Page 56 of The Americana Playbook

“You’re not exactly dressedfor a barn,” I tell Agent Samuels. “Just stay out there by the cars. It’ll be too late to do anything anyway if I get bucked off.”

I do my best to keep my calm when he doesn’t budge.

“This is therapy for me. It’s private. Besides, I bet you’d be in real trouble if you lost track of me again,” I say, referring to last week’s gala, even though that’s a bit of a stretch.

Agent Samuels sighs. “I’ll wait here, ma’am.”

I turn, taking in my surroundings, still kind of in shock that I’m about to do what I’m about to do—mount a horse and ride and not have to resort to manual labor to do it. All thanks to my faux fiancé.

I’m not used to the idea of spending money on anything but the absolute necessities. And here Fitz is, overbidding on a package of riding lessons just because he can. Charity or not, it doesn’t sit right with me. Because at the end of it all, it makes me feel like the charity case. I’ve added the amount to the reimbursement list. If he refuses the money, I’ll donate what I owe him to a good cause in his name, which pops up on my phone.

FITZY

I’m getting my ass handed to me today. Need to decompress tomorrow night. You in?

I wrinkle my face in confusion.

Sure.

FITZY

I love that you said sure without even knowing what I mean.

I know you Fitzy, so it won’t be anything illegal anyway.

Why do you have to wait until tomorrow to decompress?

FITZY

Because I’ll still be getting my ass handed to me tonight.

“Can I help you?”

I look up. A woman exits the round pen, leading a gorgeous spotted horse. The beauty of the animal takes my breath away the closer it gets as she crosses the grass. I’m entranced by the specks of dark brown against his lighter, creamy-white coat. It’s as if a painter flicked a brush and accidentally created a masterpiece.

“Do you need some help?”

I jolt. “I’m so sorry. She’s just so beautiful, and… I’m Parker.”

I hold my hand out—not to shake hers—giving my palm to the horse first. Some might think it’s rude. But those people aren’thorsepeople.

She laughs. “This beautiful girl is Freckles. And I’m Abby.”

I give Freckles one more pat before shaking Abby’s hand.

“An Appaloosa?”

Abby nods. “If you’re the one who spoke with my assistant earlier, then you might not be the amateur you made yourself out to be.”

After spending most of my days while Fitz is off training alone—apart from my very annoying shadow who accompanies me on daily walks all through Boston’s North End—I decided that I can’t handle doing absolutely nothing while I wait until my time on the campaign starts. This morning, I called Willow Run Farm, not expecting to be able to get in right away. No one was happier than me, showing up in jeans and my only pair of boots. My riding gear still hasn’t come from Atlanta.

I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “It’s been awhile.” I leave out the part about how my recent time in the stables has been anything but traditional. “But I rode as a kid. I jumped for a bit.”

“I’ll get you set up. Let me just bring this girl to the paddocks.” Abby tips her head toward the barn. “Why don’t you go take a look around? Everyone in stalls right now is pretty fit except for the stallion at the end on your left. He’s a little sour. Go on. I’ll follow in a few.”

With Freckles’s lead in her hand, Abby walks away while I shimmy in place before I try not to look like I’m sprinting toward the main barn at the end of the wide path.

Eight stalls flank each side of the barn, and I don’t know where to begin. But I go to the horse that finds me first, which happens to be the stallion at the end on the left.

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