smiles.
We pull up to the front gate at Fairmont, and my jaw drops into my lap. One word—WOW! I had seen the photos in the brochure but, like, seriously crazy wow! “This place is insane!”
“We think so, too.” Kayla laughs. “We hope you’ll love it here. We have two jump arenas, two dressage arenas, twenty-five acres dedicated to our cross-country courses, four paddocks, and two pastures, plus four barns that hold twenty-five horses each. I can’t wait to show you around. And out on the back forty we have a really neat old stable house that we call Olympic House. It’s got photos of all the past US Olympians and their horses. It’s a special place, although students don’t go out there much because it is a hike.”
“I’d love to see it. My God, this place is so huge. How do you find everything? And there’s a view of the ocean!” I look back at the deep blue coastline stretched out behind us. Incredible.
The ocean and the beach equals incredible bikinis and bikini body watchers (yep—guys). This will be a problem. I am super pale. An image of surfer gods and goddesses with perfectly sculpted bronze bodies, riding along on their perfectly gorgeous steeds while their perfect golden hair blows in the wind, pops into my head. And then there’s me. A melanin-deprived ghost girl.
“Not bad, huh?” says Kayla. “And don’t worry. You’ll learn your way around quickly.”
I can’t stop staring. As we proceed up the drive, on either side are the pastures where some of the most amazing horses I have ever seen are grazing. All at least sixteen hands, muscular—definitely warmbloods, Thoroughbreds, sport horses—jumpers and combined training horses. Grays, bays, chestnuts, all just totally beautiful, their coats gleaming in the bright sunlight.
My mind suddenly becomes a mixture of noise and cluttered thoughts—horses’ thoughts. Images flash through at a rapid clip. One doesn’t like the mare on the left side of her, and as I gaze out the window I see that horse kick out at the other one. Another thinks the grass tastes off today. One horse is just as happy as can be and loves the sun on his back. This is so weird—I’ve only ever received one horse’s thoughts at a time, and usually only after I’d been exposed to that horse. My vision blurs a little and I feel dizzy. I suck in a deep breath.
“You okay?” Kayla looks over at me. “You look a little pale.”
“Yeah. I…”
“I know, it’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” She pats my hand. “Relax. You’re going to do great here. This will be like home away from home before you know it.”
Home. The mention makes me immediately think about Dean.
We pull up in front of the academy. This place looks nothing like home. The school and its outbuildings have this kind of Tuscan style. Mom has this thing about Italy, and it’s her dream for us to go there one day. She’s got all of these framed posters in the house of Tuscan villas, hills, vineyards. Green climbing vines with little white flowers intertwine up the sides of one building’s stone walls. The main school building is a couple of stories high and looks larger than I thought it would be. “How many kids go here?”
“We are at one fifty-seven right now and never admit more than two hundred. We couldn’t incorporate the riding into the curriculum if that was the case. We work with no
more than fifty per grade. You being a junior, you actually have the smallest class. There are thirty of you, and then you split off into individual class size, which in itself is no more than twelve in core classes. All very specialized, and schedules vary. You’ll see how it works. Not everyone is at the same level of riding ability, so not everyone rides six days a week, as you will.”
“Oh.”
“School days run from seven until seven. And by school days I mean not only will you have regular classes, you’ll also have riding lessons in there, too. You’ll rotate dressage, cross-country, and stadium jumping, and we’d like for you to schedule a private session at least once a week in the area in which you, and your instructors, feel you and your horse need the most work. I’ll go over your schedule with you after you have a look at your dorm.”
I take a second look at the school and am surprised to notice that the flags are at half-mast. “How come the flags…”
Kayla swallows hard. “Are at half-mast?” She nods. “We had a death here at the academy about a week ago. A freak accident. Dr. Serena Miller. She was our on-staff vet. Wonderful woman. She was my husband’s cousin.”
Kayla’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. We’re going to miss her.” She gets out of the SUV and goes around back.
“Oh hey! Kayla! I can help. Luggage, right?”
I turn around to see who is asking. Mmmm. Stomach drop. Yeah. Cute guy. No. Not simply cute, but like insanely hot. Really, really hot. And the best part is, he obviously rides. Right? Right. Because this is a riding academy and he has on a pair of breeches, riding boots, and a white polo that is exposing just enough of his golden, strong chest. Surfer god on horseback does exist. I blink several times, feeling like an idiot, and then I yell at myself from the inside. Stop staring at Mister Gorgeous Green Eyes, all muscle, tan, dark hair, like so perfectly hot, and I am not here to check out hot, sexy guys! A fleeting second passes where I recall Austen and that kiss. Am I forgetting him already? No!
“Thanks, Riley. This is…”
“I know. Hi, Vivienne,” he says.
He shakes my hand, which is super clammy. Gross—not his hand. Mine. He is probably thinking how lame I am. I swallow hard. “Hi. Yes. I’m Vivienne Taylor.” Good. Remembering my name is good.
“Riley Reed. Pleasure to meet you, too. You are the talk of the school.” He smiles. A perfect, perfectly white, straight-teeth smile.
Thank God, my braces came off last year. Thank God. “Oh?”
“Riley, let poor Vivienne get her foot in the door before you start in on her.” She glances sympathetically at me, while Riley pulls my bags out of the back. “Students always want to know who received the scholarship. It’s just, well, it’s a curiosity thing. You’ll be fine. The kids are great here. Everyone is great here.”
I cringe. I don’t want to be a curiosity thing.
“Follow me,” Kayla says. “Riley, just set her bags at the front office. And I think Emily is on for today’s welcome liaison and handler.”
