Authors: Miranda Kenneally
The bell rings and the gates crash open.
Star blasts off. It’s a clean break out of the gate. We shoot to the front along with two other horses.
“Go!” I shout, holding on tighter than ever before. The nine sets of hooves slamming the grass sound like a train speeding away with my heart.
I glance to my right and left. Sergeant Major, a speed horse, is right next to me. He’ll lose his energy soon—I can already hear the colt huffing and puffing. On my left is Lazy Monday, who has good endurance. I’ve gotta make sure Star doesn’t get too tired, too fast, so I ease up a little on the first turn.
On the backstretch, I move up on the outside. For a moment, we take the lead. Then in a blink of an eye we’re back in the third position. But as I’m entering the final turn, a colt named Winning Waves sneaks up on the inside. He bolts past me. Dirt from a mud hole splatters on my face and chest.
“Come on,” I urge Star. He gradually increases his speed, but he’s losing his breath. We begin to pass Winning Waves. The horses are neck and neck.
On the home stretch, we’re fighting against Winning Waves. Two other horses are in front of us. The crowd is going wild. Cheering. Clapping. I’m loving the rush. “Go, Star! Hurry up!”
I cross over the finish line right before Winning Waves. A horse named Gina’s George is announced as the winner.
We lost by two lengths! Damn.
But we came in third place. Star has never done that before.
I hug his neck. “Good boy, Star. Good boy.” He nickers and sighs.
I make my way over to the scoreboard to check our time. Reporters snap photos of me and I grin as I push my goggles up on top of my helmet. Third isn’t bad for my first race. Then I see my official time on the scoreboard. My practice this morning was faster by three seconds. I rub my eye and take a deep breath, working to swallow the disappointment.
Third
is
good
, I remind myself. But will Jack be angry?
Over at the paddock, Rory is smiling as he reaches out to take the reins and control of the horse, and the next thing I know, Jack is pulling me down and wrapping me in a tight hug as more photographers take my picture.
“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
I bury my face against his chest, laughing, getting dirt all over his suit. We spin around in a circle and I’ve never felt so close to another person, not even when we were kissing.
I love that we worked together to make this happen. I’ve never felt so strong, like I could lift a boulder. Like I could do magic.
“I want you to be my jockey in the Dixiana Derby.”
“Shit, for real?” I exclaim. That’s only like three weeks away. It’s a huge race at Paradise Park with a half a million dollar purse!
“I do,” Jack says. I leap into his arms and we jump around like kids during recess.
“Jack,” Mr. Goodwin says loudly. “We all want to talk to Savannah.”
Jack releases me and grins. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that our fathers are actually smiling. Wait. We were just hugging like crazy, and they aren’t freaking out?
“Let’s go see your mother, son.” Mr. Goodwin leads Jack toward the bleachers. He and I look back at each other, beaming.
“You did good, Shortcake,” Dad says, squeezing me close to him. “I wish your mom could’ve seen it.”
I wrap an arm around Dad’s waist, get up on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek.
I came in third friggin’ place.
Hell. Yeah.
Church bells ring at Westwood Chapel for Will Whitfield’s wedding.
Rory, his younger brother Trey, and two other guys I don’t recognize dressed in tuxedos are serving as ushers, seating the female guests.
“Wow, you look great,” Rory says, sticking an elbow out. “I’m glad you got all that mud off your face.”
“You ass.”
“You aren’t supposed to say ass in church, S.”
Smiling, I take his arm and let him escort me to a pew. I’m still giddy from the race a few hours ago. I’m on such a high, I feel like I could slam dunk a basketball. Jack wants me to be his jockey in the Dixiana Derby!
Along with an ace bandage to mask the hideous bruise on my shin, I wore a green silk dress that belonged to my mother. It’s really beautiful and not mom-style at all.
The Goodwins sit a few rows in front of me. Jack sits between his mother and Shelby with his arms stretched around them across the pew.
I run my fingers over the beige wedding program laced with blue ribbon. It reads:
Parker
Anne
Shelton
+ William Connor Whitfield
Vanessa walks into the church and looks around, clutching her wedding program. I wave at her then pat the seat next to me. One of the ushers—a guy with loose curly blond hair that reaches his shoulders—sees Vanessa and gives her a big hug before escorting her to my row.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you,” she whispers, rolling and unrolling her wedding program. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”
“Why not?”
“I mean, Rory invited me, but it’s not like we’ve been going out all that long. I haven’t met his parents yet.”
“It’s fine—his family will love you. Besides, I just met Rory, like, a month ago, and they invited me. Who was that guy who you hugged? The super hot one.”
“Oh,” Vanessa says with a smile. “That’s Sam Henry. He played football with my brother in high school—but don’t even think about going after him. He was single for like a year, but he’s very much taken again now.”
Will steps out in front of the crowd. A few guys whoop at him, and he pumps his fist, making a lot of the little old ladies in the congregation gasp in horror.
“Oh my God, Will is so hot,” Vanessa mutters to me. “Maybe when the minister asks if anyone objects to this union, I’ll jump up and down and holler a lot.”
“I bet Will’s fiancé would tackle you.”
