Hunter Derby: (Show Circuit Series -- Book 3) (21 page)

“Sorry,” Linda said, loosening her embrace.

“You’re going to be such a great mom,” Zoe said as they let go.

“Thank you,” Linda said.

“Speaking of which . . .” Zoe said. “Have you told him?”

Linda had been going out nearly every night with Eamon and he often popped over to their tent to say hi and hang out for a few moments.

Zoe felt suddenly selfish that she hadn’t asked Linda about whether she’d told him.

“No,” Linda said.

“I thought you were going to.”

“I
was
. But then I began to think, what if he wants to marry me?”

“And that would be bad because . . .?”

“I want to have this baby. I want to be a mother. And I thought I wanted to be married but I’m not sure I know Eamon that well. We went out for dinner and I found out he’s allergic to shellfish. I didn’t even know he’s allergic to anything. I mean if he eats like one bite of shrimp his throat will swell up and he’ll die. Like right there on the spot. I’m about to have a baby with someone that I didn’t know could be killed by a shrimp. I just don’t want to be one of those horse show people who gets knocked up, marries the guy, and a year or two later, boom, they’re divorced. I want to make sure he’s the one.”

Zoe had never seen Linda so worked up. She was always composed and in control. Suddenly Zoe noticed Linda’s trademark sunglasses weren’t on her head.

“Wait, where are your sunglasses?”

“I left them at the hotel. Can you believe that? That’s how freaked out I am right now. I mean how many times do you see me without my sunglasses?”

“Like never,” Zoe said. “I figured you sleep in them.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so don’t marry him,” Zoe suggested. “Do what Josephina Greenberg did. Just have the baby. Don’t get married.”

“I just don’t know if Eamon will understand that. I think I’m just worried about telling him in general. But I have to, like stat. I mean I make sure we have sex in the dark and or he’ll see how fat I’ve gotten.”

“I think you just have to do it . . . just lay it on him,” Zoe said. “Like the longer you wait, the harder it’ll be.”

Linda pressed her lips together and nodded. Zoe felt strange being the one in the position to give advice.

“You’re right,” Linda said.

“Whatever happens, you’ll be okay,” Zoe said. “You’re you. You’ve totally got this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The $30,000 Jumper Classic was going on in the grand prix ring. Zoe had checked online and had seen that Morgan was doing it. She kept looking to see who was at the in-gate and spotted him waiting on deck. She let herself glance over a few times when he was in the ring and catch a few jumps.

She couldn’t help but wish that he’d crash or at least have a bunch of rails down. From a distance, he looked so completely normal. But of course no normal guy could ever be interested in her. It had to be all the messed up ones that went after her, and that to be honest, she seemed to gravitate toward. All except for John and look how that had worked out.

Of course he went clear. All his horses were top notch, bought from European riders who’d brought them along but couldn’t afford to keep them, and his trainer was a former Olympian.

Morgan would never have any horses with quirks. None that had sensitive mouths or could be so careful that they could easily lose their confidence. All his horses were straightforward and simple to ride. They weren’t the kind of horses that you needed to get to know, or build a relationship with. They needed minimal preparation—just flatwork, fitness, and basic jump-schools by Morgan’s trainer, and then Morgan could just hop on at the show, go out, and win.

After his ride, Morgan came into the tent, his helmet under the crook of his arm, his hair appealingly sweaty.

Zoe glanced up at him as he passed. He locked eyes with her for a few beats too long, something more than just acknowledgement passing between them.

Zoe quickly looked away, her skin flushing red. She could feel John staring at her. He had watched the whole interaction. When John caught her eye across the table, he mouthed, “Old friend?”

“He did that to you?” John said. “That guy, Morgan Cleary?”

Zoe didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t want to admit what had happened. She stayed focused on the braids. There was something terribly satisfying about using a seam ripper to cut the yarn. You wouldn’t think it would feel good to basically ruin what was a gorgeous braiding job but there was pleasure in getting the blade of the seam ripper positioned just so underneath the yarn looped around the braid, and then slicing one clean, sharp cut.

“Come on,” John said. “I put two and two together. It wasn’t hard to figure out. What I can’t figure out is why a girl like you, who has so much going for you, would let someone treat you like that?”

“I have so much going for me?” Zoe said. “Please.”

John counted off on his fingers. “You’re smart, you’re an amazing rider, you’re a hard worker, you’re resilient. You shouldn’t be with guys like that.”

“I made a mistake,” Zoe said. She’d done half of Gidget’s mane and the braids were slowly springing loose. Zoe ran her fingers through them, one by one, raking the hair free.

“A big mistake,” John said.

Zoe felt a flush of shame. “So now you probably think I’m pathetic.”

“No, I think you can do better.”

Zoe started in on the remaining braids. If he thought she could do better, than why wasn’t she good enough for him?

John collected a dirty saddle pad and two dirty polo wraps and went to put them in the bag to take to the horse laundry place.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t even be doing that. Let me take out the rest—”

“No, it’s my left arm. I’m fine,” she protested.

“Get off the step-ladder,” he said.

Zoe climbed down from the step-ladder and begrudgingly turned the seam ripper over to John. She acted annoyed but inside she was touched that he cared about her.

“You should ice it when you get back to the hotel. I talked to the front desk this morning. Good news. They had a room open up so I’ll move when I get back tonight.”

“Oh,” Zoe said, pretending to be happy. “That’s great.”

“You promise to ice it?”

“Promise.”

