Join the Dance (Dancing With Horses Book 2) Read online

  Join

  the

  Dance

  By Toni Mari

  Text copyright @ 2014 Toni Mari

  All Rights Reserved

  What readers are saying about the author:

  Toni Mari

  ... I look forward to more books by this author ... -Erin Woods

  ...I would love to read more about these characters and find out more about the world of dressage... -Karen Roundtree

  ...The writer’s style pulls you into the story... Melinda

  ...the writing style made me feel like each time Jane was going for a ride, so was I... -Katie M.

  Chapter One

  Teamwork? More like slavery! This was the second time Kate had sent me on the million-mile walk to the secretary’s stand, this time to retrieve a missing bridle number for one of the peewee riders from our barn. I still had to braid Windsong’s mane, polish my boots, get dressed, and—to have a chance at a decent score—warm him up properly before my class. I was here at this horse show for one reason: to get on the team for the North American Junior Team Championships. Only the top four qualifiers made it, and I wasn’t going to let someone else’s problems stop me.

  When I complained to Kate, my trainer, that I wouldn’t have enough time to prepare for my class, wasn’t there someone else who could go, she lectured me on teamwork. As a trainer for many students of different levels, Kate was big on everyone helping everyone else at the shows. And just because I was the most advanced rider she taught didn’t mean I was above helping, she informed me. Then I received the Kate glare.

  So, I hustled up the stony path toward the show rings, grumbling to myself about disorganized packets and ridiculously big show venues. Strolling spectators blocked my mad dash as I rounded the barns, so I ducked off the crowded driveway onto the grass next to the show arenas. The secretary stand seemed eons away, clumped together with vendor tents and food stands at the end of the road. I had to pass a pair of sixty-meter-long show rings to get to it.

  I wiped my brow, breaking a sweat despite the cool March morning. The brisk air must have gotten under the tail of the horse in the ring I was passing. The sturdy golden-brown pony tossed his head and took off galloping. The young girl tightened the reins, trying to stop him. Then he put his head between his knees, and the little fiend yanked on the bit, tugging hard on the rider’s arms. Her body was pulled forward and her feet slipped out of the stirrups, banging the pony’s sides. She clutched the front of the saddle as he humped his back, threatening to buck. The kid, maybe eleven or twelve years old, flopped like a ragdoll in a dog’s mouth. The pony veered around the corner of the arena, never slowing, and the girl tipped sideways. Her grip on the saddle wasn’t going to last.

  I stopped, wincing with every lurch of his stride. No one else on this side of the ring was paying any attention to the dangerous situation. I was the closest to the pair, and I knew that look on the rider’s face. Although it would take more time, I bolted over the board fence and ran to intercept the pony, but he dodged around me. At that moment, the girl let go and flew off to the side. Her body landed with a soft thump in the sand. With a shudder, I knelt beside her.

  She was lying on her side with her knees bent, her face half in the dirt, and her helmet pushed back on her head.

  “Does anything hurt?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to touch her in case she had a serious injury.

  Her eyes popped open, glistening with tears. She pushed herself to a sitting position, and her small face scrunched in rage. “I am going to kill him! Tucker can be so mean,” she growled.

  “Don’t move!” I put my hand on her arm. “You could be hurt.”

  Two adults jogged across the arena toward us. One headed off to grab the feisty pony, and the other woman loomed closer. Despite the concern clouding her face, I recognized her.

  My mouth fell open. I spun back toward the girl. “What is Erica Flame doing here?” I whispered.

  The little rider’s frown deepened and tears slipped down her face. “Mom!” she wailed, looking past me.

  International dressage star, two-time Olympian, and renowned animal advocate Erica Flame plopped down into the sand and scooped the girl into her arms. “You’re okay, aren’t you, Mandy Girl?”

  “I guess I’m okay. Tucker is such a beast.” Mandy wiped her nose with her sleeve.

  “Yeah, he was a little bad. You tried real hard though. Sometimes that’s how it is with horses.”

