Hunter Derby: (Show Circuit Series -- Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

which wasn’t a horse show car at all. Most riders drove SUVs to fit all their horse stuff and their dogs.
    Zoe climbed in the passenger seat. The inside of the car was all gleaming leather. In a car like his, she could almost forget about the state of her life.
    Of course any real horse person had a car that was covered in dog hair, tack, and saddle pads. But Morgan wasn’t a real horse person. He could ride—that was for sure. He had talent and he won plenty of big classes. But he wasn’t an in-the-trenches rider. He was the meet-the-horse-at-the-ring kind.
    “You look hot,” were the first words out of his mouth.
    “Thank you,” Zoe said, leaning back into the cool of the leather.
    “What’s going on?” he asked. He acted like they’d just hung out a few days ago, not like they hadn’t seen each other, or even talked, in weeks.
    Zoe tried to roll with it. “Not much. Rode a whole bunch today.”
    A whole bunch was an exaggeration. In her old life, she was used to riding eight or ten horses a day.
    “Where are you working again?” Morgan said.
    “For Linda Maro—Morada Bay.”
    She certainly wasn’t going to mention anything about Narrow Lane. She assumed Morgan vaguely knew she had been in outpatient treatment and about the saddle stealing, but she wasn’t going to bring it up. It must not have bothered him, or he wouldn’t be taking her to the game.
    “Right. Nice place,” Morgan said.
    “Oh, you know it?”
    “We looked at it before we bought our place. It was a little too small. It’s only six acres, right?”
    “I don’t know the exact number,” Zoe said.
    “It was too small,” he said.
    “How about you?” Zoe asked. “What did you do today?”
    Morgan went on and on about his work with the team. Zoe tried to be interested. Maybe it was interesting but Morgan somehow made it seem boring. It was all about numbers and licensing deals. It had nothing to do with the players or the game.
    He turned on music and it was nearly too loud to talk over, which was fine with her. He drove too fast, jockeying in and out of lanes on 95, trying to get an edge on all the other drivers but, Zoe noticed, ending up pretty much even with cars he’d passed a few miles earlier.
    Intellectually she knew his driving was downright stupid but as he floored the engine and darted ahead of a car, her stomach fluttered. She gripped the sides of the seat and thought about later that night when they’d inevitably have sex. She thought of his body against hers.
    They pulled up to the ballpark. As others went to great lengths to find parking or overpaid to park in a lot, Morgan turned into the owners’ and players’ lot. Here, his Porsche fit right in next to the Maseratis and BMWs, with the exception of the occasional pick-up truck of the redneck ballplayer that would have fit in more at a horse show than Morgan’s car.
    Morgan made a joke about how much parking cost for him. “100 Million and you get the best spot in the park. Such a bargain.”
    Everyone knew Morgan—the parking attendant, the security guards, the ticket-takers. They called him Mr. Cleary. Zoe loved how it felt to be with him. It reminded her of how she used to feel at the shows as a junior: important, belonging to the privileged class, nearly worshipped. When she used to go in the ring, it felt like the whole show stopped to watch her. She missed that feeling more than she could have ever imagined and for the moment figured she’d have to just enjoy a slice of it from being with Morgan.
    Morgan was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt and next to him Zoe began to feel slightly self-conscious about her clothing choice. She had assumed they’d be passing through the main turnstiles into the ballpark like any other fan, which now—as they wound their way through the air-conditioned back office hallways of the park—she realized was completely stupid.
    She had only ever been to a few ball games, most of them minor league games. One time