Table of Contents
Hitting the Target (The Rosewoods, #8)
Hitting the Target
Happy Birthday to Me
The Bunker
Talent Has Nothing to Do with It
Deck the Halls
You Don’t Need a Love Life to Have Romance
The Derby
Jinx
Winning Isn’t Just About Ribbons
Me Like Caveman
The Rosewood Recap
Judgment Day
Decisions, Decisions
Tales, Trails, and Tails
Missing the Goal
The Past is Not Always a Present
Unstable
No Escape
Just What I Needed
Eggs Benedict Arnold
Epilogue
Thank you
Coming soon! | Turning the Page
Stirred Soup and Mixed Signals
Also By Katrina Abbott
Brooklyn
This one was definitely more than just a press of his lips. His tongue met with mine and my eyes rolled back as my brain went offline. I felt instantly drunk on him and had the sudden thought that while Tristan was maybe a more practiced kisser, his kiss was like swimming in a kiddie pool and Brady’s was diving into the ocean.
His lips moved along my face toward my ear. “God I missed you,” he whispered, the words and the tickle of his warm breath making me understand how easily Kaylee and Declan got caught up in each other when they were together.
Danger signs started flashing in my head and with every single ounce of willpower I could muster, I pulled back.
His eyes looked a bit wild and his lips were swollen and red and I wanted to crawl into his lap and lose myself in him, but a fraction of my mind knew it was a bad idea. Us even being where we were and alone, was a terrible, bad, stupid idea.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his chest heaving as he breathed hard.
“Nothing. Everything,” I said. “I mean, the kissing is...”
“Perfect,” he breathed, his eyes drifting to my lips again.
Hitting the Target
The Rosewoods, Book 8
By
Katrina Abbott
Over The Cliff Publishing, 2015
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.
HITTING THE TARGET
First edition. August, 2015
Copyright © 2015 Katrina Abbott
Written by Katrina Abbott
ISBN-13: 978-1515369240
ISBN-10: 1515369242
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Steven,
Cupid nailed it.
Happy Birthday to Me
My eyes popped open and my first waking thought was: I am now eighteen! Legal. Well, legal to vote, anyway. I’d been legal to drive for some time, but now... Eighteen seemed so official.
Adult.
The problem was that I was still in high school and didn’t have much of my life together, so I hardly felt like an adult. Still, I couldn’t really complain: my life at Rosewood was good. I had my good friends and was happy to be back on campus permanently. Until I graduated of course.
Only one thing would make my life complete.
No, I told myself as I rolled over toward the wall, pulling the covers up to my chin, I would not even think that I needed a guy to complete me.
But maybe it was okay to say that having one would complement my life. There. Yeah. Like an extra add-on that I didn’t exactly need. But would be nice to have. Like a sunroof or HBO.
Except that Brady was a feature I couldn’t afford in many ways.
As I lay there, staring at the wall in the darkness, I thought about him and inevitably how amazing he’d looked that day last week when I stumbled in on him in the bunker. He’d been dressed down in jeans and his hair kind of looked like it hadn’t been brushed; he obviously hadn’t been expecting anyone bursting in on his little hideaway. Certainly he would never have expected me, ironically crying because I thought I’d never see him again.
But he’d looked rumpled and confused. Out of his element, which was somehow very endearing. And completely sexy.
We’d talked awkwardly and he hadn’t tried to make a move on me, a fact that I both appreciated and hated. It was totally selfish, but more than anything I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to need me, to be affected by me the same way he made me crazy every time he looked at me with those intense amber eyes.
Every day since then, I’d had to fight myself because I wanted to go back to the bunker to see him. To hear his voice. To step close enough to smell him, even if I never touched him.
But it was a very bad idea and I would just be torturing myself. Because I couldn’t have him.
Why is that again? I had to keep reminding myself of the particulars of our impossible situation so that I wouldn’t decide to just chuck it all and throw myself into his arms. Sometimes I wondered if his resolve was as razor thin as mine. I had a feeling it was. And knowing that made it even harder. Hello, vicious cycle.
Except that if I disregarded all the reasons we couldn’t date and managed to convince him to be with me, I could never live with myself if he gave up his Olympic dreams because of me. I never wanted him to ever look at me and wonder what if? Or worse, resent me because I had killed his dreams (not to mention that hooking up would likely get him fired from working here at the school).
But still, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about his...
“OOF!” escaped my mouth as all the wind was suddenly knocked out of me. What felt like a full-grown manatee landed on top of my body over the covers. I would have screamed in terror if my lungs hadn’t been empty of every molecule of air.
“Birthday Shamu!” Emmie yelled out from on top of me.
“What the hell?” I managed once I was able to suck in some air.
“Birthday Shamu!” she repeated triumphantly and while I couldn’t see her, I had a feeling she was doing a fist-pump. And as if that wasn’t enough, then she started tickling me.
Suddenly I understood the urge to kill another human being, no matter how much you love them under normal circumstances.
