My Favorite Mistake (5 page)

Zara still couldn't believe he'd jumped in to cover for her. The weirdest part was that he hadn't even done it to try to get in her pants. That would have been better, actually. She would've known how to handle that.

This? Not so much. She didn't like owing anyone anything.

“Hey, good lookin'. What's cookin'?” Fitz quipped when he got closer. “Didn't know you were here today.”

“Sorry, guess I forgot to alert the media,” she muttered.

It came out sounding more sour than funny, but Fitz laughed anyway. “How's Ellie today?” he asked, stepping over to give the mare a scratch on the withers. She turned her head as far as the cross-ties would allow, nuzzling him in obvious hope of scoring a treat.

Zara didn't answer. Javier had just returned with her bridle. He expertly slipped it on, then handed over the reins.

“Do you need anything else, Miss Trask?” he asked in his soft voice.

“No, I'm good.” Zara forced a smile. “Thanks.”

“See you, Javier,” Fitz said. As soon as the groom disappeared around the corner, he glanced at Zara. “Hey, guess what?”

“Do I have to?” Zara jammed her helmet on and clicked the throat snap shut.

“What? No, seriously.” Fitz lowered his voice. “I was talking to Max, and he said nobody ever told Javier what happened that night. You know—what you said about him.”

Zara spun around to face him. “Wait, for real?” she said. “Come on. This place is gossip central. How could he not know?”

Fitz lifted one shoulder, then let it drop. “Guess the other guys didn't want to freak him out. I told Max you were never going to actually rat Javier out to Jamie, anyway. So no harm, no foul. At least for that part.”

Zara wasn't sure how to respond, so she didn't. Just turned and lifted the saddle flap, pretending to check her girth.

After a moment of silence, Fitz cleared his throat. “Anyway, I just thought you'd like to know,” he said. “Gotta go. Have a good ride, okay?”

“Thanks,” Zara muttered without taking her eyes off the girth.

She wasn't going to let Fitz know it, but her mood had just ticked up a notch. Okay, so all the other juniors still knew exactly what she'd done, plus now she had this new garbage at home to deal with. But at least she wouldn't have to feel guilty every time she looked at Javier from now on.

At least there was that.

Soon she was leading Ellie outside. The assistant trainer was teaching a bunch of bratty tweens in the big jumping ring, so Zara kept going to the next ring. A couple of adult amateurs were in there schooling their horses. So was Summer, mounted on a chunky bay that Zara was pretty sure was her large junior hunter. Not that she paid much attention to anything having to do with Summer.

“In here, Zara!” Summer called, waving her hand.

Zara almost turned and kept going. But why bother? She'd grown up learning to ignore pushy paparazzi and obnoxious fans. Summer was nothing.

“Come on, girlie,” she whispered to Ellie, leading her in and turning toward the mounting block.

“Hurry up, Zara! Maybe we can do like a fake pairs class or something. Wouldn't that be fun?”

“Watch where you're going,” one of the adults snapped loudly, swinging her horse out to avoid running into Summer, who'd just turned sharply toward the center of the ring without looking.

Zara hid a smirk by fiddling with her stirrup. She'd vaguely noticed that particular adult ammy at the shows, a woman in her thirties with a cocky attitude and a foul mouth. She was some kind of big-shot lawyer or something—what was her name again? Mary, Marcy?

“Sorry, Margie,” Summer said.

Margie had cantered down toward the other end of the ring by now, catching up to the other ammy, an older woman on a placid-looking gray. Summer halted and watched Zara mount.

“Hold still, girl,” Zara ordered as Ellie danced in place
beside the mounting block. She managed to get her left foot in the stirrup and swing aboard, but her horse immediately trotted off with her head in the air.

“You shouldn't let her do that,” Summer said. “Jamie says they're supposed to stand until you tell them to move off.”

Zara had already started shortening her reins, preparing to halt. But she wasn't about to let Summer think she was taking riding advice from the likes of her. So instead, she gave Ellie a sharp kick.

The mare flung her head in the air and broke into a choppy canter. Zara had to squeeze with both legs to stay on, since she hadn't really gotten her seat yet—or even picked up her right stirrup. Her tight leg—or maybe that flapping stirrup—made Ellie even more agitated, and soon she was bolting straight across the ring.

“Settle down, dammit!” Zara exclaimed, fishing for the stirrup as best she could. She finally caught it and stood in both stirrups, hauling on the reins.

“Look out!” a frightened voice called.

Zara looked up. Ellie was headed straight toward the older adult ammy. All Zara knew about her was that her name was Mrs. Walsh and she was some kind of rich New York socialite. Oh, and that she was one of those chickenshit adult riders who preferred her horses one step livelier than dead. Yeah, running over someone like her wasn't exactly the best way for Zara to stay on Jamie's good side.

“Whoa, you stupid thing!” Zara cried, struggling to pull Ellie into a circle.

The mare fought her hands and legs, skittering sideways
with her head cranked to the side. She almost crashed into the other horse before giving in and circling away. Mrs. Walsh's gray gelding actually woke up long enough to lift his head, swish his tail, and take a lazy step sideways.

“Whoa, whoa!” Mrs. Walsh exclaimed, sounding terrified. “Easy, boy.”

Meanwhile Summer and Margie were both watching from nearby. Summer just sat there staring. But Margie kicked her horse forward.

“Get a grip!” she yelled at Zara. “If you can't control your horse, you shouldn't be riding in a ring with other people!” She turned toward Mrs. Walsh. “You okay, Elaine?” she asked in a quieter tone.

