Silent Harmony: A Vivienne Taylor Horse Lover's Mystery (Fairmont Riding Academy Book 1) Read online

  CHAPTER two

  As soon as we get home, I grab a cup of coffee, fry up some bacon and eggs for Mom, Cole, and me. I should probably go and get some rest, but the sun is up, and there are a few people that I need to say good-bye to.

  “You should lie down for an hour or two, Vivvie,” Mom says. “Long night.”

  Cole looks up at me with his sleepy blue eyes. He takes a bite of the eggs—with extra-extra cheese, just the way he likes them. “You can watch TV with me,” he says.

  I ruffle the top of his hair. “Not today, C-man. I’m going over to Gail’s and say my good-byes. I just got a text from her while I was making the grand slam breakfast, and she says that she has something for me.”

  Cole frowns and doesn’t offer any reply.

  “Agreed,” Mom says, getting up to rinse her plate. “With your leaving tomorrow, this is probably your only chance to tell the crew good-bye.”

  “I want you to stay here,” Cole whines.

  Okay. Even though he thinks that what he means is that he just wants me to stay and watch some TV with him, I know that my little brother is really telling me he doesn’t want me to leave for Fairmont. “You’re gonna have to get used to me not being around, bud.”

  “I know that.” He nods and picks at his food.

  “C’mon, some of it’ll be good. You won’t have me taking up all that time in the bathroom, and you can watch all your stupid shows.”

  “They’re not stupid!” He tosses a napkin at me. “At least I won’t have to watch your dumb lover shows, where people always make out and stuff. Those are stupid.”

  I walk back to my room laughing, but inside I know my little brother is feeling… a little sad. A little scared. Like me.

  And I wonder if my leaving brings up other stuff. Granted, Cole never got to know our so-called dad—Lane Taylor. He was only three months old and I had just turned ten the day before he left us—without any explanation, as far as I know. Just left. I could tell that Mom was confused, hurt, and angry. I was just confused—at first. My dad was the one who had put me on the back of a horse when I was only two. The one who instilled the love of eventing in me. My dad was that dad who came to school functions and pony club meetings. Now, he’s just… gone.

  After a couple of years, I did some investigating. It didn’t take me long to find him. My dad is fairly well known in the eventing circles on the East Coast.

  Within a year of leaving us, he had a new wife and baby. Yeah—new baby. I have a little sister out there whom I’ve never met. And, I still have plenty of questions for Lane. Maybe someday I will get the chance to ask him personally for some answers.

  Anyway, a weird upside to my father’s abandonment is that my mom, Cole, and I are about as tight as a family can be. Though Cole is often a Giant Pain in the Butt, I love him to pieces and would go to the end of the earth to protect him. Breaking us up to go away to Fairmont? My stomach twists every time I think about it. But on the flip side—the selfish side—I know this is not an opportunity that I can pass up.

  Keys in hand, I holler back to Mom, “I’ll be home in a bit.”

  “Drive careful, Shnoopy. I’ll be working on reports, unless I get an emergency call.”

  I bound down the front porch steps and glance out at the pasture where Mom has already turned out the crew. Dean lifts his head and eyes me. “Treats, later, sweetie guy.” I’m putting off my good-byes to the horses until the last minute—about twenty-four rapidly approaching hours from now.

  Behind the wheel of my old Chevy truck—grayish beige with a light coating of rust—I put my headphones on, turn on the iPod, and find some Miranda Lambert.

  Window down and all is right in my world as I head over to see the woman who has been my trainer for the past seven years. Gail only lives ten minutes away, which is good because that means we’ve always been able to keep Dean at home and just trailer over for lessons. Ever since Mom let me get my license I’ve been able to trailer him over to Gail’s myself. Since I turned thirteen I’ve worked summers at Gail’s in trade for my lessons. I suspect this helped Mom sock away enough cash to surprise me with the truck on my last birthday.

  Gail’s place is called Hidden Trail Ranch—an eight-stall main barn with in-and-outs, eight corrals with overhangs. She also has a dressage court, a jump arena, and a round pen. It’s basically my home away from home, and I love it.

  Gail never keeps more than sixteen horses on the property. She runs the local Young Equestrians group. There are twelve of us altogether, including Kate, Mia, and Austen—my best friends.

