My Favorite Mistake (9 page)

“Why stop now?” The cabbie, a skinny guy with an Eastern European accent and a sarcastic streak, glanced at them in the rearview. “I was about to start filming this for YouTube.”

“We're paying you to drive, not to crack lame jokes,” Zara reminded him. She glanced out the window, forcing her eyes to focus until the dancing, swirling lights settled down into their normal patterns and she could see that they were only a couple of blocks from the loft. Wow, how many drinks had she had, anyway?

Not as many as Grant, at least. The boy was seriously drunk. He was already groping at her again, mumbling a bunch of crap about how she made him feel. If only his prep school friends could see him now! She smiled at the thought.

“So tonight was fun,” she said, grabbing the armrest as the cab swerved around a stopped car. The driver leaned out the open window and let out a torrent of curses in whatever language he spoke.

“Yeah, it was great,” Grant slurred, clumsily running his hand up her leg. “I've never met anyone like you, Zara.”

“I'll bet you haven't.” She smirked, feeling good about how the evening had gone. Grant was sweet, and she just loved corrupting a sweet guy.

“Here we are, young lovers,” the cabbie announced, skidding to a stop in front of the loft. “Now get out of my cab before I have to disinfect it.”

“Give it a rest, dude,” Zara said. “Listen, make sure this guy gets home, okay?” She gave him Grant's Upper East Side address,
hoping she was remembering it right. But whatever—guys like Grant always landed on their feet, right? “Trust me, he's got the cash to pay when you get there.”

“Whatever.” The cabbie shrugged, turning up the radio.

Grant seemed to clue in to what was going on. He grabbed Zara, turning her to face him. “Wait. When will I see you again?” he asked.

Instead of answering, she grabbed him for a good-night kiss. He cradled her face with one hand and her ass with the other, bending her back against the car door. Zara put everything she had into it—drunk or not, she wanted him to remember this. Then the cabbie started muttering under his breath and Zara pulled back, straightening her skirt.

“I'll call you, okay?” she said. “See you.”

She hopped out of the taxi before he could respond, slamming the door shut. A second later the cab peeled away and sped down the street.

Zara swayed a little, catching her balance on her high heels. Okay, yeah, she was definitely a little drunk. But whatever. She could handle it.

She staggered into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor, wondering what Nanny Stacie was going to say when she walked in. Actually, she was sort of surprised some kind of NYPD missing-persons squad hadn't been waiting for her outside the building. Stacie totally seemed like the type to panic and call in the cavalry.

The elevator slid open, spitting Zara out onto the landing. Wow, her head was really pounding. Or
was
that her head?

She blinked, realizing there was music coming from behind the loft door. Loud music.

“Huh?” she muttered, fumbling for her key.

When she let herself in, the first thing she saw was a buff guy in his early twenties dancing in the middle of the room with his shirt off. And his pants, too, actually. All he had on was a pair of silk boxers.

Then she looked around and saw three other guys she'd never seen before. One was sucking down a beer and playing Grand Theft Auto on the plasma TV. Another was digging through Zac's liquor cabinet. The third was on the couch with his tongue stuck down Zara's cousin's throat.

“Hey!” Zara said loudly. “What's going on?”

“Zara! You're home!” Stacie shoved the guy away. “Dude, people in New York are, like, sooo friendly!” She giggled as the guy grabbed her and nibbled at her earlobe. “Quit it! I mean it!”

She pushed him away again and stood. The khaki shorts and dorky polo were gone; Stacie was now dressed in a sparkly cami and a skirt even shorter and tighter than Zara's.

“Listen,” she said, her voice sounding kind of melted around the edges. Even in her own condition, Zara could tell the girl was wasted. “Sorry about earlier, okay? I was just, you know, giving Cousin Zac what I figured he wanted to see, you know? We cool?”

Zara just stared at her cousin for a second. Her babysitter. The person who was supposed to keep her out of trouble. Then a smile spread across her face as she got it.

