Trent turned to me, clearly surprised. My eyes warmed with threatening tears, and I turned away. Someone was calling my name, counselor by the sound of it. Great. They were going to write me up. Sighing, I started for the bright square of light.

“Do you want a ride?” Trent asked.

Wiping my eyes, I turned, shocked. My gaze went from him to the horse. There wasn’t a saddle, just that bareback pad. “On him?”

His attention went out of the stables as another voice called my name, loudly, with some anger. Nodding, he grabbed a handful of mane and swung himself up like he was born to it. “If you can get up here.”

There was more than a hint of challenge, and I took a step forward, looking up at him and thinking it was a long way from the ground. “You just want to knock me off,” I said, mistrusting him. “Or take me out into the woods and leave me to walk in.”

Not a hint of his intent was in his placid face as he leaned down and held out his hand. “You’ll have to trust me.”

The voices were getting louder. Maybe if Jasmine found out I’d been with him, she’d know how it felt to be ditched. It was petty, but taking a breath, I fit my hand in his. I reached up with the other, and with a lean and a tug, I found myself swung up behind him.

The horse shifted, snorting, and as Trent soothed him, I clutched Trent’s waist, feeling really weird. My gasp for air brought the scent of cinnamon and green things into me, and my alarm paused at a unique sensation, a twinge of something going through me. Pride, maybe, that I was on a tall horse? The hoof pick was almost falling out of his pocket, and thinking he deserved it, I yanked it free when the horse shifted, tucking it in my own pocket instead. I’d give it back once I knew he wasn’t going to dump me off on the trail. It wasn’t really stealing if the only reason I took it was to prove I could, right? Better than a crappy little witch, huh?

“Please don’t make me regret this,” I whispered. Jasmine would never speak to me again if she found out, but I didn’t care. His horse was fabulous!

“I won’t if you don’t,” he said, and my grip tightened as the horse started into motion.

Whoever was shouting my name was getting closer, and the horse eagerly headed for the door. “What’s his name?” I asked as we emerged blinking into the sun.

“Tulpa, but I call him Mr. T.”