Hunter Derby: (Show Circuit Series -- Book 3) (3 page)

She looked down at his ugly spotted head. He flicked an ear back, like maybe he was communicating with her in some way.

“Come on, you old nag,” she said to him rather fondly as she turned him back to the barn.

A truck was coming down the driveway. She didn’t think a family would have a pick-up truck. It looked more like it might belong to a farrier or vet. But then the truck slowed to a stop next to Zoe and the window rolled down.

“You’re getting to ride Pepper.”

At the man’s voice, Zoe turned. He was wearing breeches and boots. John Bradstreet. Even though she’d only seen him across the road, she just knew it was him. Linda was right. He was kind of cute. Black hair, fair skin, those nearly freckled lips that people with fair skin tend to have.

“Yup, I’m having the ride of my life on this Crappy Appy.”

She thought it would be funny. She thought it would be something they could bond over. Laugh about. She wasn’t sure why John was coming to Narrow Lane but it had to be something like to give them errant mail that had come to his address by mistake. Yet, he knew Pepper by name. They were his neighbors after all. Still, even if he was friendly with Kirsten, didn’t he have to acknowledge how crappy their horses were compared to his?

But John recoiled. Whereas he’d been leaning toward Zoe, almost into the passenger seat while still keeping a hand on the wheel, now he retracted back into the truck. She most certainly wasn’t winning any first impression rose with this moment.

He didn’t say anything else, just drove on to the barn.

Zoe slunk back into the bucket seat of the Wintec saddle. What had she said that was so wrong?

CHAPTER FOUR

Free tonight?

She sat up.

Morgan Cleary.

They had hung out a few times at the end of circuit, when she was still pretty messed up on drugs. And hung out, of course, meant slept together. Each time Zoe was interested in someone new she told herself to wait, to not sleep with him right away. But somehow it never worked.

With Morgan, she felt she had extenuating circumstances for sleeping with him. First, he was Morgan Cleary, the son of one of the wealthiest families on the circuit. Second, it was around the same time everything had come out about her and the saddle stealing and she was just so grateful that anyone, let alone someone like Morgan Cleary, would want to have anything to do with her.

After Florida, she never expected to hear from Morgan again. She was primed for a full-on ghosting and set not to let it bother her. She knew he lived in New York City and had a farm in Westchester but she didn’t think he’d ever be in touch. She didn’t even think he knew she was in Bedford now. But apparently he had his sources.

Think I can be. Worth canceling my other plans?

She wasn’t going to tell him she was still in her riding clothes with Dorito dust all over her fingers and had absolutely no plans for the evening.

Just thinking of going to the game. Thought you might want to join.

With Morgan, just going to the game took on a different meaning. Morgan’s family owned the Mets. He was currently working for a farm league affiliate, biding his time until his father let him take over as president of the big league operation. Morgan also competed in the jumpers on several very nice horses. He won nearly everything in the A/O divisions and also showed in some grand prix classes.

Zoe liked baseball well enough and she liked what being with Morgan offered—a feeling of still being relevant in the show world and a taste of the high life. If she was good enough for Morgan Cleary, wasn’t she good enough for the rest of the horse show?

I’ll cancel
.

In her mind, baseball game equaled tiny cut-off jeans that barely reached over her butt cheeks and a gauzy off-the-shoulder shirt, paired with strappy sandals.

The fabric of her T-shirt was so thin it was nearly translucent. Her blond hair brushed against her shoulders as she checked herself out in the mirror. Perfect.

Gone was the pathetic Dorito girl. Enter pretty girl with cocky I’m-the-shit attitude.

She went to Morgan’s Instagram. Most were riding shots but there were a few without his helmet. He was medium height and had brown hair. What wasn’t obvious in the photos was that his hair was thinning in the back. Even in his twenties, it was pretty clear he was going bald. He was good-looking, though. Not smolderingly hot but good-looking in that way that wealthy people manage to be even if they’re not blessed with gorgeous features.

She definitely didn’t want Morgan seeing her depressing apartment, so she waited outside the building for him.