  I had seen her picture in a million magazines. Heck, I even had a poster of her and her incredible horse, Santos, on my bedroom wall. I self-consciously stood and dusted sand from my knees.

  Erica pulled Mandy up, straightened her helmet, and turned the little girl toward the pony. “Go get Tucker.” Looking back at me, she held out a hand. “I’m Erica. Thanks for helping.”

  I stared at her hand. That was Erica Flame’s hand. Erica Flame was speaking to me. I had a brief thought of snapping a picture with my cell phone.

  “Umm, what’s your name?” Erica waved her hand.

  I grabbed her hand in both of mine. “Fan. I’m your biggest Jane. I mean, I’m Jane, your biggest Mitchell. I mean, Jane Mitchell, a fan.”

  An amused smile spread across her face. “Well, thank you, Jane Mitchell. Maybe we’ll see you later.” She turned and followed her daughter and the other woman leading the pony.

  I gazed after her, pressing my lips onto my clasped hands.

  “Move it!” The next rider in the ring yelled as she passed on her horse.

  Surprised, I stumbled backward, catching myself on the fence and then slowly climbed over and started walking. I glanced at my watch and groaned. How fast could I get my feet moving now?

  At the secretary’s stand, I leaned two hands on the table while a woman searched a multipage list on a clipboard.

  With a small shake of her head, she asked, “What did you say your name was again?”

  I stood up straight. “Jane Mitchell, but my name doesn’t matter. I need the number for Ashley Summer, and Monster.”

  “Summer, that’s with an S, right?” She flipped a few more pages.

  Massaging the back of my neck with one hand, I told myself to be patient. “Yes, S-u-m-m-e-r. Can’t you just draw the number on the back of another one with a black marker? The kid can’t get into the warm-up ring without a number, and she’s running out of time.” The last part came out sort of loud, and the lady’s head snapped up. I gave a sheepish grin. “Please.”

  She slowly picked up a large plastic box of cardboard number badges and rummaged in it. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing back off the table and looking at my watch. I tapped my foot with frustration.

  A rider wearing designer form-fitting breeches and an expensive-looking brocade vest strode up the path toward the secretary stand, her red pony tail swinging jauntily behind her. As her head turned, I spun around with a groan, hoping she wouldn’t spot me.

  Great. Melinda Kratz. I braced myself for one of her stinging comments. She made a habit of tormenting me every chance she got. We both were trying to make the North American Junior Team, and Melinda regularly beat me in our classes. But at the last qualifying show—for the first time ever—I had beaten her. There was no telling how bad her attitude would be now.

  Her nasal voice rang out above the noise of the show. “Hi, Jumping Jane. You ready for our class today? How is Wacko Windsong?” She laughed, obviously finding herself amusing.

  “Of course I’m ready. Windsong is better than ever,” I said coolly. Banging my hand on my thigh in a frantic rhythm, I listed the things I had left to do in my mind. I slid a frustrated look at the lady with the numbers. Man, she was slo
w. If she wasn’t a volunteer, I would suggest someone fire her. I looked at my watch again. Why couldn’t have Ashley’s mom come to get this number? Windsong was like a Mexican jumping bean on a good day, and I needed to ride the nervous energy out of him before he would concentrate on our dressage test. Otherwise, I would look like Erica Flame’s daughter, bouncing like a beach ball in the dirt if I didn’t have time to warm up.

  Melinda eyed me slyly. “You know I am going to beat you today? The last show was just a fluke. Belvedere had a bad day. You better hope Wacky Windsong actually goes around the ring because the rest of last year’s team is here, and your chances of beating them are slim to none.”

  “So.” I shrugged and pressed my lips together. Great. I was riding against last year’s team and I was barely going to have time for a warm-up.

  She lifted her snooty nose as she took her envelope from the efficient volunteer, who hadn’t needed to ask her name. The woman waited for a word of praise, but Melinda just grabbed the packet and smirked as she spun and walked away.

  I rolled my eyes and looked sympathetically at the volunteer behind the table. She gave me a flinty glare and turned to the next person in line. My jaw dropped.

