Taking The Reins (The Rosewoods Book 1) (16 page)

Brady was there already. He was riding Sir Lancelot, by the looks of it, around the arena that was set up with a series of jumps. I’d done some jumping back when I’d started lessons, but nothing over a two foot cavaletti. These jumps looked taller than me and had to be at, or at least very near, Olympic height. He circled the outside of the ring in a controlled canter, looking like he was glued to the horse by his thighs and seat.

I’d never seen Brady ride, since he conducted his lessons standing in the ring. But as I watched him, all I could think of was that phrase
poetry in motion
.

Because that’s exactly what was in front of me. Pure equestrian perfection.

And then he pulled Sir Lancelot in to start the course.

I held my breath as they approached the first jump, and then let it out as they soared over it. They approached the next and my breath caught again.

They cleared it without even a nick of the hoof.

The way he cantered around the ring taking jump after jump so effortlessly, it appeared he and the horse were one being.

“Wow,” I whispered aloud as I watched, stunned by how Brady took the intensity that was such a part of him and turned it toward jumping a clear round. His eyes never wavered from the course, seemingly always a jump ahead. I wondered if he competed in show jumping, too.

Finally, he finished the round and slowed, weaving around the jumps as he walked his horse. His ride, though seeming effortless, left him breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

He noticed me then and my heart fluttered as his face spread into a smile and he walked Sir Lancelot over to us.

Charlie nickered a greeting, returned by a whinny from Sir Lancelot. Funny how horses could be so open with their greetings, yet I was suddenly feeling very shy and a bit flustered as Brady approached.

“Hi,” he said, dismounting. He took a step toward me and then glanced at his horse, the one he’d told me had been dubbed
Sir Bitesalot
. He stayed where he was and I kept my distance.

“Hey. I thought you were training this morning.”

“My coach is sick. She canceled.”

She?
Why did that suddenly make me very jealous?
Don’t be ridiculous
, I told myself.
It’s not like he’s even yours
.
Just because you thought about dating him, doesn’t mean it’s even going to happen.
“Do you show jump?” I asked.

He was looking at me strangely, like he wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason. He shook his head. “Just to let off steam sometimes,” he said, the last trace of his smile gone now.

I wondered what had suddenly changed. He’d seemed happy to see me at first, but now, he was reserved, uptight.

“You’re very good,” I said. Not trying to flatter him, but because it was the truth and I wanted him to know I’d noticed.

“Thanks.”

A silence stretched between us. An awkward silence.

“I thought he was a biter,” I said, nodding toward Sir Lancelot, figuring anything would be better than more silence.

“He’s okay with me,” Brady said. And then blushed, looking away.

Why was he blushing? And why did it make him seem even more attractive? “What’s wrong?” I blurted out.

He looked at me sideways. “He only bites girls.”

I laughed. “Charming.”

Brady smiled. “I know. He’s a crabby old guy, but he’s fun to jump.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down in his neck.

There was another long silence.

Brady finally broke it. “Well, I should get Lance back. Why don’t you take Charlie to the outside ring today so those jumps aren’t in our way? Don’t get on him until I get back, okay? I won’t be long.”

“I was going to warm up,” I said. “That’s why I came early.”

He shook his head. “You can’t—students aren’t allowed to ride without an instructor present. It’s an insurance thing.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay, I’ll just walk over and meet you there, then.”

He nodded and walked away, not looking back.

~♥~

I
t wasn’t long before he returned, but it felt like long enough for an eternity’s worth of doubts to form and start swirling in my head. Had I imagined that he liked me? Had my friends? Had I done something wrong? What had changed?

I stood there with Charlie, petting his velvet nose, trying to absorb his quiet calm to help ease my jangling nerves.

It worked a little, until Brady returned, striding toward the outdoor arena, looking amazingly sexy in his riding outfit. Suddenly, like he was on a mission, he walked straight up to me. His eyes burned into mine and when he didn’t stop a few feet away, I began to panic.

Because I was suddenly sure he was going to grab me and kiss me.

My lungs froze on a breath. My heart began to race.

And then he stopped right in front of me, inside my bubble and close enough that I could smell him; leather, saddle soap, boy. 

