Racing Savannah (19 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say with a sob.

“You’ll win next time. I know it.” He holds my gaze, grinning, and I squeeze his hand. “Come down here,” Jack says, and I let him pull me off the horse. Gael grabs the reins. And when a photographer gets in my face to snap a picture, Jack pulls me into a long kiss, wrapping his arms around me, cocooning me like he’ll never let go. And I kinda hope he doesn’t.

“I swear,” I hear Mr. Goodwin say. “Do you have to kiss her in front of everybody?”

“Yes,” Jack replies, then dives right back in, kissing me again.

“I thought Jack had a girlfriend—that Winchester girl,” Mrs. Goodwin says, sounding confused and pissed. “John, why is our son kissing Danny’s daughter? John, what’s going on?”

“How romantic,” Shelby sighs.

“I’m going to kill him,” Dad says.

“This would be a great climactic scene,” Rory adds, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch him jotting down notes.

Star sniffs my hair and nuzzles his neck between our heads. Jack and I break apart.

“Is my horse trying to cock block me?” he whispers in my ear.

“Appears so.”

“If he hadn’t done so well, I’d send him to New York to drag a tourist carriage. For real this time.”

Jack and I smile, continuing to kiss, and even though we’re not in the winner’s circle, I feel like I won.

Laughter and hooting and hollering distract me, and when I pull away from his lips, he turns me to face the scoreboard. It reads:

Sav—Will you go to homecoming with me?—Jack

I laugh. “That’s so much better than a skywriter!”

• • •

After the press has melted away and while Jack is attempting to smooth things over with his mother, who is super agitated that her son was making out in front of a crowd, Mr. Goodwin walks up to me and Dad with a gentleman I don’t recognize.

“Danny and Savannah, meet Thomas Alexander. He runs the Kentucky Thoroughbred Village in Lexington.”

Mr. Alexander shakes Dad’s hand first and then mine. “You’re quite talented, Savannah.”

“Thank you.”

He hands me his card. “We have a jockey-training program at the Village you might be interested in. We offer college credit that’s accepted at the University of Kentucky. You’d have to spend several hours a week exercising the horses, and you’d work as a sort of apprentice instructor, teaching younger kids how to be a jockey. If you’re interested, I can have my assistant get in touch with you to discuss the details.”

Mr. Goodwin smiles down at me. I peek up at Dad, who’s picking at the inside of his eye with his thumb, trying to act manly by pretending he’s not tearing up.

“I’m very interested, thank you.” I bounce on my toes.

I give Mr. Alexander my phone number and email address, and after he’s gone, Mr. Goodwin pats my shoulder.

“Thank you for doing that for me,” I tell Mr. Goodwin, cradling the man’s card in my hands.

“Don’t thank me. Jack asked me to make the introduction. It was all his idea.”

• • •

I lounge in a cushy chair on the patio, watching Jack work the grill. Wearing an apron, he whistles as he flips the burgers. The smell of cooking meat wafts over along with the sound of the radio. He likes listening to college football games. I never knew that about him until tonight. What else don’t I know?

“What are you smiling at?” he asks.

“Wondering if you have any secrets.”

The edge of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “I won’t keep any secrets from you…except…”

“Except what?”

His grin is full of mischief as he abandons the grill to come give me a kiss. “I can’t tell you what I want to do to you later in private. It’s a secret.”

Stomach butterflies flutter up into my chest and heart, leaving me breathless. Smiling, he returns to his position at the grill, and I pull my knees to my chest, incredibly content. It’s a chilly autumn night, and I’m cozy in one of Jack’s extra large sweatshirts. He gave me a guest bedroom with a queen-size bed, with a fluffy white duvet and pillows made of lace. When I sleep there tonight, I’ll feel like a princess…who’s also a horse jockey. Bad. Ass.

“I told you I could grill,” he murmurs, smiling as he serves me a cheeseburger.

