1

“Oh, man. Loser alert,” Zara muttered in disgust as she saw a fat, sweaty guy with a camera zero

in on her father. If she’d thought the paparazzi would be any less annoying here than in L.A.,

she’d thought wrong. Same manure, different coast.

Her father dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his Tres Outlaws

custom cowboy boot. “Chill out, little Z,” he said without looking at her. He leaned casually on

the post-and-board fence of the ring, pretending to watch some random panicky-looking pony

rider steer a phlegmatic pinto over a tiny pre-beginner- wannabe-hunter course.

Zara rolled her eyes. “Nice pose,” she told her father. “Very Zac Trask.”

His green eyes flicked toward her, but he didn’t answer. The photographer was upon

them, the stench of stale b.o. announcing his arrival. Zac’s publicist and a couple of bodyguards

moved closer. Just in case the guy turned out to be psycho, Zara knew, though she doubted many

psychos would waste their time hanging around some sleepy small-time horse show in the

middle of New Jersey.

She glanced around, still not quite believing she was here. The showgrounds was dusty

and hot under the early summer sun, the humidity making her chin-length dark hair frizz out like

some mall chick’s. June in New Jersey. It sounded like the title of one of Zac’s songs.

The reporter was spouting eager questions at the Rock God, the same ones as always.

Zara was already bored. Then again, this wasn’t exactly the place to seek any major excitement.

Or was it? She perked up as she spotted a guy wandering past. He had a big nose and a

smattering of zits on his chin but was otherwise passable looking, clean and preppy in full

Abercrombie regalia, though his demeanor was awkward and his expression vaguely

uncomfortable. Probably because he knew he was the only straight guy in a half-mile radius,

Zara figured.

She sidled away from her father’s entourage, undoing the last button on her Ralph Lauren

skinny-fit polo to reveal a little more of her two best features. The ones her mother openly

envied, often wondering aloud how her daughter had come by naturally what she’d had to pay a

pricey plastic surgeon for upon first arriving in Hollywood.

“Is this place boring or what?” Zara said when she reached the guy.

He blinked, looking startled. “What? Uh, I mean, hi.”

“Hey.” Zara slouched against the wall. She let her eyes, the same mossy green as her

father’s, wander up and down the guy. “So you’re not a rider, are you? Least you’re not dressed

for it.”

He blinked a few more times, looking nervous. “Me? No. I’m just here to, you know,

watch my girlfriend do her thing.”

A girlfriend, huh? She should have guessed. Not that a minor detail like that was going to

stop her from getting her flirt on. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do until her

appointment.

“Really?” she said. “Your girlfriend any good?”

She tilted her head and leaned a little closer, going hard for the double entendre. But the

guy wasn’t even looking at her anymore. His eyes had just gone all wide and excited.

“Whoa!” he said. “Check it out – isn’t that, like, Zac Trask over there? Oh my god!”

Zara let her eyes drift shut. Of freaking course. She knew what would happen next. Either

this guy would rush off without even remembering she was there, or – worse – he’d figure out

who she was and go all weird and fanboy on her. Either way, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with

it.

“Gotta go,” she muttered, hurrying off before the guy could respond.

It was almost time for her to go find that horse she was supposed to try, anyway. She

thought about getting Mickey or Saul or someone to go fetch her boots and helmet from the golf

cart where she’d left them. But a glance back at the circus surrounding her father made her

decide to go get them herself instead. Maybe putting on her gear would help her blend in and

look like just another rider rather than The Rock Star’s Daughter.

#

“Easy, boy,” Tommi murmured as she felt the horse’s body tense beneath her. After his usual

easy lead change in the corner, Toccata had just spotted the first jump in the next line. The

course decorators had gone all out with this one, creating a freakish mélange of daffodils, fern

fronds, and potted lemon trees. Toccata’s ears were pricked toward the jump, and Tommi could

feel him sucking back against her leg.

She gave him a firm squeeze, allowing a touch of spur to help push the big bay gelding

forward while she kept her upper body as quiet and relaxed as a kid on a pony ride. She’d been

moving more into the jumpers lately, but had grown up in the hunters and still knew the cardinal

rules as well as she knew her own name. Always make the horse look good. Always make the

ride look easy. Make it look like a blind, drunken monkey could find eight spots on this thing,

eight perfect jumps.

Their takeoff spot was there, staring her in the face. Tommi clucked softly to make sure

Toccata had the impulsion to get there. Four, three, two…

She felt it coming; that sudden surge of nervous energy through the horse’s body.

Toccata’s stride opened slightly, sending him spurting forward right past the perfect distance.

Damn.

Sinking down into her thighs, Tommi quickly half halted, trying to salvage the fence.

Normally this was her thing, her skill. Staying cool. Making it work. Getting through to a horse

that was losing its mind without giving it away to the judge.

But this time it wasn’t happening. Toccata was spooky – that was what made him so

careful and round over fences. He was honest enough to keep going when asked despite his fear.

But it wasn’t going to look easy. Not this time.

