No One's Hero (Chadwell Hearts) (7 page)

He stubbornly holds out a cup. “I got—”

“I hate coffee,” I snap, warning him not to push me with my eyes.

He presses his lips together and retracts the cup. “I’m sure your things will turn up. I’ll help you look when we get back, but I think we should head to your class.”

I glance at the clock and realize I have to go now if I don’t want to be late. My missing stuff weighs heavily on my mind as I grab my tall boots out of the closet. Generally, tall boots are reserved for formal events and shows, but with my paddock boots missing, these are my only option. They’re new, and I need to break them in so they’ll drop properly, but I hadn’t planned to do it during my very first college lesson. The unforgiving leather bites into the back of my knees as I sullenly follow Kevin to the truck.

“Who was the guy trying to catch your eye back there?” Kevin asks, starting the engine. The radio greets us with a classical ballad that sounds like it belongs on an opera stage, rather than in a big modern SUV. Kevin cuts a quizzical glance from the radio to me out of the corner of his eye.

I offer him a sly smile. “Huh? I didn’t notice.” I finger-comb my hair, pulling it into a damp ponytail at the nape of my neck as we pull out of the parking lot, easing onto the side road that offers access to the school’s various agricultural centers.

Kevin arches an eyebrow, but keeps his skepticism otherwise to himself. “I didn’t take you as an opera fan.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I know you seemed to be enjoying the rock station I had on yesterday on the drive down here.”

He’s right. I do like rock, but I can’t bring myself to confirm it.

The tension between us is thick as he parks in front of the Diamond Equestrian Center. Named for one of the program’s distinguished benefactors, the impressive building boasts cutting-edge everything. The facade looks less like a barn and more like a fancy English manor. Neutral stone covers most of the exterior, including all of the first floor, and part of the second story. On the upper level, wood framing gleams against cream siding. Large bay windows protrude from both ends, and also frame the sprawling central entrance atop cleanly swept stone steps. I know from the brochures that the windows house the visitor’s center and the trophy room.

I’m still gaping as I follow Kevin up the steps. My nerves are growing by the minute as I reach out, grabbing his arm.

He spins, then cocks his head questioningly at me. His eyes don’t linger on me long, though; he scans the nearby area, constantly alert.

“Do you think you could wait here for me? You’re supposed to have an equine center ID to pass this point anyway, and if you wait here you’ll be able to see everyone coming and going. I just really don’t want an audience for my first class; I’m nervous enough.”

He’s visibly torn between agreeing and arguing, but at last he nods, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his broad chest, momentarily distracting me from any and all nerves. Kevin has the type of body that makes good girls do bad things. It doesn’t help that I’m not exactly determined to be good.

“Try to play nice; if I hear any screaming I’ll have to come in guns blazing.”

My eyes snap to the waistband of his jeans, and the snuggly fitting T-shirt that shows off every contour of his muscles—but no obvious outline of a gun. I can’t help wondering if that was a joke, or if he’s actually got one. And if he does, where’s he hiding it? My gaze dips even lower, and the corner of his mouth lifts in amusement.

—-♥—-

L
exi

My cheeks are warm with embarrassment as I enter the equestrian center, admiring the gleaming oak support beams above immaculate roomy box stalls. I’m hit with the familiar aroma of sawdust and hay, and I instantly feel at home. Beneath the arches in front of me waits the indoor arena, the entrance tucked between a pair of stairwells that lead up to an observation deck, professors’ offices, and the tack and locker rooms, if I remember correctly from the program pamphlets. To either side of me, stalls line both sides of the aisle, except for the various doorways and wash stalls sprinkled throughout. It’s a lot to take in, but I don’t have the luxury of time to explore right now. Class will be starting any minute.

I hurry up the steps and slip into the upstairs lounge where my syllabus said we’d meet just as the instructor stands up in front. She waits for me to take a seat before addressing the assembled class. There are only five of us, a few less than I expected, and I wonder if that’s good or bad. Each year, the equine program only accepts thirty students, meaning there are only just under a hundred of us in the program at any one time, allowing for about half of the students who opt for a two-year degree instead of a bachelor’s. Riding classes are divided by skill level rather than grade level, and I wonder if the small class means we’re behind or above the average.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Denise Blessing and I’ll be your riding instructor this semester. This is my third year here at Chancellorsville College as an instructor, and before that I was a student here myself. If there are no questions, you can all go drop your stuff off at your lockers if you haven’t already, then meet me downstairs where I’ll introduce each of you to the horse you’ll be responsible for.”