“True.”
“Rory would probably tackle you too.”
“I wish.” She fans herself with the wedding program.
Rory joins Will at the altar; he keeps patting his breast pocket every three seconds—I guess he’s terrified he’ll lose the rings, and if I were Will, I’d be a bit worried about that too.
Instead of organ music, a guitarist begins playing and a beautiful girl with long black hair starts down the aisle, being escorted by a man. They both stop on Parker’s side of the aisle, and the guy doesn’t sit down or move to Will’s side. I open my wedding program. A girl named Kate Kelly is Maid of Honor. And for some reason a guy named Drew Bates is a bridesmaid…? I giggle, loving that she has a guy bridesmaid dressed in a tux.
“Rory looks nice,” I tell Vanessa.
“Agreed. He should wear tuxes all the time.”
“Even on the farm?”
“Even on the farm.”
Suddenly everybody stands and we turn to watch Parker walk down the aisle, carrying a handful of wildflowers. Her creamy dress is very simple and made of lace. It has short, capped sleeves and hangs above her knees. When I get married, I don’t want anything extravagant—I want a dress just like that. She’s not wearing a veil and her long messy brown hair reaches her waist and is all over the place. Will beams and looks like he might cry.
The ceremony is short, but hilarious. Rory, of course, misplaces the rings and spends over a minute searching his pockets. Parker and Will don’t seem to care, as he cups her face, laughing. They never stop smiling, even when the minister accidentally calls Will “Bill.”
And then it’s suddenly over with a “You may now kiss the bride” and for some God awful reason, Rory yells “Get ’er done,” which makes Vanessa bury her face in her palms. The guys in the congregation leap to their feet and cheer and basically act like a pack of hooligan monkeys.
Rory and I ride in Vanessa’s Mercedes to the reception in the Whitfields’ backyard. Glittering lights hang inside a big white tent and tea lights dot the tables. They serve fried chicken and mac ’n’ cheese and lots of other yummy foods on the buffet. An awesome band plays rock music as people alternate between eating and dancing. If I ever get married, I want a wedding just like this.
There really are, like, eight thousand male Whitfield cousins here. With all the floppy brown hair, it’s like a boy band convention, and a bunch of them want to meet me, the “girl horse jockey.”
Rory sneaks two entire bottles of champagne over to us and smuggles the evidence under the table. He and Vanessa start drinking the champagne, giggling like crazy as they feed each other bits of food. I accept a tiny bit of champagne—I don’t want to mess up my training tomorrow morning with a hangover.
Rory and Vanessa keep stealing kisses and somehow end up snuggling under the table with their contraband champagne—and with the options being 1) sit alone at our table, 2) sneak under the table with them (awkward!), or 3) get the hell out of Dodge, I find myself outside, circling the dinner tent, looking back and forth between the dancing and the stars.
The beautiful Maid of Honor is dancing closely with a guy who dared to wear flip flops. A ginormous engagement ring glimmers on her hand. I wish my life could be that perfect. Will and Parker are swaying right next to the couple, laughing and talking to them. The hot usher, Sam Henry, is dancing nearby with an extremely tall blond girl. She looks very much absorbed with the hot usher. For good reason.
Jack is dancing with his mother, twirling her around. I gaze over to Mr. Goodwin’s table to discover him sneaking a hot dog while his wife is busy. It’s like Jack knows I’m thinking of him, because he looks over his mom’s shoulder, gazing at me. Scanning me up and down, studying my forest-green silk dress. He slowly starts to smile and holds up his pointer finger, telling me to wait.
What’s that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to wait for?
That’s when Will Whitfield jogs up and I hug him and tell him congrats.
“Have you seen Rory?” he asks, scanning the tent. “It’s nearly time for the toasts.”
“Uh, you might check under that table over there. He’s drinking champagne with Vanessa Green.”
Will’s mouth forms an O. “Maybe we won’t have a toast from him then.”
“That’s probably a good idea. It’d probably just be a repeat of ‘Get ’er done!’”
“My mom is gonna kill him for that.”
“Who’s that couple who was dancing with you and Parker? The beautiful maid of honor girl.”
Will looks over his shoulder at them. “Parker’s best friend, Kate, and her fiancé. We’ve been friends with them for years. Since right after high school, actually.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s funny. I nearly went to prom with Kate, but I liked Parker more. I can’t imagine what life would be like if I’d made a different choice. It would’ve been so easy…but so wrong, you know?”
I nod, feeling my eyes burn. It’s like that Robert Frost poem I read in Mom’s
Compendium
of
Poetry
book.
Two
roads
diverged
in
a
yellow
wood
…The narrator had to choose which path to take—just like we all do.
An older guy, one of the eight thousand Whitfield cousins, approaches, smiling.
“This is my cousin, Alex.”
“Hey,” the guy says, shaking my hand. “I’m about to take Meemaw home,” he tells Will and gives him a guy hug. “Congrats.”
“By the way,” Will says to me, “there’s a new litter of Springer spaniel puppies in Tanglewood barn. They were born just this morning to my dog, Ash. Maybe one of them will like you,” he says with a chuckle before heading back over to his new wife. His cousin Alex smiles at me. A genuine, sweet smile.