Riley sidles up next to me and lowers his voice. “She exaggerates. You’ll see. Not everyone is great here. Watch your back, baby.” Then he winks at me, and it isn’t in a I think you’re cute way.
Ooh. Some welcome. And with that, Prince Hotness turns into His Royal Jerkness.
RILEY
CHAPTER five
So, that’s her?
Riley watches the new girl walk away with Kayla. Whispers of Vivienne Taylor had already made the rounds when the word that she’d received the Fairmont Scholarship spread like wildfire through the halls and in text messages. Most of the students had probably already watched her riding videos on YouTube, sizing up the new competition.
Riley has watched them, too. In his estimation, Vivienne Taylor is indeed worthy of the scholarship. Everyone knows that scholarship kids tend to be different than most of the other students at the academy. They are more driven, more focused—they are the riders to beat. And… they do not usually thrive at Fairmont. Unless… they either become less focused and driven, or they have something else to offer—an “in” to the in crowd.
Will this new girl offer anything extra, or will we all drive her away?
Riley drops Vivienne’s bags at the front office. Emily Davenport, whose family comes from ancient money and whose mother lives vicariously through the poor girl, stands at the whiteboard checking off the students who have already arrived.
“New girl on campus, Em,” Riley says.
“Super,” Emily replies. She turns around from the board. Her light brown hair is plaited into two thick braids against her shoulders. She looks at him with large blue eyes. “I hate this place.”
“Why are you here, then?” he asks.
She tilts her head to the side. “Why are you here, then?” She sets the marker down and looks at Vivienne’s luggage. “Oh God, how Walmart can we be? Scholarship girl?”
“Obvs.”
“Fine. I’ll get the bags dropped at the special rider’s room.”
“Thanks, Em. Hang in there. It could be worse.”
“Really, Riley? Really? Could it?”
“Yeah, Em, it could,” he mutters as he exits the office and sets off toward the barns.
He is walking past the pastures when he hears someone call out his name. Nate Deacon. Nate Deacon is one of those guys who seems to have it all—looks, brains, riding ability, charm with the girls, money, and more. But Riley thinks that the guy is also kind of a sociopath.
“Hey, Reed-man, wait up.” He jogs over to Riley.
They do the “bro” thing with the high fives.
“How was your summer?” Nate asks.
“It was okay.”
“I was here for the summer. My parents went to their house in Cannes. I didn’t want to hang there with them.”
Riley chuckles. “Right.”
“Unbelievable what happened with Dr. Miller.”
“Yeah. Pretty messed up,” Riley replies. “I didn’t see you at her service.”
“Nah, man. I don’t do funerals. Creep me out.”
Riley nods impatiently.
“You meet the new girl?” Nate asks.
“Just unloaded her stuff. Em is liaison today.”
Nate smiles his greasy-oily smile. “I like me some Emily Davenport.”
“Isn’t she a bit of a downer?” Riley comments.
“Yeah. Makes her easy prey. I like to give her spirits a rise.”
“I really gotta—”
“Anyway, the new chick,” Nate says. “What’s her name…” He snaps his fingers.
“Vivienne.”
“Right. Vivienne. Ready for a new new-girl initiation?”
Riley shakes his head.
“Come on. Shannon loved it. Sorry you got my hand-me-down.”
Riley frowns.
The Scholarship Girl Game initiation started a few years back. The first three guys to meet the new girl are the “tap-it” guys, meaning that whichever of them can get the new girl to have sex with them, receives the winnings from the bet. The other guys on campus put cash into betting on one specific contestant.
Shannon Burton is the most recent girl to receive the scholarship, and Nate is the first guy she met. He won the bet. That was two years ago. Shannon now has her sights set on Riley.
“I saw her YouTube video. She looks hot. And since you already met her… nice going, by the way. You are one of three. And, my friend, I plan to be number two on that list.”
“I don’t know. She seems like a, ‘nice’ girl.”
“They’re all nice girls. And even nicer underneath you.”
Riley starts walking toward the barn. “I don’t think so,” he says.
Nate slaps him on the back. “Two weeks. You got two weeks to get in on the bet and the semester to score. I bet you change your mind. The pool is already at five hundred and it is going to go up-up-up.”
“Not interested.”
“You do wh
at you want, Ri. I am off to meet one Miss Vivienne Taylor.”
Douchebag walking. Riley watches Nate saunter away.
Riley shakes off Nate’s disgustingness and gets his horse Santos out and ready for his afternoon dressage lesson.
In the tack room, he runs into Alicia Vincenzia—a royal pain in the butt—and her sidekick Shannon. Shannon’s “in” to the in crowd is that she is drop-dead gorgeous. She wound up being Nate’s girlfriend for a semester last year, before she decided that Riley was a better catch. Alicia on the other hand, is from old East Coast money, and is cute at best. Money has bought her designer clothes and a nose job, but hasn’t fixed her bitchy personality.
“Hey, Alicia,” he says.
“Oh, hi, Ri. How’s it going?” Alicia asks, pulling her long black hair into a ponytail and grabbing her helmet off one of the hanging racks.
“I’m good. You’ve got a lesson, too?” he asks.
“Yeah. Fun stuff with Holden.”
“Hmm. No, kidding. What about you?” He turns his eye to Shannon.
“Do I look like I’m riding this afternoon?” She tosses her shoulder-length brown hair, and straightens the hemline of her short skirt.
“I just thought maybe you hadn’t changed yet.” Riley picks up his brush box and starts back out to groom Santos, who is standing patiently in the cross ties.
“I came to watch your lesson today,” she replies, batting her lashes fiercely over her blue eyes. Riley’s stomach sinks. Shannon Burton is definitely one of the hot girls, and they’ve even made out. But she’s really not Riley’s type.
Silent Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 1) Page 3