After dinner, and after a crazy make-out session in the hot tub where he let me in on the secret things he wanted to do to me, we curl up in the hammock together. His parents won’t be home from some fancy dinner for a while, and his sister and the housekeeper are inside, so it’s almost like we’re in our own little world. Except for Jack’s hounds resting on the ground below us. Thor is a big snorer.

“This is my favorite place,” Jack says, wrapping his hands behind his head, staring at the stars.

“It could easily become mine too.” I love the soft sounds of the crisp night. Crickets. A stream babbling in the distance. My boyfriend’s steady breathing.

“Thank you for supporting me today,” I say, curling up against his chest.

He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you for believing in me.”

The little bell on the door jingles as we walk into Tennessee Ballers.

Jack and Rory head straight for the counter but Vanessa grabs my elbow. She loops her arm through mine.

“Tell me everything,” she whispers.

Jack took me on a day date to Fall Creek Falls today, where we went horseback riding around the waterfalls and did some hiking that involved lunch in a deserted meadow. And lunch led to dessert which led to more. Red and gold leaves fell around us as we stretched out on the picnic blanket, taking our time.

“We did it,” I whisper back, and Vanessa squeals.

“Details!”

“It was great…well, until Jasper—Jack’s dog—stole my shirt,” I say, laughing. “But I do have some questions…”

She pats my arm. “Let’s talk more later.”

I don’t regret giving myself to him, not one bit, but there’s stuff I need to know, and I’d rather sing a solo in the school musical than ask Rory stuff about sex. Like, what in the world are you supposed to do with your hands? And am I supposed to help him put the condom on?

“What do you want to eat?” Jack asks me.

“Cheese quesadillas and tortilla chips.”

He grins. “Stake out a seat for us.”

I weave around the tables, saying hi to kids from school, then grab the corner booth. While Jack collects our food and brings it to the table, Rory pushes Vanessa up against the counter and kisses her so passionately I have to look away.

“Whitfield! I’m sure that’s a health-code violation. Stop!”

My head pops up to find a humongous guy pointing at Rory, who keeps on kissing Vanessa like he can’t hear a thing.

“Who’s that?” I ask Jack.

“Joe Carter. He used to play football for Hundred Oaks and now he owns Tennessee Ballers.”

“I’ll kick you out of here, I swear, Whitfield, and you’ll never eat my tacos again,” Joe Carter says. “No tacos for you!”

Rory grins as he kisses Vanessa.

“That’s it,” Joe says, clearly exasperated. “If you don’t stop right now, I’m calling Vanessa’s brother—”

“No!” Rory roars, ripping away from Vanessa. He picks up their tray and yells over his shoulder, “You’re evil, Carter.”

Vanessa and Rory slide into the booth with us. “If he calls your brother, I’m dead,” Rory says.

“If my brother kills you, can I have your
Star
Wars
sheets?” Vanessa asks, smiling at him sideways as she bites into a chip.

“And I want your truck,” I say.

“I’m glad my friends care about my welfare,” Rory says.

“Can I have your dog, Ava?” Jack asks, wiping his mouth.

“I hate you all,” Rory replies.

Across the room, now Joe Carter is raising his voice to Sam Henry, the hot usher from the wedding, and his blond girlfriend. “Get out if you don’t like it!”

“What is this?” Sam Henry says, looking disgusted. “I’ve had better tacos at Taco Bell!”

“Oh, you did not,” Joe Carter replies.

“Did.”

“Out!” Joe roars, pointing at the door, but Sam Henry just waves a hand at him and goes right back to shoveling chips into his mouth.

“Jordan, you really gotta try these,” Sam says to the blond girl, talking through a mouthful of chips.

Joe steals the chip basket away from Sam and speeds into the kitchen as if he’s carrying a football. Sam leaps to his feet and chases after Joe, and then I hear raucous yelling and the sound of silverware and pans crashing to the floor.

“Morons.” Jordan shakes her head and starts playing with the salt and pepper shakers. She stacks the pepper on the top of the salt and yanks the salt out from under the pepper.

