Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) (30 page)

“Sounds right,” Chris said.

I found a few of my magazines in the TV room and a hair elastic. Nothing I couldn’t have lived without. In the bedroom, I opened a few drawers and seeing Chris’s clothes made my chest hurt. In one of the drawers I found my T-shirt, a pair of underwear, and a pair of socks. In the bathroom my hairbrush sat on the counter. I liked that Chris hadn’t moved it. That he hadn’t packed up these things the day I’d told him about McNair and thrown them straight in the trash.

I came out of the bathroom and found him standing in my way.

“Well—” I was going to say,
I guess this is good-bye
, but the words stuck in my throat.

Chris reached for me and pulled me to him. I pressed my face into his neck and he held his arms around my back. I don’t think either of us could have planned it, but something told us we needed each other one more time. Maybe in some Darwinian way, Chris wanted to be the last one to be with me. I wouldn’t be able to forget what I’d done with McNair but it was comforting to move one more step away from it. Being with Chris couldn’t wipe away being with McNair, but it would be so much better to remember Florida this way.

We didn’t say a word. It was completely silent. We were desperate as we pulled off each other’s clothes and climbed on top of the covers. We did it with him on top, and I put my hands on his triceps, pressing hard so I could see his skin turn white. The whole time we were doing it, I knew this wasn’t a reunion. This wasn’t us getting back together, or him forgiving me, no matter how much I wished it could be. This was us saying good-bye. He needed to go to Europe and ride his heart out while continuing to reestablish his career. I needed to go back to Tufts and figure out who I was away from him and the horse show.

After, we lay in bed together for a while, but still didn’t talk. Finally, I said, “I am so sorry this is the way it ended.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Maybe it won’t be forever,” I said hopefully.

“Maybe,” he replied.

The End

About the Author

Chapter One

Beyond the smell, there was the absolute indignity of the fact that she was here, in this small, no-name barn, mucking stalls. Okay, at first she had been thrilled to avoid any larger consequences than probation and community service. It had been undeserved, like when someone gets you a gift that’s much too generous and you don’t know what to say or how to thank them. People she rode horses for as a junior used to do that. Since they couldn’t pay her in money, they gave her expensive gifts like a new riding coat, a beautiful cashmere sweater, or once a gorgeous Hermes belt with the pretentious H for the buckle. Now, though, she hadn’t ridden a horse for anyone besides Linda Maro in weeks and she was stuck spending her mornings at Narrow Lane, a therapeutic riding center, cleaning stalls. But the fact that she’d gotten off with this as her punishment was a true gift. After helping Étienne steal thousands of dollars in saddles, she could have easily found herself as an inmate starring in
Orange Is The New Black
.

When she had gotten her assignment, she had assumed she’d be leading mentally or physically handicapped people around, or doing whatever they did in a therapeutic program, but it turned out that she apparently wasn’t even good enough to lead kids around. Instead, she had to muck out the stalls of a motley crew of horses that in no way even came close to resembling the athletic animals she usually spent time around. She swore these horses’ piss smelled worse than that of horses on the circuit.

There was Daisy, a ridiculously feminine name for what was actually a squat so-ugly-it’s-cute, Fjord. Danny, a black quarter horse. And Pepper, a leopard appaloosa, perhaps the ugliest kind of appaloosa there was, which was kind of like discussing the grossest kind of throw-up. Appaloosas were all gross; to Zoe it was just a matter of degrees.

As Zoe lifted the plastic pitchfork, all that ran through her head was,
Zoe Tramell is cleaning a crappy appy’s stall
. She didn’t usually talk or think about herself in the third person but somehow whenever she was at Narrow Lane, that kind of thinking took over her brain. There was a lot of time to think because she was left alone to muck all the stalls, sweep, and make up the grain. The second day she’d put in her ear buds, content to lose herself in Pink’s music but Kirsten, the director, informed her that she couldn’t just “space out.” That this wasn’t a regular barn and they might need to get her attention. And for that matter Kirsten had to put in that wearing ear buds in any barn wasn’t a good idea because you wouldn’t hear things happening around you and you might miss a loose horse or another person calling for help. Like that stopped anyone on the show circuit from mucking with music pumping in their ears. Or riding with ear buds in for that matter.

Zoe filled the wheelbarrow and maneuvered it out to the manure pile. She was sweaty. At least doing the stalls would keep her skinny since she wasn’t riding more than two or three horses a day. Pepper was the last stall of the morning. She put in new shavings and pulled the banks down. All that was left was sweeping the aisle, thank the Lord. She did the aisle, wishing they used a leaf-blower like most normal people. But they probably believed that it wasn’t good because all the shavings and dust went up to the ceiling or something.

She said a quick good-bye to Kirsten and headed to her car. One good thing about coming early was she had yet to see an actual lesson. Usually when she was pulling out, the first minivan of the day would be pulling in and a tired-looking parent would be getting out and letting down the motorized back ramp. Today was no exception and Zoe sped out before she saw who would be coming down that ramp.

She braked at the end of the driveway and a horse and rider caught her eye directly across the road. She’d noticed there was a horse farm there too but assumed it was some backyard place like Narrow Lane. Or at least not a fancy show barn.

But the horse and rider that caught her eye looked legit. A bay warmblood with an impressive trot. A man who knew how to ride. It was amazing how in a split second a good rider could tell if another horse and rider were A circuit material, or not. She couldn’t tell how old he was exactly but he looked to be in her general range for guys—somewhere between twenty and forty-five. But if he was anybody, she would have known he was here in Bedford, New York. She knew everyone who was anyone. Which meant he was a nobody. Of course, maybe he was a small step down from the professionals she was used to. Maybe he showed in the Northeast but didn’t go to WEF or win at Indoors. It was possible. Unlikely, but possible. She felt a small dash of hope flutter somewhere inside of her. Could something good come out of this terrible assignment at Narrow Lane? Her mind raced to preposterous fantasies. Not so much about falling in love with him or anything, but about his having really nice horses and wanting her to ride and show them. She would show up at Old Salem and everyone would be in total disbelief that she’d put her life back together, found a great job, and was back in the show ring. She’d win every class that mattered in the professional divisions. Zoe nearly shivered a little thinking about herself winning again. She envisioned landing off that last jump after she’d nailed a course and all the clapping and whooping. She could feel the reins in her hand as she led a horse in on top for the jog. She heard the announcer’s excited voice saying she’d scored a 94 in the handy round of the hunter derby. All of a sudden, it would be like she was a top junior again, but even better.

Of course that was her fantasy. Her reality was that her shoulders hurt from cleaning all the stalls and now it was time to hustle over to Linda’s to ride a few of Dakota’s horses.