Between gasps of laughter, I said, “If you...gah!...value your...life...you will...no...please! Stop! No...tickling...please, Emmie!”
She kept at it until I threatened to barf (I feared it wasn’t an empty threat, either) and then she sat up, still on top of me, but no longer tickling. I grunted as I turned over underneath her and labored to catch my breath.
“What the hell was that?” I said when my heart began to return to a normal pace and breathing wasn’t such a hardship.
She grinned down at me. “The birthday Shamu. You know, like the whale from Sea World, which, don’t even get me started on. But never mind. Didn’t you like it? Are you not familiar with the birthday Shamu?”
“Uh, no. On both counts,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a haughty stare. It probably would have been more effective if I wasn’t on the verge of giggling. “Is it some sort of Rosewood tradition I’m not familiar with yet?”
She shook her head but had that twinkle in her eye. “No. I made it up just now. But it could become a Rosewood tradition.”
“Get off me,” I groaned. “And no, thanks. I do not want any part of that ever again, giving OR receiving.”
Emmie rolled off me so I decided I would let her live. Maybe.
“Why are you even up?” I asked as I stretched and flicked the switch on the lamp beside my bed. “It’s still dark-thirty and you don’t even have to get up early anymore.”
“Old habits.” She shrugged as she dropped onto her own bed. “So. What do you have planned for your specia
l day?”
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “What? Nothing. It’s a Wednesday, so practice and school.” I glanced at the clock and realized Emmie had only beaten my alarm by a couple of minutes. I leaned over and turned it off before I hauled myself out of bed. “I better get moving.”
I was only a few steps away from the bathroom before I heard a humph behind me. I turned toward my roommate.
“What?” I said.
“You only turn eighteen once, Brooklyn.”
“Yes.” I cocked my head. “And?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, just...make it count. Do something exciting.”
“I will,” I promised. Though I had no idea how. What kind of excitement was there to be had on campus on a Wednesday?
Turns out I didn’t have to go find excitement; it came looking for me.
~ ♥ ~
I was working on autopilot like I did most mornings, at least until I got into the arena and up on Charlie and had to wake up and pay attention. So as I shuffled into the tack room, nothing seemed amiss at first.
But then I smelled Brady. I whipped my body around, but he wasn’t there; I was alone in the room with the saddles and bridles.
I’m losing my mind, I thought, realizing it was probably all the leather that made me think of him. I grabbed my saddle and held it up toward my face as I walked out into the barn. It smelled good, the way tack did: comforting and warm like leather and horse. But it wasn’t what I’d smelled upon walking into the room. Brady always smelled like leather and horse, yes, but more; his own natural smell added to the scent, making it distinctly his.
I am losing it.
But then something caught my eye as it fell to the ground. I looked down and it was a folded piece of paper. My heart thumped in my chest. I balanced the saddle on my hip and looked around to make sure I was alone before bending down to pick it up.
I cursed and stuffed it in my pocket as I saw Janette, Brady’s replacement coach, come into the barn.
“Good morning, Brooklyn,” she said with a smile as she walked past me toward the office.
“Hi,” I said.
She glanced up at the clock on the wall as she slid her key into the door lock. “You’re running late, better get moving. I’ll see you in the arena in five.”
Which meant it wasn’t until way later after practice when I had gotten Charlie settled in his stall and returned his saddle and bridle to the tack room that I got to read the note.
I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and give you a little something. Come see me where we last met, tonight after dark, whenever you can get away.
No names, no explicit times or instructions, but there wasn’t an iota of doubt in my mind that it was from Brady and that he wanted me to meet him in the bunker.
That he remembered my birthday and wanted to give me something had my stomach in knots. It was a romantic gesture, which seemed a bit out of character for him. I mean, he was considerate; he’d brought me a coffee that time, remembering how I liked it. And he was sensitive, taking me to meet his horse. Thoughtful? Yes. Intense? Absolutely. Sexy as all get out? Hells yes. But romantic? That wasn’t a word I would have used to describe him.
He had a little something for me. What could that mean? A cupcake? A sappy birthday card? A birthday kiss, maybe?
I had so many hours to wait. How was I ever going to get through school? How was I going to even pretend to pay attention in class? I had no idea, but I had a feeling it was going to be the longest day ever.
My heart pounded as I jogged from the stables back to the main building so I could get ready for school, because the sooner I got this day started, the sooner it would be over.
At least I knew one thing: I was definitely going to be able to tell Emmie that something exciting happened on my birthday.
~ ♥ ~
I adore my Rosewood friends and really love that they made me a little party up in the third floor lounge that night. Truth be told, there were times during the day when I’d felt a little homesick after returning from spending Christmas with my family in London. Not to say my parents didn’t care, but a little bit of babying on your birthday is always nice. So having the girls make a big deal out of it was awesome.
But I probably would have enjoyed my party a little bit more if I didn’t have somewhere to be.
