Page 38 of Entwined

“You’re a student. We have work-arounds.”

“Thanks, Sally. Also… would it be possible to ride?”

“Do you own your own horse?”

Longing rips through me as I think of Simone. “No. I don’t.”

“We have a riding team here at King’s. We compete against other universities.”

“Oh, okay, never mind. I just learned how to canter last fall.” My shoulders drop in defeat.

“All riders have to start somewhere Jessie. Show up, work hard and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, blinking back tears.

I continue cleaning out stalls, refilling water and giving each horse fresh hay. The bottom of my boots smell like dung. I’m tired and sweaty. But my heart—it’s healing. Filling back up and I feel like the girl I was before. Only different… smarter? In a strange way happier. Being with Christos set me on a path that not only had him and his dark desires in it, but it had clues about who I am… what makes me happy. I might never have found them and for that I can’t regret a second of time I spent with him.

But as every day passes it seems I might never see him again. It was so easy for him to just walk away, leaving me in the rubble of our failed love.

I sigh, closing the last stall door; glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s not even eight a.m. yet. My first class isn’t until ten. I have time to go back to my room change and shower. I just hope she’s gone. It’s a wonder Gretchen hasn’t flunked out yet. The only class she’s passing is sex and drugs 101.

I walk back to the tack room and pick up my backpack. Riders have started filing into the barn. They’re beautiful, glossy women in crisp jodhpurs and shiny leather boots. I look down at my wrinkled plaid shirt, faded jeans and old hiking books.

“Who are you?” A blonde asks. My eyes are drawn to her pink lips coated in a heavy, shiny gloss.

“I’m Jessie. I kind of work here now.”

“Good.” She slowly puts on white leather riding gloves, “You can tack up my horse, Duchess. She’s in stall number eight. I’m Cressida. My saddle and tack are over there.” She points to an expensive saddle and monogrammed saddle pad. Jesus, the woman has her own shelf.

Part of me wants to tell her to tack up her “own bloody horse.” But I can’t pull off English bitch the way these blue bloods naturally can.

Besides, I’m probably doing the poor horse a favor by giving it more time before she comes near.

“I’ll be waiting in the ring.”

It only takes me five minutes to groom and tack up the prized mare. She’s beautiful, reminding me so much of my Simone. I take her off the cross ties and slip her bridle on; then pet her nose as I lead her down to the indoor ring.

Sally is down there already instructing a group of riders around a course of jumps. “It’s about time.” Cressida snaps taking her horse from me.

Sally catches the exchange and walks over. “Did you tack up this horse?”

“I did.” I answer swallowing hard.

She checks the girth and Martingale attached to it and the bridle. “Good work, Jessie. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. I need to go to class but is it alright if I stop by in between and watch the lessons?”

“Yes. I’ll get that paperwork. I don’t trust easily, but I’m taking a chance on you. You seem like a girl who needs one.”

“Thank you. I’m a hard worker. Besides horses, I enjoy the ocean. I repair boats.”

“I’m sure you do. Your hands tell your story. They’re working hands not idle hands.”

I lift my chin, “I’m proud of them.”

“You should be. You seem to have thick skin too. You’ll need it. Especially here. All these students who board and ride come from a certain class.”

“I know. I worked on yachts in the Med. I can handle it.”

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