and he was smiling. His white hair was messy, and his ears showed. Trent never let his ears show, always combing his fine hair over them. He was skinny, lanky, and almost singing to the horse as he fondled his ears and fed him a treat.
Feeling my eyes on him, his gaze flicked to me.
Immediately his wonderful voice ceased. His lips pressed together, and his eyes took on a hard slant. Snorting, the horse drew back from him. “What are you doing in there?” he said, voice cracking and face going red. “Get out. You’re not even supposed to be here when the stable hands are gone.”
“Neither are you,” I said, scrambling up and clutching the horse blanket to me as I backed to the wall. My heart pounded when he opened the gate, sliding in and latching it behind him, fumbling the first time because of his cast. I’d be willing to bet Stanley had broken Trent’s hand to put him at a disadvantage for the rest of the summer. What a goober.
Trent was in new jeans and brand-new riding boots. I thought of my own nasty sneakers, and I flushed. Trent was rich. His dad owned the camp. Everyone knew it.
“They’re looking for you,” he said, mocking me. “You are in so much trouble.”
The horse tossed his head, feet moving restlessly between us, and I put a hand on him to remind him not to step on me. “I can be in here if I want,” I said, chin high.
Trent’s white eyebrows drew together, but when the horse snorted and laid his ears back, he looked away, quieting the animal. “This is my horse,” he said cockily. The cast on his hand made it hard for him to close his fingers on the horse’s halter, but the animal was docile enough.
“I don’t see your name on it,” I said, then flushed when Trent pointed at the plaque behind me. “Oh,” I said, edging away. Okay. It was his horse. Must be nice, not only having your own horse, but being rich enough to truck him up to summer camp for you.
The horse’s ears flicked, and from the other wing of the stables, Stanley’s voice echoed. “You need some help getting the bit in, lazy ass? Tighten that girth? Give you a leg up? Or does boy wonder think he can do it one-handed?”
Scared, I backed up. Trent was a brat, but Stanley was a bully with a mean streak.
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