  I pull the truck up in front of the main barn and spot Gail walking her gelding, Jeepers, inside.

  “Hey, Vivvie,” she says. “Shouldn’t you be packing?”

  I walk into the breezeway. “Packed!” I smile at her. “Plus, you texted me and said you wanted me to come by.”

  “That’s right. I did want you to stop by. I forgot.” She laughs. “I am not as organized or focused as you. That’s our V, always prepared and ready to go. Or is it that you just can’t wait to get out of here?” She turns to look at me, smiling, her hazel eyes twinkling.

  “Are you kidding me? Leaving you guys is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  Gail wraps her arms around me and pulls me in to her. “You’ll be great. I’ve done all I can, and you know you’re ready for some coaches who can help you move up to the next level.”

  I lower my head. “I’m just not so sure if…”

  “Stop right there, V. This is the exact right move for you. We both know it. Now, don’t get me all upset. I’ve got a date tonight. Can’t be all pink-eyed and puffy-faced.”

  “Where are you and Jason going?”

  “Don’t know. It’s a surprise.”

  I don’t think Gail has ever been married, and I know she’s almost fifty. But we all like Jason, one of our local farriers, a lot. I wonder whether—hope, actually—my mom might find someone, someday soon. But I know how badly Lane crushed her, and I’m not sure she’ll ever give another guy a chance.

  “Will you go into the house and let Trudy out?” Gail asks. “Old girl needs some exercise. You’ll probably have to drag her off her doggie bed. I’ll be right in to give you a little gift.”

  I rub my hands together. “You got it.” I head up to the house, which is just back behind the barn and arenas. Opening the front door of the ranch-style house, I take a few steps inside and call out for Trudy, an ancient Jack Russell terrier. The house seems eerily quiet. Wonder what’s—

  “Surprise!” Kate, Mia, Austen, and the rest of the crew scream and scramble out from behind the couch, drapes, doors, even from under tables. Suddenly Gail is behind me, her hands on my shoulders.

  “What?” I squeal.

  “We couldn’t send you off without a party!” Mia says. Kate moves over to the stereo, and one of my favorite songs blares into the room.

  I see Austen standing in the background, a smirky smile across his dimpled face. He winks at me. He is wearing what he always wears when he wants to bug Gail and make me laugh.

  Oh, Austen.

  Austen Giles. My first major crush. And a major joker. And the outfit—boots, a T-shirt, and over his riding breeches a pair of boxers with Stewie from Family Guy on the, um… as Austen refers to it, the bonus area. He turns around and shows me the back view—it says “Boy Toy.” I walk over to him, and those irresistible dimples deepen, his blue eyes shine a little brighter. I am so going to miss this guy.

  “I’ve got something for you to remember me by, Vivvie.”

  “You do?”

  He takes off the boxers to a chorus of whistles and giggles. How can I not have a crush on Austen Giles? Good looking, funny, smart, but also my friend for so long that nothing’s ever really happened between us. And now he’s off to UC Davis and I am off to Fairmont. So our little flirtation will be left behind in Albany… for now.

  He hands me the boxers. “Wear them proudly.”

  “I doubt t
hat very seriously,” I reply and take the boxers from him. “But I will wear them.”

  The afternoon wears on with more laughs, good food, music, and sharing memories of horse shows, events, and fun times. But now it’s getting late, so I hug my friends, fight back the tears. We promise each other that Christmas break will be like none other when we can all be together again.

  Gail gives me one last hug and hands me a small green-wrapped box. Green is my color. As an eventer, we tend to pick a favorite color and in some way, shape, or form display it on ourselves or our horses during the cross-country phase. I have a green saddle pad and I wear a green helmet cover over my skullcap. As Mia and Kate stand there wearing goofy grins on their faces, I open up the box, and inside I find a silver charm bracelet with a charm that represents each one of my best friends. “Ice-cream cone for you?” I point to Mia.

  She nods, tears in her eyes, and moves in to hug me. “I am so gonna miss you. You have a blast down in Cali. Kick some ass out there for me!”

  I nod, speechless. This is so hard. I look back down at the bracelet and laugh when I see the octopus charm. “Kate mate!” We both laugh, remembering how we babysat Cole one night when he was only three, and we could not get him to stop crying for my mom. The only thing that got him to stop was Kate pretending to be an octopus. That’s the short version of the story, but trust me, it was hilarious.