When the show got underway it was hard to believe the judges would even be able to see the jumps with all the fog. By midday the fog had finally worn off but the wind set in, making it feel ten degrees colder. Out again came the down jackets and scarves, the coolers and Burberry plaid dog-blankets. But it was the kind of cold that sunk into your bones and wouldn’t let go no matter how many layers you put on.

The wind wreaked havoc with the courses, blowing over standards, bushes, and taking down rails. Any dreams of dozing lazily in chairs by the side of the ring faded fast for the jump crew.

When the day finally came to an end, Zoe couldn’t wait to get into her car and out of the wind. But the cold feeling in her bones wouldn’t leave until she stood in the shower, the dial turned almost all the way to the red H, letting the water rush over her and turn her skin red.

A hot shower had never felt so good.

Sometime after midnight, the rain started. By the time Zoe was due to get up the next morning, it was darker than dark and the rain was coming down in sheets. At the show everyone dug trenches and then huddled in the tents watching lightning flash across the mountains.

The show was postponed and finally canceled for the day.

It wouldn’t be Lake Placid without one day of torrential rain.

Everyone went back to their hotels to catch up on sleep and paperwork.

Before she left, Linda took Zoe aside and said, “This is it. I’m telling him. This afternoon.”

“Good luck,” Zoe said, but then felt strange for wishing her luck.

The sun was out the next day, bright and promising. Zoe got to the barn before Linda and was out on Plato when Linda arrived. Zoe had wanted to text Linda the night before but she’d felt it was too intrusive. She wanted to wait until she saw her in person.

As she rode up to the barn, she saw Linda in the tack room and tried to read her body language for a sign. She couldn’t see anything different in the way she moved about, opening a tack trunk and pulling out a bridle.

Fernando took Plato and she sat down on one of the tack trunks.

“So?” Zoe said.

“So,” Linda said coyly.

Zoe slapped her thighs. “You’re keeping me in total suspense here . . . did you tell him?”

“I did,” Linda said.

“And?”

“He was a little surprised at first. But he said he’s always wanted to be a Da. That’s what he said—a Da. I guess that’s Irish for dad. It was really kind of cute.”

“So he didn’t talk about . . .” Zoe didn’t want to say the word abortion but Linda knew what she meant and it was too late for that by now anyway.

“No, not even for a second.”

“And getting married?”

“I told him right away I didn’t expect anything from him and I certainly didn’t expect us to get married. I told him we could go our separate ways and I’d be fine with that . . . which of course was pretty much a lie.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t want that. He wants to stay together. I mean he was pretty shocked. I think he needs to let it sink in, and I don’t blame him.”

“But overall he was great about it?”

“Super great. And happy too, even though he was still getting used to the idea.” Linda smiled. “It’s such a relief that he knows.”

“What’s the big news?”

Zoe and Linda both turned to John, who had come into the tack room.

“Whoa,” John said, seeing their faces. “What did I just walk in on?”

“You might as well know,” Linda said. “It’s not a secret anymore although I guess if we can keep it kind of quiet for a few more days while Eamon wraps his brain around it. I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations!” John said without hesitation.

Zoe loved him for how he didn’t say something like, “Really?” Or, “Wow,” or “What are you going to do about it?”

Linda looked a little surprised at his positive reaction and John followed up with, “That’s happy news, right?”

“Yes,” Linda said with growing confidence. “It’s very happy news.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Each day Zoe’s shoulder felt better and she tried to put what happened with Morgan behind her.

The derby had a trot jump and Gidget still won it—a huge win for her. Proof that she belonged in the best company.

By all accounts Lake Placid had been a huge success for John’s business. He had sold Cruz. Gidget had won the big derby. Dibs had gone well and gotten low ribbons in the pre greens. Dakota had a good show too—she’d ended up qualifying for the Talent Search and had gotten good ribbons in the hunters and jumpers.

On the drive home, Zoe heard the DJ on the radio talking about a Taylor Swift concert coming up at the Met Life Stadium in New Jersey. A thought took shape in her brain before she could even name it. She turned up the volume.

“You know you want to go to this concert,” the DJ said. “This is
the
concert of the summer and it’s all sold out but you can still win your tickets here . . .”

Zoe knew she had to take Molly. Molly would be out of her mind excited to see Taylor live.

But how could Zoe pull it off if the shows were already all sold out?

Perhaps Morgan knew someone. Didn’t owners of teams have relationships with other teams? Surely he’d be able to help her get two measly tickets. After how he’d hurt her, he owed her.

Zoe called him immediately.
Please answer
, she thought with each ring that passed. But of course he didn’t pick up. Maybe he wasn’t near his phone or was doing something important. But what could be so important on a Sunday afternoon? He was probably ignoring the call.

She got off at the next exit so she could text him.

I really want to get tickets to Taylor Swift at Met Life Stadium for one of the girls I work with at the therapeutic riding center.

She stopped mid-composition to realize Morgan didn’t know the first thing about Narrow Lane. He knew next to nothing about her life.

She rewrote the text.

Really want to get 2 tix to Taylor Swift at Met Life for a friend who’s had a hard time. Would mean the world to her. Can u help? Tell you more later. Call me.

Of course he didn’t call her back on Sunday, or Monday either. By Tuesday afternoon, she texted him again:
Did you get my text about the Taylor Swift concert?

Finally, he wrote back:
Can’t get concert tix.

Okay,
she answered him.
Thanks for checking.

But had he really checked? Had he asked around, or even bothered to call her back and hear more about Molly? No. He just didn’t care.

Thanks for nothing
, is what she should have written.

Asshole.

She flipped her phone around in her hand and thought about how else she could get tickets. There were ticket resellers that had tickets to every concert and sporting event imaginable. There was also the radio station contest, but did anyone ever win those?