Page 2 of Growing Into Love

“But when was the last time she showed her face around here?” Zara asks.

“A year ago,” I reply.

“You could make him see that he doesn’t need to keep taking her back.”

“Not sure how a sext would accomplish that.”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

“It’s not just Theresa,” I say with a sigh. “Jaz is Declan’s best mate. I’m sure he only sees me as the kid sister.”

I love my family to bits but they treat me like I’m still a child who needs looking after. Dec and I have been having a lot of arguments about it recently. I want a more active role at Oak Hill.

No, actually, I want to start something of my own there. The farm is in Declan’s name, Virgil created the Inn at Oak Hill…I want to put a Cass stamp on it too.

I toss the rose back onto the pile. “Sometimes it feels like everyone at Oak Hill wants me to stay exactly the same. I’m always the dependable one, because I don’t have a life outside the farm. And I love Oak Hill—you know I love it. But I’m not twelve anymore.”

“You’ve got a big chip on your shoulder about that,” Zara says.

“It’s the truth. Anyway, I can’t be concerned with dating now,” I say. “I’m off to America in a couple days.” I check my phone. “In under forty-eight hours, I’ll be at Heathrow waiting to board my flight. This competition could change everything for me.”

The Windy Acres Classic is one of America’s premier jumping competitions. I qualified last summer and I can’t wait—it’s my first American competition. I can finally “up my game,” as my sister-in-law Autumn has been saying. She’s American herself, and she keeps giving me tips, not all of which are necessary since it’s only upstate New York and not a trip to the moon. But I love her enthusiasm.

Windy Acres is the largest prize I’ve ever competed for—seventy-five thousand dollars. And I know exactly how to use it if I win.

I want to create the Sanctuary at Oak Hill. Maybe I’ll give it a better name, but Autumn is the genius at all that branding nonsense. The point is, I want to start a rescue for horses, ones people toss aside when they’re no longer “useful.” Retired racehorses or jumpers, or even just horses that aren’t cut out for riding anymore, so no one cares about them. Geldings gone to seed or mares too old to breed. I hate how people toss animals aside when they don’t “serve a purpose.” As if living isn’t purpose enough. And don’t even get me started on the slaughter pipeline.

Autumn thinks it’s a brilliant idea. Declan is of the opposite opinion. Hence all the rows we’ve been having. He keeps insisting horses are too expensive and we don’t have the funds or the staff to start a sanctuary. But if I win at Windy Acres, I can start it all on my own, withmymoney, and Declan won’t be able to do shit about it. Autumn agrees.

I really lucked out in the sister-in-law department—Autumn’s twin, Winter, is dating my oldest brother, Virgil. They live in London but will be coming up soon to stay for the summer. Winter runs a little salon in the town square and this year is the first season that the Inn at Oak Hill— which Virgil designed and has agreed to run in the summers—will be open for visitors.

It’s already mostly booked up. Virgil will have his hands full. But he loves it, the weirdo. Only member of the family who hates farm work.

My family, the Wrights, have run Oak Hill Farm for generations. We were on the brink of foreclosure when Autumn showed up on our door about three years ago and changed everything. Not just the farm but our lives. Declan’s married to her now. Virgil is with Winter. Gran and Gramps couldn’t be happier to see their grandsons settling down.

No one seems to notice or care that I haven’t. It’s what’s expected of me—to be Dependable Cass. But I want more.

“You’re going to be brilliant at the show,” Zara declares, setting the tulips in the shop window. “I just know you’re going to win.”

“Shhh, don’t jinx it!” I hiss.

“You’d better send me constant updates. How’s Del feeling?”

Delilah Cunningham has been my trainer since I was nineteen.

“She thinks I’ve got a real shot,” I say. My heart sinks. “Wish Nigella Bags-Lavisham hadn’t qualified though.”

Nigella is my fiercest competition on the U.K. circuit. She always edges out my time by a matter of one or two seconds. It’s infuriating. Plus, she’s a prissy little twat who’s never done a hard day’s work in her life. Her family comes from money—like a lot of families in the horse world—and she never lets me forget it. Like I care about any of that. Besides, Oak Hill has become damned successful since Autumn took over the fundraising. Nigella can take her family money and shove it up her arse.

The thing is, she gets in my head every time we compete. Snide little remarks designed to throw me off. Like she knows my weak spots and delights in exploiting them. Del has been working to get me out of it, but I haven’t beaten Nigella yet and it feels like I’m doomed to forever be second place.

“Ignore her,” Zara says. “She doesn’t matter. She’s never competed in America either.”

“She showed at the American Gold Cup two years ago.”

Zara recovers quickly. “So what? She didn’t have to face you there.”

I love Zara’s confidence in me. Wish I could bottle it up and sneak it onto the plane. My phone buzzes with a text and when I see it’s from Jaz, I can’t help the way my stomach flipflops.

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