The First Practice

                                    

                                          
By Sunday morning, I was starting to get used to waking up at stupid o’clock, so I was at the stables well before seven, even having stopped at the dining hall to grab an apple and yogurt to eat on the way. Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly hungry. I was nervous to be joining today’s practice. Really nervous.
                          
Not only was the pressure on to perform, since Brady had exempted me from tryouts, sight unseen, but I was seeing him for the first time since that night I’d signed up. And today, I wouldn’t be seeing him as Brady, the friendly stable boy; I’d be seeing him as Coach Fleming, instructor and Olympian.
                          
My five blue ribbons felt really lame and insignificant next to what must have been a whole case full of trophies and ribbons. Maybe two trophy cases. And then I thought of what Emmie had said about him being delicious, which made me even more nervous. Because he was, and that he was an Olympian made him just a tiny bit more attractive.
                          
I made my way over to the stables, hearing voices as I approached, wishing I’d come earlier. I’d always enjoyed helping getting the horses ready; it always seemed to secure the bond between horse and rider. Or at least feel each other's mood out before getting into the arena. Being in sync was so important in riding, especially dressage.
                          
The big doors were open, exposing the center aisle of the stable on both ends.
                          
That’s when I first saw Coach Fleming. He stood, helping another student saddle Poppy who was secured in the crossties. And as though he heard me taking him in from his long boots to his tight breeches, navy polo shirt and up to his ruffled black hair, he lifted his head and those amber eyes focused on me.
                          
I had to force myself to breathe and continue toward him, my heart pounding hard in my chest.
                          
He said something to the girl that I couldn’t hear and then broke away from her to approach me. “Good morning, Ms. Prescott.”
                          
My last name sounded weird coming from his lips.
                          
I nodded. “Coach Fleming.”
                          
His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he worked at hiding a mischievous smile.
                          
“I’m not amused,” I said, sounding to my own ears like someone’s disappointed grandmother. When had I gotten so stodgy? Oh yeah, when he made a fool out of me. “You could have told me who you were,” I hissed.
                          
He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. The girl had stopped tacking Poppy to watch us. “Later,” he said softly and then continued in a louder voice. “You’ll be riding Charlie today. He’s second from the end on the left. Why don’t you head down and get to know each other. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
                          
I took a breath and nodded, walking past him, my arms crossed. “You should have told me,” I breathed, just loud enough for him to hear me.
                          
“Oh and Ms. Prescott?”
                          
Stopping in my tracks, I turned back toward him.
                          
All traces of humor were gone from his eyes. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you before today, but you’re to be here a half hour before practice to tack your horse. Keep that in mind for future.”
                          
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I will. Anything else, sir?”
                          
“Yes. You’re welcome.”
                          
You’re welcome? Ugh. And he looked so smug when he said it. But the truth was, I did have him to thank for being on the team and, indirectly, for the reassignment that was going to get me out of doing laundry in Sub-basement B. Only five more days in that hellhole. Thank God, although I did feel a pang of guilt for Emmie. Though, she did offer.