I smile.

“What are you thinking about?” Jack murmurs in my ear.

“I hope that we’re all still friends when we grow up.”

He softly kisses the skin under my earlobe. “My mom told me that Jordan Woods got a job at the school. She’s gonna help coach football.”

“Really?” I ask. “A girl coaching football?”

“It’s true,” Vanessa says. “She told my brother that she’s starting in the spring.”

That’s when Colton comes jogging up to our table. He squeezes in beside Rory and Vanessa. Kelsey pours in behind him and pulls a chair up to the table. She starts texting on her phone but Colton steals it from her, pocketing it. She gives him a look before digging into the tortilla chips.

“You’re late,” Vanessa says, throwing a chip at Colton.

He picks it off his shirt and eats it, shrugging. “I was watching this new show called
I’ll Eat Anything
. It’s disgusting! But I couldn’t look away. People win money based on how much weird shit they eat. Like, today, this one lady had to eat a coconut shell full of frog fallopian tubes!”

Vanessa chokes on her food and gives Colton the look of death, but he doesn’t notice because he’s eyeing Kelsey.

“Annnnywayyyy,” Rory says, talking with his mouth full. “I’ve been thinking. Do y’all want to go to that Halloween Haunted Forest thing up in Cookeville next weekend after the homecoming dance?”

“I’m in,” Jack says, squeezing my hand under the table. “As long as we take some fireworks with us.”

“And set them off in the Haunted Forest?” Rory asks.

Vanessa says, “That should definitely get us kicked out.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jack says with a laugh. He faces Rory. “You’ll bring the fireworks?”

Rory grins. “Sure thing.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

At dusk, I’m standing in Greenbriar pasture, lecturing the young filly that’s causing me all sorts of trouble. Cherry Lollipop, who Jack named after me, is a descendent of Secretariat. Lollipop should be faster than a bullet, but she’s too easily distracted. She loves chasing birds and butterflies and other fillies. One second she’ll be cantering along and the next she’s streaking off the track and into the gardens to chase a bunny rabbit. She’s also been known to terrorize a colt or two.

“You have to do better, young lady, understand?” I smooth the chestnut hair on the filly’s face. Jack plans to enter her in races starting next year, and I think she’ll be a winner. If I can get her trained up good, that is.

“What are you doing out here?”

I whip around to find Jack leaning against the white fence, wearing a tuxedo. His hair is slicked back with gel and he’s grinning. His smile speeds away with my heart.

“Just checking on Lollipop,” I say.

He opens the gate and walks over to us, scanning my dress appreciatively. I found this beautiful black gown at a thrift store in Nashville. It hugs me just right.

“My mother asked where you are,” Jack says, wrapping his hands around my waist. Our parents have sort of gotten used to the idea of us dating—they know our relationship isn’t a passing thing.

“Mom wants to introduce you to the governor’s daughters,” Jack goes on. “They want to meet the
famous
girl horse jockey, Savannah Barrow.”

“Oh hush.” I gaze at the white tent set up on the Goodwins’ lawn. Classical music rings across the countryside. Today is the 215th anniversary of Tennessee becoming a state, so the Goodwins are having a party. “Do we have to? I mean, we’re finally alone.”

My little sister Nina wails every time I leave her. She’s addicted to me like I’m addicted to candy. And even worse, even though she’s three months old, she likes grabbing at Jack’s cell phone. She cries every time he pockets it. I love her, but I love alone time with my boyfriend too.

His mouth lifts into a smirk. “You know the deal. I let you ride my horses, and in return you accompany me to all my boring social events.”

“No one will notice we’re gone for a few minutes,” I say, getting up on tiptoes and kissing his nose.

“May I have this dance?” Jack pulls me against his chest, right in the middle of the pasture.

Ever since I told Jack I wanted to learn to dance fancy, he loves sweeping me into his arms all over the place: between classes, at the mall, in the middle of graduation. One time at the grocery store, he twirled me into a waltz in the produce section. We glided past the lemons, people rolled their eyes at us, and he murmured in my ear, “It doesn’t matter where you dance. It’s only who you’re with.”