  “Miss. Hello? Miss!” My volunteer held out the number I needed.

  I snatched it from her hands. “Thanks.” I whirled around and bumped smack into a solid chest, feeling a nose bend against my forehead.

  “Oof!” His hands tightened on my arms, pushing me back a step. My gaze swept up his body. I tipped my head up and met friendly brown eyes.

  Rubbing his nose, he smiled at me behind his hand. His deep tan accented his almost white, spiky hair. I could easily picture his surfer dude looks in a pair of swim trunks instead of the white breeches he wore so well. “Easy, girl. Are you trying to put me out of the competition?”

  I looked up at him a second longer, slowly shaking my head. “I’m late,” I mumbled, struggling to tear my eyes away.

  He cocked an eyebrow when I didn’t move. “Well, you better get a move on,” he said, taking a tiny step to the side.

  “Right.” I brushed past him but couldn’t help but look back over my shoulder. He was watching me. His grin broadened when our eyes met. I turned and rushed ahead. I really had to make up time.

  #

  Chapter Two

  I snapped the last rubber band into place on Windsong’s mane and leaned back to observe my work. The braids were lumpy and pieces of hair stuck out in odd directions. There was no time to fix them. I needed to get changed and get on him because my class was in less than an hour.

  Kate and the other students had not yet returned from their earlier classes. I didn’t have time to wait for them; I had to get changed even with the possibility that Windsong would break loose if he couldn’t see or hear me for two seconds. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that I had to chase him around a show grounds, but I sent a silent prayer to the heavens that he would behave while I was inside the trailer’s living quarters. Maybe if I left the screen door open, I could change into my show gear and still be able to keep an eye on the unpredictable beast.

  Windsong munched hay and watched me through the window. “You are the only guy other than Cory who is allowed to see me getting changed,” I muttered as I pulled on my clean, white breeches. This would be a lot easier if Cory were here helping me, I mused—not the getting changed part, the getting Windsong ready part. I stripped off my t-shirt and reached for my show shirt. Although, maybe I would like his help with this getting changed part. Windsong stepped away from the doorway and disappeared from view. “Windsong, come back here. What is it?” I let go of my shirt to peek out the door. Please don’t let him run away. “Windsong?”

  A voice startled me back into the trailer. “Hello?” The guy from the secretary’s stand ducked under Windsong’s neck. I crossed my arms over my half-naked chest, looking frantically for my shirt.

  “Oh, hello.” Surfer boy’s hand was raised, as if to knock, a slow smile spreading across his face. He brazenly enjoyed the view. “Nice.”

  “Ahh!” I screeched, snatching up my shirt and spinning around. As I tugged it down, the fabric caught on my hair bun. “Dammit.” I reached back to untangle it, painfully pulling on my hair. “Ow.” When I checked it in the mirror, I groaned at the loosened wisps. There wasn’t time to redo the whole thing. “Fine,” I said under my breath. “Windsong and I will match.”

  “Are you coming out?”

  I jumped. I had almost forgotten him. What was he doing here? Who was he? I pushed the screen door open and stepped down as I tucked in my shirt and buckled my belt. “You could have at least turned around,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jane. That’s nothing between friends and, maybe, teammates.”

  Pausing on the step, I squinted. “How do you know me?”

  His chocolate brown eyes sparkled as he stepped over and lifted one long, tanned arm to stroke Windsong’s neck. His short-sleeved shirt was open at the collar, revealing a patch of bronzed skin. It reminded me of how solid his chest had felt. Sunglasses perched on top of his bleached movie star hair. He must spend quite a bit of time at the salon, unlike me with my dirty blond locks; I had only a few highlights. He was a few inches taller than me and almost skinnier. Well, narrow-hipped would describe it better. He did look good in tight breeches.

  With easy confidence, he explained, “Melinda. She called you ‘Jane,’ and I put two and two together and figured out you were the Jane Mitchell that qualified. I qualified too.” He said the last part it as if I should know who he was.