Morgan drove a Porsche, which wasn’t a horse show car at all. Most riders drove SUVs to fit all their horse stuff and their dogs.

Zoe climbed in the passenger seat. The inside of the car was all gleaming leather. In a car like his, she could almost forget about the state of her life.

Of course any real horse person had a car that was covered in dog hair, tack, and saddle pads. But Morgan wasn’t a real horse person. He could ride—that was for sure. He had talent and he won plenty of big classes. But he wasn’t an in-the-trenches rider. He was the meet-the-horse-at-the-ring kind.

“You look hot,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Thank you,” Zoe said, leaning back into the cool of the leather.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He acted like they’d just hung out a few days ago, not like they hadn’t seen each other, or even talked, in weeks.

Zoe tried to roll with it. “Not much. Rode a whole bunch today.”

A whole bunch was an exaggeration. In her old life, she was used to riding eight or ten horses a day.

“Where are you working again?” Morgan said.

“For Linda Maro—Morada Bay.”

She certainly wasn’t going to mention anything about Narrow Lane. She assumed Morgan vaguely knew she had been in outpatient treatment and about the saddle stealing, but she wasn’t going to bring it up. It must not have bothered him, or he wouldn’t be taking her to the game.

“Right. Nice place,” Morgan said.

“Oh, you know it?”

“We looked at it before we bought our place. It was a little too small. It’s only six acres, right?”

“I don’t know the exact number,” Zoe said.

“It was too small,” he said.

“How about you?” Zoe asked. “What did you do today?”

Morgan went on and on about his work with the team. Zoe tried to be interested. Maybe it was interesting but Morgan somehow made it seem boring. It was all about numbers and licensing deals. It had nothing to do with the players or the game.

He turned on music and it was nearly too loud to talk over, which was fine with her. He drove too fast, jockeying in and out of lanes on 95, trying to get an edge on all the other drivers but, Zoe noticed, ending up pretty much even with cars he’d passed a few miles earlier.

Intellectually she knew his driving was downright stupid but as he floored the engine and darted ahead of a car, her stomach fluttered. She gripped the sides of the seat and thought about later that night when they’d inevitably have sex. She thought of his body against hers.

They pulled up to the ballpark. As others went to great lengths to find parking or overpaid to park in a lot, Morgan turned into the owners’ and players’ lot. Here, his Porsche fit right in next to the Maseratis and BMWs, with the exception of the occasional pick-up truck of the redneck ballplayer that would have fit in more at a horse show than Morgan’s car.

Morgan made a joke about how much parking cost for him. “100 Million and you get the best spot in the park. Such a bargain.”

Everyone knew Morgan—the parking attendant, the security guards, the ticket-takers. They called him Mr. Cleary. Zoe loved how it felt to be with him. It reminded her of how she used to feel at the shows as a junior: important, belonging to the privileged class, nearly worshipped. When she used to go in the ring, it felt like the whole show stopped to watch her. She missed that feeling more than she could have ever imagined and for the moment figured she’d have to just enjoy a slice of it from being with Morgan.

Morgan was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt and next to him Zoe began to feel slightly self-conscious about her clothing choice. She had assumed they’d be passing through the main turnstiles into the ballpark like any other fan, which now—as they wound their way through the air-conditioned back office hallways of the park—she realized was completely stupid.

She had only ever been to a few ball games, most of them minor league games. One time she’d seen the Orioles at Camden Yards and another time she’d seen a game at Wrigley. Both those times she had horrible seats. She tried to shake the nagging feeling that she’d chosen the wrong clothes. Morgan hadn’t said anything so maybe it didn’t matter. He’d told her she looked hot.

“Julia, Bennett, and Nate are meeting us,” Morgan said as they emerged onto the level of all the private boxes. Many of the boxes had gold plated signs with the names of the companies that owned them.

Zoe wasn’t altogether surprised that they were meeting them. Morgan usually hung out with his pack. He’d been with them the first of the two nights he and Zoe had slept together. In a way, she was relieved it wouldn’t just be her and Morgan. She wouldn’t have to sit through the game alone with him, figuring out what to talk about.