Tommi’s mouth twisted into a small grimace as they chipped in, taking off way too close

to the fence. She had to roach her back and throw her hands forward to stay with the awkward

jump. The trip had started so well, but that one bad fence meant it had all been for nothing. Not

even Toccata’s spectacular style could salvage the round now.

As the horse landed, Tommi pushed the negative thoughts away hard and fast. So their

shot at pinning was gone. That didn’t mean they had to embarrass themselves. Even if she was

only competing for twentieth place at this point, Tommi wasn’t going to give up and accept less

than that. Why come to the game at all if you weren’t there to play?

With another cluck, she sent the gelding forward, staying out of the tack and letting him

gather his wits back around him. That was what worked for Toccata. Staying patient, letting him

know she was there without pushing too hard and sending him over the edge into panic. She’d

had to learn that the hard way, getting impatient with him a few times when she was younger and

stupider and ending up on her ass in the dirt more than once as a result.

The next fence, an airy oxer, was coming up fast. But Tommi stayed cool, waiting. Just

waiting. Toccata’s canter rhythm hadn’t wavered despite the chip, and all it took was the tiniest

nudge to get him to the sweet spot. He flew over the oxer in a perfect arc, and Tommi smiled.

#

“Nice recovery,” Jamie Vos said as Tommi came out of the ring and dismounted. He was leaning

against the rail, his whip-thin body relaxed but buzzing with barely contained energy, like a

sports car running in neutral.

Tommi unbuckled the chin strap of her GPA helmet. “Shouldn’t have happened in the

first place. I knew he doesn’t like yellow flowers.”

“Okay.” Jamie never argued with Tommi when she was hard on herself. He knew there

was no point. His blue eyes wandered past her to the short, weatherbeaten man hurrying toward

them. “Let Miguel take the Tokester, and get yourself back to the barn, then to the south

schooling ring. I need you to ride Ellie for me – someone’s coming to see her at three.”

“Really? Who?”

But Jamie was already gone, sprinting across the crowded showgrounds in the direction

of the pony ring. He never stopped moving for long on show days, even at a smallish local A like

this one.

“Ready for me to take him, Señorita?” the groom prompted.

Tommi reached into her pocket for a peppermint, which Toccata lipped off the palm of

her deerskin glove, leaving behind a trail of foamy slobber. She gave the horse a pat, then handed

over his reins.

“Thanks, Miguel,” she said. “Don’t forget to let him graze a little on the way back to the

barn.”

The groom’s heavy jowls and drooping brows gave his face a perpetually sleepy look, but

his dark eyes danced with amusement. “How could I forget?” he said. “He almost knocks me

down to get a single bite.”

Tommi laughed. Toccata was a character, that was for sure. He wasn’t always easy to

manage, but they’d been together for a long time and he was the one horse in her string who

would never be for sale.

She was still smiling as she and Miguel parted ways. The groom wandered off toward a

patch of grass, chatting companionably to the big warmblood in Spanish, while Tommi headed

for the colony of blue-and-white striped tents that housed the temporary show stabling. On her

way back past the main hunter ring she noticed a couple of younger junior riders she vaguely

recognized from one of the big Virginia barns. They were leaning on the rail, unbuckled Charles

Owens perched atop their perfectly sculpted hunter hair, watching her go by. Tommi didn’t

remember their names, but she guessed that they probably knew hers. That was the trouble with

being in her family. Everyone knew who you were whether you liked it or not.

“Hi,” Tommi said with a polite half-smile as she passed them.

“Hi,” the taller one said, while the other just nodded.

As Tommi rounded the corner of the announcer’s booth, she glanced down and saw that

one of her field boots had come untied. She bent to fix it. Force of habit. Jamie ran a tight ship

when it came to turnout, which suited Tommi’s perfectionist nature just fine. Her friends from

school were always giving her a hard time about her habit of straightening the merchandise on

the shelves while browsing through Upper East Side boutiques.

“I don’t know what she’s looking so happy about.” The sarcastic voice drifted around the

corner as Tommi straightened up again. It was one of the girls she’d just passed. “If I chipped in

like that, I’d be using some of Daddy’s money to take a long trip somewhere far away.”

“Yeah. Especially riding a packer like Toccata. That horse could win with my grandma

on his back.”

Tommi stiffened and her heart started pounding, though she was careful not to allow her

expression to change one iota. No matter how many times she heard that kind of crap, it never

got any easier to take. Who needs to learn to ride when her father owns half of New York? If I

could afford horses like hers, I’d win all the time, too.

If they only knew how fresh Toccata could be on a cool morning after a few days off, or

had ever tried to stay with one of his big panicky spook-and-bolts when someone’s car backfired

out in the parking lot. If they could only see Tommi wrestling with one of Jamie’s young, green

sales horses when it decided it would rather be a rodeo bronc than a jumper. Maybe then they

wouldn’t assume that she’d bought her way to the top.

Tommi did her best to push the thoughts aside and swallow down the bitterness. She

couldn’t waste time worrying about what people thought of her. Right now, she had a job to do.