  I stepped down and eased past him, avoiding any contact with his chiseled chest. In preparation for this show, I hadn’t had time to actually look up the names of the other kids who declared their bids for the team. There was a list online of the rider–horse combinations and their ranking according to the scores they had all achieved so far during the qualifying period. I had no idea who this person stroking my horse was.

  I sat in a chair to pull on my boots. The uncomfortable silence heated my face. Why didn’t he just say his name? I gritted my teeth. This was doing my nerves no good.

  At last he said, “Shawn? Shawn Delaney,” and looked at me like I was an idiot for not knowing.

  Nodding with a big fake smile, I said, “Of course. Shawn. Hi. I’m sorry, I had a tough morning and am trying to get ready for my class. I wasn’t really thinking. Are you riding today too?” Argh, dumb question! He had on show breeches, didn’t he?

  “Sure, I go in after you.”

  Mental head slap. I hadn’t even looked at today’s lineup. He didn’t seem pleased that I didn’t know any of this already. “I am a little out of it. My life has been crazy lately,” I said, trying to explain away my ignorance. After being apart for almost a year, my boyfriend, Cory, and I had reunited and spent these last several weeks barely thinking of anything but each other. “Congratulations on qualifying.”

  He looked at me like I was too dumb to be here. “Thanks, but it was kind of a given. I was on the team last year, just on a different horse, and Donner is a much better horse than Firenza ever was. Melinda and I were on the team together.”

  I stood, smoothing a hand over Windsong’s withers as I bent under his neck. “Right. Well, it was great meeting you, and I look forward to being on the team with you.”

  Walking behind Windsong, he followed me. “You only qualified. You aren’t on the team yet. Only the top four in the rankings are chosen for the team, with one alternate. Your scores today are still important.” With a seductive smile, he lowered his voice and stepped closer. “But I’m hoping you do well today and make it on the team with me. I’d really like that.”

  Really! I stared at him with my mouth slightly open, at a momentary loss. Did he want me on the team because he clearly knew he could beat me? Or was he pulling a Melinda and trying to frazzle me? As I continued to stare, his eyebrows drifted up and he grinned. His beautiful lips settled into a soft, inviting smile.
I snapped my mouth shut and whirled around to climb into the tack room. He wanted me on the team so he could flirt with me, I guess.

  Focus. Do not listen to that hot guy. Just me and Windsong. And Cory. Cory! Think of Cory, think of Cory’s fierce blue eyes, his soft, curly hair, the warmth of his smooth skin, the feel of his arms around me. I pulled my saddle and pad from the rack and jumped out of the trailer.

  Windsong’s shiny deep brown eyes regarded me, ears pointing straight forward. He watched my every move as his shoulder twitched, annoyed, as if Shawn’s fingers were a fly that had landed on him. He lifted a foreleg to paw the air in slow motion.

  Shawn leaned casually against Windsong’s ribs, studying me.

  My cheeks heated at the frank interest in his gaze. I raised the saddle as a shield between us, nearly hitting him in the chest with it. “Umm, I’ll need to tack up if I plan on getting any score at all.”

  The pearly white teeth beamed at me as he pulled his sunglasses down, grinning. He shifted to the side, brushing against my arm as he stepped out of the way. “Yeah, well, like I said, good luck. I’ll be hoping to see you move up in the rankings.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” I muttered, adjusting the saddle pad under the saddle and pointedly not watching Shawn saunter away. “Hmph. Me and you, Windsong. He doesn’t scare us. He’s the one going to need the luck to beat us.”

  Kate caught up to me outside of the warm-up ring. “Go on in,” she said.

  Melinda cantered Belvedere past the gate, with barely a glance at me. Then Shawn trotted by riding a long-legged coppery bay gelding. As the horse floated past, I took a second look. Shawn’s furrowed brow and formal posture bore no resemblance to the demeanor of the casual flirt I had met earlier. My stomach dropped, I was nuts to think I could compete with these riders.

  “Jane, go in. You only have about fifteen minutes as it is.” Kate clutched Windsong’s bridle and tugged him forward.