They arrived at the box with the sign that read Rutherford Wallace, Inc. Morgan pushed open the door revealing a living room with leather couches, several big-screen TVs, and a full kitchen where chefs dressed in uniform stood at the ready. Zoe walked to the back of the room, which opened onto the stadium. The pitcher was warming up as the batter took practice swings on the on-deck circle.

Zoe looked out over the field, nearly transfixed. The energy in the air felt a little like before a big class.

Morgan came up behind her and put his arms around her. He nuzzled her neck and she leaned back into him. She couldn’t believe how good it felt to have Morgan Cleary this into her. Why was she so lucky? Why was he even interested in her? He wasn’t just asking her to his apartment so he could have sex with her. This felt like more. They were at a ball game—his friends were all coming.

“Pretty sweet,” she said.

“Perks of the job,” he replied.

At the sound of people entering the box, Morgan let go of her. She missed his arms around her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nate was a friend of Morgan’s who hung out a lot at the shows but didn’t ride. He had the wrong body type for riding anyway—chubby, bordering on overweight. Zoe wasn’t exactly sure how they had met but Nate was on the fringes of the wealthy, horse show posse now.

That posse also included Julia and Bennett. Julia was getting her PhD at NYU in comparative biology, whatever that meant. She still had jumpers that she kept with a trainer in New Jersey but she only showed every so often.

Bennett was her best friend and showed all the time in the jumpers. She didn’t have a job. “I’m taking a break after finishing college,” Zoe had heard her say once.

They were both pretty and moneyed—a different class altogether than Zoe. They had gone to exclusive private schools and Ivy League colleges, they drove expensive cars, attended Fashion Week, traveled internationally, spoke other languages, and ate at the best restaurants. Their families belonged to country clubs and owned houses in multiple locations, including usually some remote tropical island.

Zoe fit in with them to an extent, simply because she was an amazing rider. The show world was crazy in the way that your talent could make you somebody even if you’d come from nothing.

But that was where the similarities in their lives ended. Neither of them would ever have to work a day in their lives if they didn’t want to. Julia would earn her Ph.D., go by Dr., and probably only use her degree as a board member of the Museum of Natural History.

She and Bennett would either make horse showing their lives, competing on their family money, or they’d ride for a while and then meet some hedge fund guy, get married, have kids, and become a Real Housewife of New York.

“Zoe, so good to see you.” Bennett leaned close and kissed her cheek. Julia followed up with a kiss too.

They made her feel welcome, even if it was all for show.

“Great to see you too,” Zoe said.

Bennett and Julia wore classy sundresses with wedge heels. Bennett had pearls on. If they’d gone through the turnstiles like everyone else, they would have looked ridiculous but in the box with the uniformed chefs, they looked appropriate.

Zoe was the one who looked ridiculous. Suddenly she felt young and trashy. She missed the homogenizing outfit of the riding world.

“You’re in Bedford now?” Bennett asked.

“Yeah, I’m riding horses for Dakota Pearce and Linda Maro.”

“How’s Linda doing?” Bennett said. “She worked for Kenny when I was a junior. She was so much fun.”

“She’s great. She’s got a boyfriend now—a nice Irish guy. Eamon—he works for Tiernan Murphy.”

“Good for her,” Bennett said. “I love Linda. Tell her I say hi. Oh my God, this one time, all of us juniors got so wasted and we were supposed to have a six o’clock lesson and we were like still drunk so we called Linda and she totally covered for us and told Kenny we all had food poisoning. She was so awesome that way.”

“Kenny actually believed that?” Nate said. “That’s like the horse show equivalent of the dog ate my homework.”

Bennett shrugged, jostling her string of pearls. “I guess he did.”

“Speaking of being wasted . . . we need drinks,” Morgan said.

The bartender poured them cocktails. Zoe asked for extra ice. She would stop at just the one drink but she needed something to take the edge off and she didn’t want to stick out.

Zoe actually liked baseball and would have been content to watch the game, but it became clear that while they were
at
the game, they weren’t exactly going to be
watching
it.