This is one of the parts of the program I’ve been looking forward to the most. Each student is assigned a horse for the semester, becoming responsible for every aspect of their care—from holding them for the vet and farrier, to developing an optimal feed regimen, exercise, grooming and any specialized care. Barn staff handles feeding, turnout, and the mucking of the stalls, but that’s it. For one whole semester, whatever horse is assigned to me will essentially be mine. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to my dream of owning my own horse coming true.

The five of us start out the door, with me bringing up the rear. “Ms. Feron?” the instructor calls me back.

I turn. “That’s me.”

Professor Blessing smiles warmly. “Yes, I know. You’re the only freshman in my upper intermediate class.”

Oh. Inside I’m doing a small happy dance worthy of being the next YouTube sensation. At least, I’d like to think so. “I’m honored. I won’t let you down.”

“I expect not, Ms. Feron. But while I admire your dedication to your appearance, you don’t have to wear tall boots for regular classes unless we are giving tours on your class day.”

I might as well get it over with. “Actually, my roommate put my stuff in the hall, and it seems to have walked away. Including my boots and saddle.”

Professor Blessing frowns. “I see. Well, you can borrow one of our spare saddles for this week, but we’ll expect you to find yours or obtain a new one promptly. Each Chancellorsville student is responsible for his or her own gear.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Go on. The tack room is across from the locker room, just down the hall. Go ahead and grab Samurai’s bridle while you’re there. Grab a medium tree if you can, he’ll do better with it.” Her advice encourages me, since my own saddle—if I ever find it—is a medium tree as well. Although when possible it’s best to fit the saddle to the horse, it isn’t always practical to have a different saddle for each mount, in which case a medium tree often seems to be the best bet for a comfortable for both the horse and rider. Since I generally rode a variety of horses at Chadwell farms, it’s what I picked.

I pass my classmates in the hall. They’re already on their way downstairs to meet their horses, and once again I’m running behind, though it’s through no fault of my own. The locker room is spacious, with heavy wood cabinets lining the walls. Most are padlocked, but a few wait patiently for their new occupants to come claim them. I scan the name plates tacked onto each one, finding mine. But beneath the carefully printed
Alexis Feron
, a shiny new padlock bars my entrance. What the hell?

Not wanting to be late—again—I shove my purse into a locker without a name tag and lock it with my own padlock. I’ll have to sort out which locker I’m supposed to be in later. I know we’re responsible for our own lockers, or else I wouldn’t care. But the last thing I need is the locker the school thinks is mine being damaged, and me being responsible for the cost.

In the tack room, it takes me several minutes to find the bridle hook labeled Samurai, costing me more valuable time. By the time I grab a suitable saddle and carry it toward the steps I’m beyond flustered. In my haste, I nearly crash into one of my classmates in the hall.

“Watch it!” The petite girl smooths her pale cardigan until it’s as tidy as her fine blonde hair. “Oh, you’re the freshman. Alexis, right?”

“Sorry. And it’s Lexi, but yeah.”

“Cute. Whatever. Anyway, there’s no running in the barn.” She huffs, as if the inconvenience of having to school the stupid freshman on the rules is exhausting.

I force myself to smile, ignoring her patronizing tone. “Sorry again.”

“Oh, and some moron assigned you
my
locker, so I just went ahead and put my stuff in there. We’ll straighten it out later.” Before I can protest, she turns and heads down the stairs.

Professor Blessing is waiting at the bottom, and the other girl hands her a clipboard with several papers fastened to it. “Thank you, Madison. Not sure where my brain is today, forgetting that in my office. Okay, let’s see.” She quickly scans the papers. “Looks like you’re on Vandal.”

“But—” Madison begins.

“No arguments, Madison. Go on. You know where her stall is. Grab her bridle and I’ll see you in the arena once you’re ready. Follow me, Alexis. I’ll introduce you to Samurai.”