“I wish I could stay for a dance with you, but Meemaw is getting tired. I’m her ride.”
“Aw, that’s cute.”
“You know what they say—
grandmas
before
girls
.”
We laugh together and he glances at his watch.
“I really do want to stay…”
“Next time,” I reply, and he’s gone before I could even flirt with him. As he walks away, he glances back over his shoulder at me.
I must have the worst luck of all time. Dancing with that guy would’ve been awesome. Because
damn
. Right when I decide to go check out the cupcakes at the dessert table, Jack appears outside the tent.
“Who was that guy?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
“One of the eight thousand Whitfield cousins.”
Jack laughs and drags a hand through his hair. “So…want to dance?”
My heart stops. “With me?”
“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “We need to celebrate your work with Star today.”
Is that what Mr. Serious told his parents or something?
I shrug and let him pull me into his arms. On the outskirts of the dance floor, he and I sway together with an ocean of space between us. This is the most. Chaste. Dance. Ever. He’s not looking at me directly, but I can still feel his hands shaking on my waist. His labored breathing gives away how nervous and excited he is. Even if he’s pretending to not be interested in me, I can tell he is.
“You look pretty tonight,” he says quietly, moving a tiny bit closer to me. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last Saturday, you know, at Miller’s Hollow?”
I suck in a deep breath. This feels like a trap. A trap I kind of want to get caught in.
Two
roads
diverged
in
a
yellow
wood
…
Earlier today, our fathers didn’t freak out when we were hugging after the race. Maybe us being together would just take some getting used to. But maybe it’s not completely off the table…? I mean, nobody seems interested in the fact that we’re dancing together now. Except for the eight thousand Whitfield cousins who want to talk to the
girl
horse
jockey
.
As I’m swaying in Jack’s arms, there’s only one road I want to take. The road with him standing at the end. And it’s not the easy road. I decide to be bold, to take the curvy, pothole-filled path. “I heard the Whitfields have a new litter of puppies in Tanglewood barn. Want to go look?”
A smile leaps across his face. “Get a head start. I’ll meet you there in a few.”
Without another word, I hustle over to the Whitfields’ barn, my heels getting stuck in muddy divots. I follow the sounds of crying and barking, which I can barely hear over the band’s music ringing across the countryside.
I find the dogs in a nest behind a toolbox, and when I see them nursing from the mama dog, I let out a low squeal. “Oh my gosh, you’re so cute.”
Not even a minute later, Jack appears in the barn doorway. He stops to light a lantern and carries it toward me. I instinctively take a step back then stop.
I swallow. “You actually came.”
“All you had to say was puppies,” he replies with a soft smile, kneeling to the ground.
“They aren’t even twenty-four hours old yet,” I say, squatting next to Ash’s little nest she dug out. A puppy chirps, and the mama dog moves to lick it. Seeing how much she loves her babies makes my chest hurt. Love is so simple, but so complicated sometimes.
I pet the brown and white dog’s ears. “You did such a good job, Ash.” The exhausted dog looks up into my eyes.
“She did, didn’t she?” Jack says. “What are there? Twelve babies there?”
The nursing puppies are all tangled together, wriggling and whining. “I think so.”
A slow rock song blares from the wedding tent. I must have a wistful look on my face when I gaze in the direction of the band, because Jack takes my elbow and gently lifts me to my feet.
“Dance with me.” He pulls me up against his chest, close enough that I can hear the rapid beat of his heart through his cotton button-down shirt. This dance is decidedly not chaste. Burying his face in my neck, he runs fingertips up and down my arms, melting my skin, making my toes curl.
“The wedding was beautiful,” I say. “I liked dancing in the tent with all the candles and sparkling lights.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack murmurs, swaying slowly. “I prefer this. It’s quiet and private. Not to mention puppies are present.”
He lifts my chin with two fingers and softly presses a kiss to my lips, and it feels so right it’s wrong, so wrong it’s right. I pull back, touching my mouth.
“What if someone’s watching?” I say, my eyes darting around.
“Who’s gonna see us?” He looks around the barn. “Charlie the mule? George Washington the duck? Ash the dog? I doubt Ash will notice us. She’s got twelve babies to deal with. And ducks and mules are generally stupid. But you’re right, James the pig will probably say something.”
That makes me laugh.
“I want to show you a secret,” he murmurs, slipping a hand onto my lower back. The heat from his skin burns through my dress.
“Show me,” I demand, and he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the barn toward Cedar Hill. We jog together under the moonlight, laughing. Well, it’s not so much jogging as it is him pulling me across the grass. I stop for a sec to take my strappy heels off.
We end up about a hundred yards from the manor house where Jack approaches an ancient oak tree and shows me the trap door beside it. “Wait till you see where it goes.”
He lifts opens the door, we descend a ladder, and soon I find myself in a long tunnel. Thank God Jack lights a lantern, because otherwise I’d be spooked the hell out.
“My ancestors used this as part of the Underground Railroad.” The pride in his voice is sure.
“And now you’re using it to sneak a girl into the house and into your room?”