“Yeah,” she said. “We're so totally cool.”

Kate yawned, then checked her watch. One thirty a.m. The showgrounds had cleared out hours ago except for their little corner of the temporary stalls. All the lights were on in their aisles, and Kate, Miguel, and Max were slumped on a bench right outside the tack stall.

Jamie appeared at the end of the aisle, leading an exhausted-looking liver chestnut gelding, a children's hunter belonging to one of the younger girls in the barn. Miguel climbed to his feet. “I'll take the next turn,” he offered.

“Thanks.” Jamie handed over the lead. For once, he looked less than perfectly groomed. His shirt was untucked, his normally flawless dark hair rumpled.

Kate was sure she looked just as bad. They all did. A colicky horse could do that to you.

“Is he any better?” she asked Jamie as Miguel disappeared with the horse.

“Still no poop.” Jamie stifled a yawn and leaned against the wall. “But listen, you should probably head back to the hotel—you too,” he added, glancing at Max. “No sense all of us staying up all night. Miguel and I can handle it.”

Kate shook her head. “I'm not that tired,” she lied. “Besides, I want to help.”

Colic was the catchall name for equine stomach troubles, and the bane of a horseman's existence. This particular horse had a history of minor gas colics, and usually recovered quickly. But this time the vet had come and gone, tubing with mineral oil to try to clear out a possible impaction, and still the gelding hadn't passed any manure. Kate knew there wasn't much point in trying to sleep. Not until she knew that the horse was going to be okay.

“I'll stay too, boss,” Max put in. He stood up, stretching. “Might as well muck stalls while I wait my turn.”

Kate nodded. “And I never did get around to organizing the meds trunk,” she said. “Think I'll take care of that now.”

Soon she was straightening vials of Banamine, Robaxin, and all the other drugs that kept the hardworking show horses happy and sound. But she wasn't really seeing them. She was worrying about what might happen next. What if it wasn't just a gas colic this time, but a twist or serious impaction? What if the horse crashed right here, thrashing so wildly from the pain in its belly that it made things even worse? What if it died in front of them, before they could even get it to a clinic for surgery?

Those kinds of thoughts made her feel helpless and edgy. Sure, all the horses in Jamie's barn were insured, and even if they hadn't been, most of the owners could pay the thousands of dollars for colic surgery without blinking an eye. But sometimes even money wasn't enough. Horses seemed so big and strong most of the time, but then there were times like these when they reminded you just how fragile they really were. How quickly things could go wrong, and how little humans could do about it.

Kate had finished the meds cabinet and moved on to tidying the supplements tub when she heard a happy shout from outside. Dropping the bucket of electrolytes she'd been holding, she hurried into the aisle.

“What?” she asked.

Miguel turned and grinned at her from his position at the chestnut gelding's head. “We have poop!” he announced.

“Thank God!” Kate exclaimed. She hurried over to pat the horse, who already looked a little perkier as he nosed at a stray piece of hay on the ground. “You had us worried, buddy.”

“Only in a barn could a bunch of sane people get so excited about horse poop,” Jamie joked wearily.

“Sane? Says who?” Max retorted with a smirk.

Jamie chuckled. “Okay, now it really is time to go get some rest. Miguel's going to sleep in the barn just in case. I'll give you two a ride to the hotel.”

“Thanks.” Kate gave the horse one last pat, said good night to Miguel, then followed Jamie and Max toward the parking lot, trying not to count the short hours until it was time to get up and do it all again.

Zara awoke to an insistent, annoying buzzing sound. She slapped at her alarm clock, knocking it to the floor. But the sound persisted.

BZZZZZZZZZ!

“Shut the hell up!” Zara mumbled into her pillow.

Her head was pounding too much to lift it, so she just rolled over and cracked an eye open, staring at the ceiling.

BZZZZZZZZZ!