  Ah, a charm with a pair of boxers. I smile at Austen. “How in the world did you find this?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” he replies, with his signature devilish grin.

  Finally, the charm from Gail is of a horse head, its eye is a green emerald. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Gail.”

  “Read the back,” she insists.

  I turn the bracelet over and read the inscription: We love you, V. Team Get ’er Done. I laugh through my tears. That was us—all of us. When each of us would head out on cross-country during an event, we’d always say in support, “Go get ’er done.”

  “God, I love you guys.”

  We have one last group hug, all of us getting a little weepy.

  Austen walks me out to my truck. “I want to give you something else,” he says as we reach the driver-side door.

  “I don’t know if I can take any more.” I laugh. “What is it?”

  “This.” He edges me back against the truck and kisses me. A non-buddy kind of kiss.

  Okay… I never thought—

  “That’s to be sure that you don’t forget me.”

  “I would never—nope.” I shake my head, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Right. I’ll see you at Christmas.” I climb into the truck and hope I can remember how to drive, knowing that I will not be forgetting Austen any time soon.

  CHAPTER three

  It is less than twenty-four hours later and I’ve officially decided that good-byes suck. I thought yesterday was hard, but it was nothing compared to this morning. I am usually much tougher than this. What’s the point in crying? I cried out most of my tears after Lane left us. At least I thought I had, until this morning.

  “Oh, Vivvie, don’t. Please,” Mom says. “You know, my eyes get all puffy and my nose gets all stuffed up and, well, just stop. You should be happy.” Mom tosses back her long auburn hair, which is a little darker than my own. She pushes mine back behind my shoulders, wipes my face, and tilts her head toward the stall door where Dean, my big bay Thoroughbred gelding, stands. His large brown eyes watch us. “I think someone wants to say good-bye.”

  I nod but am unable to look at him just yet. “I am happy. I mean, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I get that. It’s just—I’m going to miss you, Dean, sort of Grandma, and even Cole when I don’t have someone to hassle. And who is going to clean up after you? Your truck is worse than the inside of a barn.” I muster a semi-fake smile.

  “That’s my girl. Sarcastic, lovable, and all rolled up into one five-foot-three, talented-and-tough-as-nails young woman.”

  “Hillarie, it’s getting late! We don’t want her to miss her flight,” my grandmother yells from the front porch. Grandma will have my room redecorated before my flight lands at LAX. A thought that makes me cringe for many reasons. No more posters of my favorite riders—Steffen Peters, McClain Ward, Will Simpson, Karen O’Connor, and Gina Miles. Pretty sure she’ll also take down all of the ribbons I’ve won over the years, which I’ve strung across the top of the walls.

  But what bothers me most is that I know for a fact my grandmother will drive my mom crazy insane. Mom needs her while I’m away, though. With Mom having to make emergency calls in the middle of the night, someone besides our dogs has to be there for my brother. It had been me for the past few years. Grandma is all too eager to take my place. She loves to tell Mom her every thought about what needs to be done around the house, what kind of parent Mom should be, and on and on. Leaving my mom to deal with my grandma put a pang of guilt right in the center of my heart. Even though it is the best opportunity in the world.

  To be worth all of this, this opportunity had better land me a spot on Fairmont’s Young Equestrians team. Young Equestrians prepares hopefuls for the US Equestrian Team, which in turn creates Olympic-caliber riders. I will have my junior year to earn a place on the Fairmont team. After that, I’ll need to hold on to that position during my senior year and college career.

  The introduction letter I’d received from the academy stated: We at Fairmont Academy look forward to helping you take the first step in achieving your goal of becoming an Olympic rider. To me, that basically said it all.

  “Your grandma is right,” Mom says. “We better get on the ball, Shnoopy. Why don’t I leave you and Dean alone for a minute? And, remember, Vivvie, life is about living in the moment. This is your moment.”

  I nod. Since Lane left us, Mom has repeated that saying to me countless times. She claims it is in hopes of helping me be less intense and enjoy the moment—live in the moment. I am not always sure if when she says it, it’s for my benefit or hers. I have found that living in the moment is not always easy.

