Jack and Shelby Goodwin. He has one hand protectively curled over her shoulder as they’re coming out of the art pavilion.

Of course Alex is still pacing and talking on the phone. Did he forget he was on a date with me? Embarrassing.

I pay another three tickets and focus on the game. I miss all five times again.

“Wow, you are awful at this.”

I turn to face Jack.

Shelby elbows her brother’s ribs. “With that mouth it’s no wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend. Hi, Savannah.”

“Hi,” I say, and pass three more tickets over to play again.

“You here alone?” Jack asks, glancing around.

“No. I’m on a date.” I point at Alex, who has a finger stuffed in his ear so he can better hear the person on the other end of the line. This had better be important because he’s been on the phone at least five minutes now.

“Oh,” Jack replies, furrowing his brow.

“Win me something,” Shelby demands to Jack, so he pays three tickets to play the dime game. He tosses four times before nailing a shot and winning Shelby a brown stuffed horse.

“I’ll play again,” Jack says, passing over tickets. As Shelby starts talking to a friend, gossiping about some boy in the eighth grade, Jack nails a shot on the second try, winning another stuffed animal.

“I’ll take that one,” he says. He points toward a small pink unicorn. The worker plucks it off the prize wall and Jack hands it to me. “For your room. It’ll match your Strawberry Shortcake bedspread.”

I scowl at him then take the stuffed animal, slipping it under my arm. “I’m naming him Seabiscuit.”

Jack gives me a withering look. “Really? Seabiscuit? You know the best horses at our farm come from Nasrullah and Secretariat.”

“Fine. I’ll name him War Horse.”

“Oh Lord.” Jack laughs and shakes his head.

“I’m predictable, eh?”

“Not in my mind, no,” he says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances over at Alex. “What’s your favorite part of the fair?”

“The mule races.”

“Oh yeah? Mine’s going to the dog show.”

I laugh, and we look into each other’s eyes. He’s quiet for a long, still moment. “I’m looking forward to Saturday. I think you and Star can win this one.”

We’re racing at Keeneland in Kentucky this weekend. Jack entered Star in a handicap with a $150,000 purse.

“I’m excited for Saturday too,” I say, not able to keep the excitement out of my voice. “I know we’ll win this one.”

Jack grins. Then shakes his head and focuses on the Ferris wheel. It loops around twice as we stand in silence. When I was a little girl and watched older girls walk around with their boyfriends at the fair, I couldn’t wait for the day I’d do it myself. And now here I am: practically alone since my date ditched me for a phone call. Alone, when I have the guy I truly want right next to me.

“Savannah,” Jack says, glancing at his sister, who’s still preoccupied with her friend. “I know I haven’t been good to you, but I want to find a way—”

That’s when Alex walks back over and drops a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry about that. A friend was having trouble sorting something out.”

“I’m Jack.” He stretches a hand out to shake Alex’s. Alex introduces himself then asks if I want to ride the teacups. I nod.

“Bye, Jack,” I say, and a panicked look rushes onto his face as I turn away with Alex. But I leave him behind.

“Who was that guy?” Alex asks.

“My boss.”

“Huh. He’s kinda young.”

I glance back to see Jack putting an arm around his little sister’s shoulders and guiding her toward the Ferris wheel.

Alex and I board the teacups and he cozies up next to me—it’s getting cold out here. The rest of the night goes smoothly—no more Goodwins show up, and Alex doesn’t get any more phone calls, and when we’re leaving the fair, he gives me a quick peck on the cheek and asks if he can call me Saturday, so maybe we can grab a bite to eat or something that evening.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” I smile. The night wasn’t a complete win, but I had a nice time and I’d like to see him again. He’s nice and he kissed my cheek and he treated me well. What more can I ask for?

But later that night, against my better judgment, I curl up with the pink unicorn and stare out my little rectangular window at the stars, imagining Jack’s arms around me.

Thanks to a bad rain on Friday, the track at Keeneland is a big mud pit. The horses have to work double time just to make it around during practice. It’s like when humans try to run on the beach. During practice, I take Star out for a warm-up, and on the backstretch, Star pulls up hard and I fall. I shoulder roll into a big puddle. The mud cushions the fall, but I’m covered in muck.

Star doesn’t take off like he normally does when he bucks his riders. He pushes my head with his nose, as if he’s telling me to get up. He snorts and digs a hoof into the mud.

As I’m standing up, wiping the mud off my gloves on my pants, Jack, Gael, Dad, and Mr. Goodwin come slopping through the mud toward me. Gael grabs Star’s bridle.

“Are you okay?” Dad asks.

“Fine,” I say, keeping my voice steady. My butt doesn’t even hurt.

“Let’s get you off the track,” Gael says, leading us back to the stalls. Rory comes to give Star a bath and get him fed.