At the professor’s words, Madison’s indignant scowl deepens and she stomps back toward the second floor. Curious noses poke out of several stalls as I follow Professor Blessing halfway down the aisle, where she stops. “Here we are. You can use these cross-ties to get him ready, then meet us in the arena.” After indicating the pair of ropes used to secure a horse in the open aisle, she walks away without a second glance, leaving me to peer excitedly into the stall.

A leggy black gelding pricks his ears forward and snorts, huffing out a few quick breaths. “Hello, fella,” I say softly, unlatching the stall and stepping inside. Samurai’s ears flick back, and I pause. “Easy, there. No need to get cranky. He stomps and flicks his tail, but steps forward eagerly enough when I pull a sugar lump from my pocket. His interest in me vanishes with the treat, and his skin shivers beneath my touch as I stroke his glossy neck. He’s every bit as showy and gorgeous as the high class thoroughbreds of Chadwell farm, and at first glance I suspect he’s a Dutch Warmblood.

My frustration is quickly abating as I hook the long cross-ties to either side of Samurai’s bridle in the barn aisle. He dances nervously, swinging his rear from one side to the other as I groom him thoroughly but quickly. He’s a bit higher strung than most, but after dealing with pregnant mares and jealous stallions at Chadwell farms, he’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m bent with his hoof braced against my knee, when he shies violently, jerking his foot away and nearly toppling me to the ground.

“How dare you!” Madison screeches behind me, her voice shrill and angry.

My first priority is calming the horse, who’s visibly disturbed by Madison’s outburst. With a steadying hand on his halter, I spin slowly toward her. “How dare I what?” I ask, keeping my tone light and even.

“You cut my lock! That’s my locker, and my lock. You had no right.” She jabs a finger into my chest, and Samurai tries to pull away.

“You mean the way
you
had no right to take over my locker?” She’s got some freaking nerve.

She hisses, her smug face twisting into a self-satisfied grin. “So you did cut it! I knew it was you.”

“Right. And I’ve had time to do that when? I know, I must have asked my fairy godmother to poof me up there when no one was looking, then I borrowed a bit of fairy dust to get rid of your lock. All to get into a locker that means nothing to me.”

“I’m on to you, bitch. You’ve no idea who you’re messing with. You better not have screwed with any of my stuff if you know what’s good for you.”

“Excuse me while I quiver in my boots.” I roll my eyes. I know girls like her. My school at home was full of them, and they’re all the same. Their heads are so inflated with their own sense of entitlement and self-importance that it inevitably carries them away. Their popularity might rise for a while, but like a balloon, it doesn’t last forever. Eventually they crash and burn, a shriveled up has-been. “Now, if you’re done...you’re upsetting my horse.”

Madison’s eyes narrow. “Samurai is supposed to be mine! You can try to take my spot all you want, but you’ll never succeed. I’ll make sure of it, just you wait.”

I wink. “This is me, still quivering.” Then, effectively dismissing her, I turn away and begin to saddle Samurai as if she’s not there. Eventually she storms away. If only she knew. The last thing I want is to take someone else’s place. I’ve been doing that my whole life, and now, I just want to find
my
place. Is that really too much to ask?

Her cut lock is mildly disturbing, but if I had to make a bet, I’d say she’s probably pissed someone else off, too. She seems good at that. More than likely, someone saw her put her lock there, and they wanted to see if they could make her head explode. I can’t say that I blame them. But while it’s probably nothing, I suspect Kevin would make a big deal about it, and then he’d insist on following me all over the barn. I think I’ll just keep this incident to myself.

—-♥—-

K
evin

Yeah, I should have gone into the barn with Lexi. I can cover the only entrance from right here. And she did ask nicely. That girl is struggling. I might not know why, yet, but I can see the signs. So I’m trying to make things as easy as possible on her. Like with the drinks this morning. I brought tea and coffee for her, hoping she’d like one or the other. Granted she didn’t want either, although she didn’t even let me tell her what was in them. But dammit, I tried. What more can I do? Now she’s in her first college class, worried about her missing stuff, and she’s had no breakfast. If I could just get her to relax around me, get her to trust me to take care of her, things would be so much easier on both of us. She’s a smart girl, but sometimes she sure doesn’t show it. Speaking of which, from what I’ve seen of those coming and going so far, I think most of these bimbos have more money than sense. I can’t fathom why Lexi wanted to come here, but it’s not my job to analyze why she’s here, I just have to make here safe for her.