  I choke back my emotion. Poor Dean doesn’t need to see me fall apart. Before I can even look at him, I go first to the stall next to his and wrap my arms around my mom’s favorite horse, Bronte (although Mom would never admit that she has faves).

  We have four other horses on the property—Chance, Lucy Liu (our miniature), Bronte, and my Dean. All of them are rescues except for Dean. Chance has taught me a lot about trust. Lucy Liu has taught me a few things about determination and willpower. Bronte helps me see the good in everything. And Dean—well, Dean has taught me pretty much everything I know about life.

  I kiss Bronte on her nose. I know that the people who had her before she came to live at our house called her “stupid” and worse names than that. They never gave her any respect or love, and they certainly never favored her with her favorite treat, which just happens to be peppermints. Not the hard peppermint candies, but the butter ones that are soft. Dean prefers these apple cookie treats we buy, and Chance is strictly a carrot horse. Believe it or not, Lucy Liu adores potato chips—it’s about the salt, in her case. It is a strange favorite for a horse, but she adores chips. Her word, not mine. The peppermint is too strong for her palate. I know what everyone’s favorite treat is, and all sorts of other quirks, likes, and dislikes.

  Bronte nuzzles the top of my head, hot air coming through her nostrils. “Hey, cutie. I’m sorry, but with Ren coming down to ride Dean while I’m gone, you’re going to have to get used to that music she listens to. Trust me, I don’t like it any better than you do. Dean might like it, though. His taste in music isn’t as good as ours and Mom’s.”

  I laugh. That was another thing I’ll miss about our barn, our horses, and my mom—singing and dancing to music playing from inside the tack room. Our favorite has to be Taylor Swift. She can write and sing a love song! Granted it does seem as if the poor girl has had kind of her share of getting her heart stomped on. Something I want no part of—the heart-stompin
g thing. Nope. My mind flashes to yesterday and Austen, and that kiss.

  “I’ll e-mail Ren and tell her to broaden her musical horizons,” I tell her. Ren is my twelve-year-old cousin. She lives up the street, and for years she’s been wanting to ride Dean. “But you better take care of Mom. Don’t let her get too stressed out with Grandma. She’s going to need you.” I trace the stripe down her face. The mare brushes the side of her face against mine. A picture of her nuzzling my mother comes to mind, followed by one of my cousin Ren feeding her the peppermint treats.

  Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of your mother. I can handle the music. All I need are some peppermints.

  I scratch between her eyes.

  I love that. I’ll miss that.

  A tightness forms in my chest. “I’ll tell Ren to be sure she scratches you right there.”

  Thank you. You’re a good girl.

  “I got you fooled.” I laugh.

  Okay, so here comes the not-normal part about me—I have this gift or ability or skill. Ever since I can remember, since my mother started taking me on vet calls with her when I was, like, five, I can talk to horses… and they talk back. No, they don’t actually open their mouths and speak to me like I would to my mom or a friend. I can read their minds and sense their emotions. They usually show me what they are thinking or feeling in pictures—like in photos or even a movie. Sometimes I can actually feel their pain, grief, even joy, in a physical sense. And I can translate all of that into words.

  I work hard to pay attention to what they are saying, and I’ve kind of given them voices. I know that Bronte’s voice sounds sweet, gentle, almost little-girl-like. Somehow it’s easy for me to not only see what they want me to see but also hear what they want me to hear.

  I know it sounds strange, but it’s true. Thus, my occasional outings with Mom on a call. I’ve saved a few horses from early death, just like Summer. That’s not to sound conceited. It’s just a fact, but it isn’t a fact I share with others—not even with Gail, Mia, Kate, or Austen. Only Mom knows. If anyone found out that I can actually telepathically communicate with these amazing animals, well, I might be locked away in some mental hospital. That would definitely suck. At the very least, I believe I wouldn’t exactly be popular in the way most seventeen-year-old girls want to be popular. Not that I’m all that popular, but I do plan to keep the friends I have. So I do my best to make sure no one knows that I’m a regular Dr. Doolittle. But it’s only with horses—kind of makes it even weirder. I mean I’d think that if I could talk with horses that I could talk with other animals, but nope. Nothing. I get zip from dogs, cats, rabbits, whatever. It’s just me and the horses.