Laughing, we spin around in circles beneath the stars, barely avoiding a patch of manure.

Jack sweeps me into an elegant dip. “You like me.”

“You’re okay,” I tease.

“Just
okay
?”

I whisper how much I love him.

He weaves his hands in my curls, capturing my lips with his. “I love you too.”

Growing up, my family didn’t have much money. I felt bad about myself for not having brand name clothes and sneakers, and I thought that wealth equaled self-worth. By the time I entered high school, things hadn’t changed much for me. My clothes still weren’t cool. I still had low self-esteem. But I wanted more for myself—I wanted other people to respect me. I didn’t understand that people would respect me if I respected myself.

With this book,
Racing
Savannah
, I wanted to show readers that no matter who you are, where you come from, what you look like, how much money you have—you have the right to go after whatever you want. You have the right to make your dreams come true. Of course, you have to work hard too. Please don’t ever put yourself down. Figure out what you like about yourself and keep learning and going after what you want like Savannah does. You rock!

I had a lot of fun writing this book, but it sure was hard to write. I knew nothing about horses or horse racing going in, so it became a team effort.

I am most grateful to the wonderful people at Charles Town Races in Charles Town, West Virginia, Kentucky Downs in Franklin, Kentucky, and The Thoroughbred Center in Lexington, Kentucky, for answering my many questions, taking me on tours, and letting me snap picture after picture. Mike Cameron, a horse owner I met at The Thoroughbred Center, gave me so many great details and even let me hang out with his beautiful mare, Tellalittlesecret. C.J. Johnsen, the son of the owner of Kentucky Downs, gave me a tour of the racetrack in a golf cart, which was fun.

Thank you to book bloggers Maggie Desmond-O’Brien and Lisa Lueddecke. Maggie grew up on a farm in Minnesota and Lisa rescues abused racehorses. You both were such a help to me in learning horse lingo.

Many thanks to my Washington, D.C., writer friends, who spent hours discussing the plot and characters over cheese and wine: Jessica Spotswood, Robin Talley, Andrea Coulter, and Caroline Richmond.

As always, I couldn’t do this without insightful readers: Allison Bridgewater, Julie Romeis, Sarah Cloots, Tamson Weston, Tiffany Schmidt, Tiffany Smith, Kari Olson, Natalie Bahm, Jen Fisher, Shanyn Day, and Jessica Wallace. Thank you to Trish Doller for keeping me sane. Christy Maier—thank you for taking the time to read this book and give such helpful feedback.

I’m also grateful to Marguerite Coffey and Michele Truitt for their friendship and many thoughts on the culture of horse racing! To Susan Curley, thank you for being such a good friend and supporter of my work. Thanks to Leslie Moeller for sending me articles about horse racing.

Thank you to everyone at Nelson Literary Agency: Sara Megibow, Kristin Nelson, Anita Mumm, and Angie Hodapp. Sara—you are the best literary agent ever! I love how when I ask if there’s anything I could be doing to promote my books, you always say, “Just get back to writing and let us do the work!” I love your editorial eye and I’m grateful that you keep pushing me to get better and better.

I am so thankful for the team at Sourcebooks and all the wonderful support they give me. Leah Hultenschmidt, you are such a great editor and advocate for my books. Derry Wilkens, thanks for all the great publicity work you do. To Jillian Bergsma, my production editor, I appreciate your keen attention to detail and the guidance you have given me. Thank you to Todd Stocke and Sean Murray for your tireless efforts to promote my books and for the fabulous distribution.

Thanks to my family for supporting me, especially my parents, brother, and sister. Also, Bob and Jackie Kenneally, Pam and Bob Beggan, and my husband, Don. Dad, I think you should write
Tattoos
of
the
Clinically
Depressed
. For real.

Finally, thank you to my readers. I love your reviews, your comments online, and your emails. You make it all worth it.