his head and she obligingly scratched his jaw. She liked both geldings under her care, but Jake was everyone’s favorite. She’d never ridden him—only top students earned that honor—but she always saved a few extra minutes for the friendly horse.
“Sheesh, Megan. Weren’t you listening to announcements?” Tami rubbed a piece of straw off her boot than jammed the overloaded wheelbarrow against the wall. “The alcohol and addictions class starts today. Everyone wants a good seat. Sometimes I wonder what you’re even doing here.”
I wonder too . Megan flushed and turned away, stung by the feeling of failure. She was a lousy investigator. The students who knew her brother were galloping on the track while she was stuck trotting baby circles in a field. She’d accused the police of incompetence, yet she’d been here an entire week and had uncovered nothing new. It was time to stop playing around and do some real digging.
She didn’t care about lectures and diplomas, and certainly wasn’t interested in this new class. She’d already experienced Joey’s desperate struggle against drug addiction. No need to relive the experience.
“I might skip that class,” she said. “Spend some extra time on the Equicizer.”
“Are you crazy?” Tami’s eyes widened. “It’s a full credit course. We’re lucky Garrett gave us a spot. Most of the grooms are on the wait list.”
“But I’m not going for a degree. I just want to ride on the track...that is, qualify as an exercise rider so I can ride at other tracks.”
Tami was no longer listening. She turned away, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and fluffing it around her face. “Then will you empty my wheelbarrows for me? I want to get a good seat. The class is mandatory for all the jockeys so Miguel will be there.”
“Really? All the jockeys are going?” Megan glanced thoughtfully out the door at the adjacent barn with the Spanish tiled roof. The jock barn had restricted access. However, if everyone was busy with the new class, she’d finally have a chance to poke around Joey’s room. If the jock dorms were like hers, no one ever locked their door.
Joey had been in room thirteen, something he’d joked about as being bad luck. He’d even paid extra for a single, preferring privacy. The police assumed he’d wanted to hide his drug activities.
“No problem. I’ll dump your wheelbarrows,” Megan added, careful to keep the excitement from her voice.
She brushed off Tami’s exuberant thanks and waved good-bye, eager to be alone. No doubt, Joey’s room was still empty as new jockeys were usually accepted in September. The school had shipped back a riding helmet and some clothes, but his phone and iPod had never surfaced.
She pushed Tami’s wheelbarrow loads to the manure pile and rushed back, in a hurry now to finish her chores. Jake stuck his head over the stall door, watching intently, as though suspicious she might sneak a rival horse a peppermint. All the students looked after two horses, not necessarily the ones they rode. Jake was always in huge demand but her second horse, Rambo, also needed to be turned out in his paddock. He was an incorrigible bucker and never ridden.
Several students had broken bones when they tried to gallop him. A crude ‘Do Not Ride’ sign was nailed to his door. Luckily, Rambo was quite manageable on the ground. After three days, she no longer needed a chain over his nose.
“Let’s hurry today, fellow,” she said, grabbing his halter and lead line. The quicker she finished here, the quicker she could check out the jock dorm.
Rambo flattened his ears. He had the nicest accommodations in the barn, an end stall with two windows, but it didn’t help his disposition. The haughty gelding had a darn good deal—daily turnout and no work. Most of the school horses had only one day off a week and the fact that Rambo was such a badass made his care easier. She only had to clean out one stall during the day and had
“Sheesh, Megan. Weren’t you listening to announcements?” Tami rubbed a piece of straw off her boot than jammed the overloaded wheelbarrow against the wall. “The alcohol and addictions class starts today. Everyone wants a good seat. Sometimes I wonder what you’re even doing here.”
I wonder too . Megan flushed and turned away, stung by the feeling of failure. She was a lousy investigator. The students who knew her brother were galloping on the track while she was stuck trotting baby circles in a field. She’d accused the police of incompetence, yet she’d been here an entire week and had uncovered nothing new. It was time to stop playing around and do some real digging.
She didn’t care about lectures and diplomas, and certainly wasn’t interested in this new class. She’d already experienced Joey’s desperate struggle against drug addiction. No need to relive the experience.
“I might skip that class,” she said. “Spend some extra time on the Equicizer.”
“Are you crazy?” Tami’s eyes widened. “It’s a full credit course. We’re lucky Garrett gave us a spot. Most of the grooms are on the wait list.”
“But I’m not going for a degree. I just want to ride on the track...that is, qualify as an exercise rider so I can ride at other tracks.”
Tami was no longer listening. She turned away, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and fluffing it around her face. “Then will you empty my wheelbarrows for me? I want to get a good seat. The class is mandatory for all the jockeys so Miguel will be there.”
“Really? All the jockeys are going?” Megan glanced thoughtfully out the door at the adjacent barn with the Spanish tiled roof. The jock barn had restricted access. However, if everyone was busy with the new class, she’d finally have a chance to poke around Joey’s room. If the jock dorms were like hers, no one ever locked their door.
Joey had been in room thirteen, something he’d joked about as being bad luck. He’d even paid extra for a single, preferring privacy. The police assumed he’d wanted to hide his drug activities.
“No problem. I’ll dump your wheelbarrows,” Megan added, careful to keep the excitement from her voice.
She brushed off Tami’s exuberant thanks and waved good-bye, eager to be alone. No doubt, Joey’s room was still empty as new jockeys were usually accepted in September. The school had shipped back a riding helmet and some clothes, but his phone and iPod had never surfaced.
She pushed Tami’s wheelbarrow loads to the manure pile and rushed back, in a hurry now to finish her chores. Jake stuck his head over the stall door, watching intently, as though suspicious she might sneak a rival horse a peppermint. All the students looked after two horses, not necessarily the ones they rode. Jake was always in huge demand but her second horse, Rambo, also needed to be turned out in his paddock. He was an incorrigible bucker and never ridden.
Several students had broken bones when they tried to gallop him. A crude ‘Do Not Ride’ sign was nailed to his door. Luckily, Rambo was quite manageable on the ground. After three days, she no longer needed a chain over his nose.
“Let’s hurry today, fellow,” she said, grabbing his halter and lead line. The quicker she finished here, the quicker she could check out the jock dorm.
Rambo flattened his ears. He had the nicest accommodations in the barn, an end stall with two windows, but it didn’t help his disposition. The haughty gelding had a darn good deal—daily turnout and no work. Most of the school horses had only one day off a week and the fact that Rambo was such a badass made his care easier. She only had to clean out one stall during the day and had
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