Zara didn't stick around to hear any more. Ellie had finally slowed to a walk, and Zara aimed her toward the gate.

“Where are you going?” Summer called, pushing her own horse to follow.

Zara leaned down to swing open the gate from the saddle, just the way she'd learned from an old cowboy on one of her mother's movie sets. “Out,” she said. “I'm not in the mood for this. I'm going on a trail ride.”

Summer's eyes widened. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” she said. “Ellie seems kind of worked up, and she probably hasn't ridden out much. If it were me, I'd be kind of nervous, you know?”

“Good thing it's not you, then,” Zara snapped. She nudged Ellie through the gate, then swung it closed behind her, not wanting Summer to get any bright ideas about tagging along.

In her current mood, she might have almost enjoyed
continuing the battle with her horse in the great wide open. But to her surprise, Ellie seemed to relax as soon as they were away from the ring. She stopped fighting Zara's aids and settled into a loose, swinging walk, pricking her ears at everything they passed—a couple of barn dogs wrestling in the grass, a bird perched on a fence, a stall cleaner dumping his wheelbarrow in the manure pit.

“Well, what do you know,” Zara murmured, turning the mare down the grassy lane between two turnout fields. “So Miss Fancypants really wants to be a trail horse. Who knew?”

Just then Ellie snorted and spooked at a squirrel, and Zara laughed. Okay, so the mare still had some spunk. But that was okay. It was one of the things Zara liked about her.

She ended up spending more than an hour exploring the sprawling property with Ellie. They trotted through an empty pasture and jumped the coop set in the fence line for the local foxhunters; they galloped up the steep hill near the creek, then wandered along a couple of wooded trails to cool down. By the time Zara reluctantly headed back in, her mood had turned around completely.

“I'm glad I came to ride today, girlie,” she told Ellie, reaching forward to give her a pat. “Sorry about earlier. But this was fun.”

Yeah, there was still the thing with her dad to worry about. Not to mention the knowledge that if anyone told Jamie what had really happened that night at the showgrounds, she was toast. But it wasn't like she could do much about either of those things. So why stress?

As she led Ellie into the barn a few minutes later, she saw
Tommi coming out of the tack room. “Hi,” Tommi said. “Summer said you were here somewhere.”

Her tone was friendly, so Zara cautiously returned her smile. Tommi was hard to figure sometimes. Okay, make that most of the time. It seemed like the two of them had butted heads pretty much since Zara had arrived at Pelham Lane, though things had been better since the Hounds Hollow show.

“Yeah, figured I'd get some saddle time in before the horses leave for the show tomorrow,” Zara said. “You?”

“Same, pretty much.” Tommi shrugged. “When are you heading down?”

“Thursday, I guess.” Zara frowned, realizing that her father was leaving for Amsterdam on Wednesday. Along with his driver, Mickey, who usually drove her to the barn and to shows. Was this country cousin of hers supposed to be her chauffeur as well as her babysitter? Or what? “If I find a ride, that is,” she muttered, a little of her bad mood creeping back.

“You don't have a ride?” Tommi said. “You can bum one with me if you want. I'm spending a couple of days in the Hamptons, so I won't be leaving the city until Thursday morning myself.”

“Really? Cool,” Zara said. “Guess that could work out.”

“Okay, I'll call you Wednesday and let you know what time to be ready.” Tommi started to turn away, then paused. “By the way, hope you don't mind. Grant asked for your number, so I gave it to him.”

“Grant?” For a second Zara drew a blank. Then she remembered—that was Tommi's preppy friend's name. She had a vague memory of him feeling her up in the hotel pool. He wasn't a bad kisser. “Oh, right. Yeah, it's cool—thanks.”

She was smiling again as she and Tommi parted ways. Yeah, this day wasn't turning out all bad after all.

“So how's that horse of ours doing?”

Tommi glanced up as she slid into her seat at the dining room table. She'd arrived home from the barn half an hour earlier, which had just given her time to shower and start packing for the Hamptons trip before the housekeeper had called her to dinner.

“He's fine,” she told her father. “I'll be taking him in the jumpers again this weekend.”

“Oh, so you're going to a horse show this week?” her stepmother said, reaching for the dish of roasted asparagus that Mrs. Grigoryan had just set on the table. “I thought you were taking a week off to go to the Hamptons.”

“Not the whole week. I'm meeting the barn at the show on Thursday, remember?”

“Good,” her father said. “Any nibbles yet?”

Tommi wanted to roll her eyes, but stopped herself. “Not yet,” she said. “But he's only been to one show so far since we've owned him.”

“Hmmph.” Her father seemed to lose interest as he speared a crab cake with his fork and slapped it on his plate. He turned and started talking to his wife about some art gallery opening they were going to soon, and Tommi slumped in her chair, off the hot seat—at least for now.

She toyed with her food, feeling uneasy as she realized her father wasn't going to let up on her until Legs was sold. He
wasn't exactly known for his patience, either on Wall Street or around home. Whatever. It was the price she had to pay. But it made her wonder yet again if it had been a mistake to cut her show week short because of that Hamptons trip. Tommi wasn't used to second-guessing herself—usually once she made a decision, she just went with it. Full steam ahead, no regrets.

But this felt different somehow. Way more serious and grown-up. And suddenly it just seemed way too stressful to worry about, especially when she had more interesting things on her mind.

Like what she was going to wear for that long, cozy car ride with Alex tomorrow, for instance.

She smiled, mentally skimming through her closet. Her new flirty print sundress, maybe? Or the cute denim capris and a sexy tank? Now that was the kind of decision she had no trouble making.