Doorbell. That's what it was, she realized.

“Isn't anyone going to answer that?” she yelled hoarsely.

No answer. The loft was silent except for that annoying buzzer.

That's when she remembered. Zac and the rest of them were gone. There were no roadies or toadies around to do stuff like answer the door. That meant the brain-splitting noise probably wasn't going to stop until she got up and took care of it herself.

She climbed to her feet, muttering every curse word she could think of under her breath. Her head was already clearing a little, and she realized it was still pretty early—barely 7:00 a.m.

“Who would be here at the freaking crack of dawn?” she complained as she reached the bottom of the stairs and stumbled over a wadded-up T-shirt. Mr. Half Naked must've left it behind last night.

Swallowing a yawn, she swung open the door. Tommi was standing there, looking kind of cranky.

“Are you kidding me?” Tommi snapped. “You're not even dressed!”

Zara glanced down at herself. She barely remembered changing into her pj's after downing a few more drinks with Stacie and her new friends.

“Oops,” she said. “Today's the day we're supposed to leave for the show, isn't it?”

Just then a door swung open upstairs. “What's going on?” Stacie called blearily, leaning over the railing wrapped in a short pink terry-cloth robe. She looked about like Zara felt.

“It's nothing,” Zara called. “Just someone here to pick me up for my show.”

“Your what?” Stacie blinked, looking confused.

Tommi blew out a loud, impatient sigh. “Just what I need this morning,” she announced to nobody in particular. She shot a glare at Zara. “Look, I'm going across the street for coffee. Be out by my car in twenty minutes, or I'm leaving without you.”

“Whatever,” Zara said as Tommi stomped off toward the elevator.

“Whoa,” Stacie said, stumbling down the staircase. “Who was that chick? Uptight much?”

Zara yawned and swung the door shut. “Nobody,” she said. “I mean, she's just my ride to this show, like I said. I sort of made plans for her to pick me up here.”

“Oh.” Stacie wandered over to the coffee table. A half-full glass of amber liquid was sitting there, and she sniffed at it, took a sip, then set it down again. “So that means I don't have to drive you anywhere for the next few days?”

“Yeah, in theory,” Zara said. Part of the deal with Zac was that Stacie was supposed to be her ride to the barn and anywhere else she needed to go. “I'm thinking I might ditch the show, though. Tell Jamie I'm sick or something.”

“What?” That actually seemed to wake Stacie up a little. “Wait, no. You should totally go.”

“Why? You trying to get rid of me already?”

Stacie pushed a chunk of tangled blond hair behind her ear. “Nothing personal, okay? It's just that, you know, I wouldn't mind some alone time with Tad.”

“Tad? Who the hell's Tad?” Then Zara figured it out. “You mean that loser guy from last night?”

Stacie's sheepish grin gave her the answer. Zara rolled her eyes.

At first she was ready to tell Stacie tough shit. She was hungover, she'd barely gotten any sleep, and she wasn't in the mood to do anyone any favors. Besides, how annoying was it that her brand-new country cousin was already trying to ditch her? This was her house, for crap's sake!

But she held off. As she woke up a little more, she realized
she couldn't blow off this show. She was still on probation with Jamie for the time she'd been caught smoking in the barn. She couldn't risk pissing him off right now.

“Don't worry, you'll have the place to yourself soon,” she said with a sigh. “I just need to shower and find my … Damn!”

“What?” Stacie flopped onto the sofa and yawned.

“I just remembered I never got my show clothes cleaned after Hounds Hollow,” Zara said. “Usually I get one of the guys to send them out, but everything was so crazy around here last week, I sort of forgot. Last time I saw them, they were in a corner of my closet floor.”

Stacie shoved an empty tequila bottle aside with her big toe so she could prop her legs up on the coffee table. “Don't you have any other clothes you can wear besides the dirty ones?” she asked. “I thought Cousin Zac was loaded.”