I looked up at him. His lips were turned up in a slight smile and then they parted. He reached up toward my face, his eyes taking me in with his usual intensity. My cheeks flushed, but ached for his touch. I licked my dry lips and swallowed, suddenly worried about too much saliva. I did not want to ruin this kiss. My eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in.

He cleared his throat. “You have to do this up,” he said.

My eyes popped open. “What?”

And then I realized he wasn’t reaching for my face, but for the straps of my riding helmet, bringing them together under my chin. Clicking them into place.

Oh. My. God.

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a safety precaution.

I wanted to die.

Except I couldn’t; I still had two hours of practice with him.

I
never did get to soak in the whirlpool like I’d hoped. And it’s not because I didn’t need it after practice with Brady, either. He worked me extra hard and I seriously questioned whether he’d blown off enough steam with his morning ride or maybe he was taking something out on me. Still, I was relieved that when we got into the ring, he put on his Coach Fleming hat and was all business; I didn’t have time to think about the almost kiss that wasn’t.

Thank God.

After that, I’d grabbed some lunch and headed back to my dorm room to get my bathing suit when Emmie told me we needed to meet the other girls in less than half an hour.  “I’m just finishing up this e-mail to my mother and then we can head down the hall,” she said, her back to me.

“I’m going to wash the stables off me,” I said, heading into the bathroom.

When I emerged from my shower, Emmie was standing in front of our shared closet. She looked over her shoulder at me. “Did you like that dress you wore last night?”

“Yeah. Thanks again for lending it to me.”

She waved me off and pulled the dress in question out of the closet, holding it up. “Do you want it?”

Was she offering me her designer dress? “You mean, to keep?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m selling a bunch of dresses, but if you want this one, I won’t.”

I hardly thought she was hurting for money, but I couldn’t take her dress. “It’s nice, but no, you go ahead.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded.

She smiled. “Okay. It’s for a good cause and that dress will probably bring in three or four goats.”

“Goats?”

“Yeah, there’s a charity where you can buy people in less privileged countries stuff from a catalog, like a goat or chickens or water pumps and stuff. It’s a smart way for them to itemize donations so people feel like they’re giving something tangible. It’s kind of a crock, but the money still goes  where it’s needed.”

“And you’re selling your fancy clothes to donate?”

She shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s my personal
Gucci to Goats
program.”

I laughed.

But her smile faded when she said, “My parents are so bourgeois, they will think nothing of buying a four thousand dollar dress for their daughter, but wouldn’t give one penny to a needy charity. It’s disgusting, really. But I do my part. I just e-mailed my mother, telling her I needed some gowns to choose from for the Halloween dance. Wait until you see what she sends in a week or so.”

All I could do was stare at my roommate in awe.

“What?”

I shook my head. “You’re going to run the world someday.”

She winked. “Probably.”

~♥~

A
ll the girls who’d had their panties ‘borrowed’ were assembled in the lounge, sitting at the round tables and chatting, speculating on what we were going to do next. There were fourteen of us in all—like Emmie said, just from our floor; we knew Dave and his friends were behind the prank, but not how many of them were involved. We assumed fourteen, but it was hard to know for sure.

Kaylee and Celia sat with me at a table as I tried to catch up on my French homework. They were discussing the upcoming English Lit paper, which was almost identical to one I’d done back in London, so I was going to be a good environmentalist and recycle for that, but the French assignment was new.

Our fearless leader, Emmie of course, breezed in and took her spot at the front of the room beside the microwave and fridge. I closed up my textbook, not that I was getting much done anyway.

“Hi girls,” she said, causing a hush to come over us. “So, let’s get right to it. I think everyone got one of the note cards saying that we’re supposed to be behind the aquatics center tonight. Anyone get anything different?” she scanned the crowd, but no one spoke up.

She continued. “So my assumption is that they wanted to do a prank to get our attention.”

“Uh, yeah. And it worked,” Celia said. We all laughed.

“Yes, but we’re not going to play their little game. Now they want us to meet up with them, laugh and stroke their egos and tell them how clever they are.”