“Son,” Mr. Goodwin says to Jack, “I think you should either pull Star from the race or put Townsend on as jockey instead of Savannah. She just doesn’t have the experience racing in muddy conditions. I don’t want her to fall during the real thing.”

“But—” I start.

“Mr. Goodwin’s right,” Dad says, scanning my filthy clothes.

“You don’t know that,” I say. “So I fell one time—”

“You’ve fallen during practice too,” Mr. Goodwin says.

“She’s gotta get experience sometime,” Gael says, and I flash him a smile.

“I don’t want a Cedar Hill rider falling in a race,” Mr. Goodwin says. “It wouldn’t look good for me and my farm.”

“Are you really gonna let this happen?” I ask Jack.

He doesn’t meet my eyes.

“I thought you made the decisions,” I say. “You’re supposedly acting owner of the farm.”

“I am!”

“Just not when it’s important, I guess.”

Jack opens his mouth to speak then shuts it again. His forehead crinkles and he looks down before glancing up at his dad again.

“Use Townsend as your jockey,” Mr. Goodwin says. “This is important.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says quietly. “Dad’s right—I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m racing Townsend.” He jets out of the stall, leaving me leaning over onto my knees, gasping for breath.

They know Star doesn’t like boys. It pisses me off that they’re willing to risk Star being uncomfortable. Besides, I came in third last time! That’s a gazillion times better than Townsend ever managed on Star. I yank my gloves off, throw them on the floor, stomp out of the stall, and slam the door shut. Minerva sticks her head out of her stall, looking me in the eye, alarmed.

“Shit,” I say, charging out of the barn. Rory sees me and chases after me, trying to talk.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asks, grabbing my elbow.

“Just leave me alone!” I yell, storming toward the grandstands.

I find a place far away from the paddock to stand and watch Star’s race. Jack already told me he can’t date me because of who I am. And now he’s taking this away from me? Asshole.

Before the race starts, Jack comes to join me in the grandstands. He brings me a hot cocoa from the concession stand because it’s so chilly.

“I’m really sorry,” Jack says, passing me the Styrofoam cup. I don’t want to accept his peace offering, but only an idiot would turn down a free hot chocolate on a day like this. Stupid rainstorm.

“I’m sorry too,” I say. “Are you gonna take orders from your dad for the rest of your life? When are you gonna actually stand up and act like an owner? Or is that just a title for you?”

Jack furrows his eyebrows, looking hurt and pissed, and I know I’ve dealt a low blow, but I need to put shields up around myself.

“I didn’t do it only because Dad told me to,” Jack says. He musses his wet hair, and rain drips down his face.

“Then why did you do it?” I snap.

“Because I care about you!” he roars. People in the grandstands stare at us. “I care about you so much and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He drags a hand through his hair again. Everything goes so quiet I can hear my heart pounding inside my chest. “Drink your cocoa. It’s cold and I don’t want you to get sick.”

“You don’t need to take care of me, Jack.”

“I want to take ca—” He hesitates and breathes deeply.

I sip the cocoa, shaking my head at the racetrack. “I’m really pissed at you right now. First you got my hopes up about being a jockey and being able to do something different with my life. And then you got me excited about us. That maybe we could be something special, because I really feel something when I’m with you. And I mean really feel…” I grind my teeth together.

Jack is staring at his boots now. “I told you I want you.”

“And I told you that I won’t settle for being your secret.”

“But you will settle for that guy you were with the other night. Rory Whitfield’s cousin.”

“That’s not settling! It was a real date!”

“Oh please. A real date with no chemistry. Of course you were settling.” He steps closer, getting in my face space. “Be with me. Please don’t date him.”

“Oh, so you’ll stoop to date me now that I could be interested in another guy? That sucks.”

“I care about you!”

“Then prove it.”

I face the racetrack, not meeting his gaze again. After several seconds of stewing in silence, Jack finally leaves me standing there alone. I take my hot cocoa and find a dry place to sit.

During the race, Townsend rides the rail and never gets Star out in front of the pack. The horse whips his head from side to side at one point, and I think Townsend will lose control, but he hangs on somehow.

They come in fourth place.

If Circumstances Were Different

Jack is giving Star a weekend off from racing because the Dixiana Derby is next Saturday.

Out in Greenbriar, I’m all alone as I give Star a bath. After I brush his teeth, he reaches out as if he’s gonna bite my hand, but then he slowly nuzzles it. I look into his eyes and he nickers.

“Hello,” I reply. “Are you glad you have a day off?”

Star snuggles against my shoulder.

“No wonder you haven’t been winning races,” I whisper. “You’ve become a big ole pansy. Racehorses are supposed to be aggressive.” I pump my fist and try to show him I mean business, but he goes back to eating his grain. What a pig.