And if they didn’t keep bringing up the subject of Brady.
They all still thought he was missing somewhere off campus, but of course I knew differently. I wanted to tell them about the note and my plans for later and had even opened my mouth to blurt it out a few times, but had stopped myself.
I had to keep the bunker a secret, for one, but more than that, I needed to see him before I could even formulate how I was feeling about all this. Telling my friends would just confuse things (more).
My friends thought my birthday wish was for him to return, when in fact what I’d actually wished for was to figure out how to deal with all of this. While I was glad he was on campus, it made it harder to figure out how to move on. I knew I had other things to focus on, like catching up on schoolwork and working hard on training for the upcoming equestrian derby. But Brady was like a magnet and as long as he was here, I felt the pull toward him and concentrating on everything else got that much harder.
A tiny part of my brain told me I definitely shouldn’t go to the bunker, but the rest of my brain laughed heartily at that idea, knowing staying away was virtually impossible.
“How come I get the horse’s ass?” Chelly demanded, breaking my train of thought as I stuffed a big piece of cake in my mouth. I looked over and sure enough, she had what looked like a very deliberate piece of ass on her plate.
Celia grinned. “You’re always looking for a nice ass, I figured...”
We all laughed, but as I chewed, it made me think of when I’d found Brady face-down that day in his mother’s cottage, naked and bleeding. The bleeding had been minor but the nakedness had been major. Very major.
As my face heated up from remembering, I was half-expecting the girls to call me on it and tease me about wishing for Brady when the conversation turned to the upcoming talent show and Chelly’s acting scene with Declan. It seemed Kaylee was feeling a bit insecure about the fact that her boyfriend had to kiss Chelly, of all people. Awkward.
But Chelly would never do anything to jeopardize Kaylee’s relationship and of course, Kaylee knew that deep down, so there wasn’t too much drama as they talked it out. I allowed myself to zone out as I continued to eat my cake, thinking about what waited for me at the bunker.
The Bunker
It was cold out, but I didn’t want my friends to suspect I was leaving the building, so after I begged off from my ‘party’ I rushed back to the dorm room and put a hoodie over my head, slipping a pair of gloves into the front pocket. I shoved my feet into my boots, tucking my yoga pants inside before I left the room. I’d considered wearing my slippers outside, but there was a bit of snow on the ground and coming back with soaked feet and slippers was worse than explaining why I’d shoved my boots on to run downstairs.
Not that I expected to have to explain at all since now that Emmie didn’t have to work in the laundry in the mornings anymore, she’d stay in the lounge with the other girls, being considerate of me having to go to bed early. So I didn’t worry too much about her noticing me being gone. At least for a while. Coming back was the bigger risk.
Still, I couldn’t stay out too late anyway; I couldn’t afford to risk getting locked out of the building.
Having a time limit on my visit out to the bunker to see Brady was probably a good thing.
I casually made my way down toward the dining room under the guise of getting a hot chocolate (if anyone saw me and asked) but when I got to the bottom of the stairs, instead of heading down the hall, I slipped out the back door after making sure no one was around. My heart was pounding in my chest as I thought about who I was busting out to see and that I was probably breaking every Rosew
ood rule in doing it.
I got to the little shed and flipped the switch before going around to the back. I forced myself to stop and close my eyes, taking several long breaths before I let myself in. The light came on automatically when I pulled the door closed behind me and I stepped toward the stairs. When I got to the top, I reached for the handrail and looked down.
He was there at the bottom, looking up. Waiting for me.
He looked different than he had before, more put together. This time his hair was brushed and he wore a tight-fitting navy blue t-shirt tucked into his jeans. He was mostly in silhouette, the light coming from the open bunker behind him, so it was hard to determine his mood.
It was a long way, so I attempted a smile and started down, saving my greeting for when I got a couple of steps from the bottom.
God he looked good, all clean-shaven and groomed. Like he was ready for a date.
That jarring thought, combined with getting the first whiff of his heady cologne made me miss the last stair.
My hello turned into something like “Hellllurrghah,” as I landed on him. On him.
Luckily, he was like a rock and didn’t go down, instead steadying me with his big hands on my upper arms.
Smooth, Brooklyn, I cursed inside my head as I registered that I was so close he was a blur in front of me, his firm hands gripping me almost too hard.
Maybe there will be some sort of fissure in the planet and I will disappear into the ground.
Two seconds later, I was still there, staring at him stupidly. Thanks, Universe.
“You okay?” he asked, concerned.
Oh sure. I’m fine. I just tripped over my own feet because you smell so freaking amazing and brushed your hair for me. “Yeah,” I said. “Sorry.”
He shrugged off my apology and removed his hands from me. “The steps are steep. I would have met you at the top, but with the ankle, I’m trying to limit going up and down too many times.”
“Right,” I said, backing up as much as the small landing would allow to look down at his foot, which was a nice way to break the tension and not have to look at his face. “How is it?”
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