Glancing at some of the girls around me and taking in their expressions, I got the impression they were okay with that. It was, after all, a pretty clever prank, especially the pocket square thing. And any opportunity to hang out with the boys was a welcome one.

“What do you mean?” Celia asked.

“I say we do something unexpected. Show them they can’t just come in here and steal our underwear.”

“What do you have in mind?” Naomi, Chelly’s roommate, asked.

A slow smile spread across Emmie’s face. “I want to give them a taste of their own medicine.”

There was a second of silence as everyone processed this, until Chelly whooped. “GOTCHIE RAID!”

There were a few gasps and lots of laughs, but then everyone started talking at once.

“How do we know whose to steal?” Celia asked.

“We can’t know exactly who’s involved, but I suspect whoever asked you to dance last night for the last song, is the guy who has your underwear.” She pointed at me. “Start a list, will you, Brooklyn? Everyone write down who you danced with.”

“Wait, we’ll still get to see the guys, though, won’t we?” Chelly asked, obviously not wanting to give up a chance to meet up with some boys.

Emmie rolled her eyes, which was funny, since I knew she wouldn’t give up an opportunity to meet up with Dave, but she said, “Yes, Chelly. But we’re not just going to steal their underwear; we’re going to do this right and on our terms. Isn’t that better?”

“I don’t care,” she said, “They can keep my panties and take ten more pairs, for all I care, as long as I get some action tonight.” That caused an eruption of laughter.

I tore a blank sheet out of my notebook and wrote Jared’s name at the top and then passed it to Kaylee, who wrote down Declan’s name. I had been so wrapped up in dancing with Jared, I hadn’t even noticed she’d ended the night with him.

I was about to ask her how it had gone when she looked over at me, suddenly horror-stricken. “We can’t do this,” she whispered. “We could get expelled.”

“Really? Expelled over an underwear raid? That seems pretty harsh.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about the underwear; we’d be leaving campus.”

Right. Leaving the Rosewood campus was a definite no-no. I could hardly blame Kaylee for being reluctant when the stakes were so high. I wondered if Emmie had thought of this. “Do you think it’s such a good idea to leave campus?” I asked. “I mean, won’t we get busted for leaving Rosewood?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked quite smug when she said, “If we left on our own, sure. That’s why we’re going to get the dean to drive us.”

I
had to admit, once she explained it, Emmie’s plan was pretty good. Sure, there were ways we could get busted, like if we got caught up in the guys’ dorms, or somehow the dean figured out my backpack suddenly contained boys’ underwear. But if that happened it would be a misdemeanor and result in us getting a talking to—nothing close to getting expelled. And, Emmie explained, they only called home for major things, since most busy parents who shipped their kids off to Rosewood did so because they didn’t want to be bothered with day to day school stuff like silly school pranks, and trusted the Rosewood administration to handle regular non-life-threatening teenage behavior. So the chance of our parents finding out, if we did get caught, was very slim.

So it looked like the first part of her plan was fairly low risk and I did appreciate that. The second part—the part that she had stayed up until almost five a.m. to set up, was pure brilliance.

My only complaint was that Emmie was including me in it as her one and only co-conspirator for the first part. But it was also flattering that she trusted me, and maybe it meant she was really okay with that whole Dave thing and wasn’t holding a grudge or anything.

And anyway, I wasn’t about to chicken out. Girls who want to fit in don’t chicken out on stuff like this. And the new Brooklyn really wanted to fit in.

This was the first part of her plan as she explained it to us: As the school liaison, she knew that Dean Haywood had dinner with Westwood’s Dean Peterson every Saturday to discuss...well, whatever it was deans discussed about their respective schools. She thought maybe it was a hookup, but whatever it was, it meant Dean Haywood would be traveling to Westwood in just a couple of hours. Emmie was going to go to the dean and suggest that she and I go with her on today’s trip. That way, Emmie would reason, she could hand over her school liaison duties to me as I’d be taking over the following week, and she’d be able to formally introduce me to Westwood’s dean and school liaison (Dave) and help me familiarize myself with the school and their procedures. She was going to stress how necessary this orientation would be, especially for one new to the school, such as myself.