Free The Prize by Stacy Gregg

ride my horse,” Riley said.
    He held the car door open for a moment and then said. “You know what, Georgie? I think we’re both under a lot of pressure. Maybe we need a little break.”
    â€œI know,” Georgie agreed, “but I can’t take time off until the end of the term and…”
    â€œNo, Georgie,” Riley said softly, “I meant a break from each other.”
    Georgie’s eyes went wide. “Oh.” She felt herself trembling all of a sudden. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”
    Riley shook his head. “No… maybe… I just think we need some time apart.”
    â€œDo I have a choice?” Georgie asked.
    Riley hesitated at the door of the pick-up and Georgie wished he would stop and turn around, but he didn’t. “I’ll see you later, OK, Georgie?” he said with sorrow in his voice. “You take care.”
    And before Georgie could say anything more, he’d started the engine and driven away.
    Walking back up the driveway towards the Burghley House stables Georgie was shaking, fighting back the tears. Riley had just split up with her! Or had he? He said he wanted to take a break – what did that mean? A break was just a cowardly way of saying that he didn’t want to be with her any more. She felt numb with shock. This couldn’t be happening.
    Georgie walked through the stables and headed for the tack room. There was no sign of anyone and when she reached out a hand to try the door it was securely locked.
    â€œOh this is just great!” Georgie shook the door furiously. She could have gone to the track with Riley after all!
    She was storming back through the stables to leave when she ran head first into Conrad Miller.
    â€œGoing somewhere, Parker?” Conrad’s tone was supercilious.
    â€œI didn’t think anyone was turning up,” Georgie said.
    â€œWell, I’m here now,” Conrad said. “Follow me.”
    He walked through the stables and unlocked the door to the tack room, holding it open so that Georgie could follow him inside.
    The Burghley House tack room was a long, narrow space with saddle racks lining the walls.
    â€œYou’re on saddle-cleaning duty,” Conrad said, lifting a saddle down off the rack and propping it on the floor in front of Georgie. “You’ll find the kit in the box by the door.”
    Georgie groaned. “Why am I cleaning a Burghley House saddle?”
    â€œBecause,” Conrad said, “Prefects don’t have to clean their own saddles. That’s what first years are for…”
    As he said this, he lifted down another two saddles off the top racks.
    â€œYou can do these two as well when you finish that one.”
    â€œI’ll be here all night!” Georgie was horrified.
    â€œThere were supposed to be two others on Fatigues but they got excused,” Conrad said. “So I guess that means you’ve got their work to do too.”

    By the time Georgie had soaped the saddles and had stripped the stirrup leathers off and begun to oil them with the lanolin cream her arms were aching and her hands were cramping.
    Conrad, meanwhile, was comfily sat on top of a pile of saddle blankets stacked on an old tea chest in the corner of the room. Sitting cross-legged, his long black boots folded underneath him, he flicked his way through a book, making notes as he went on a lined pad on his knee.
    â€œWhat are you reading?” Georgie asked.
    Conrad looked up at her and scowled. Even when he wasn’t angry, Conrad had what could only be described as fierce features – a hawk-like nose and strong brow, offset by a square jaw-line that managed to rescue his other features by putting them into proportion at least. His russet hair was an odd colour, neither brown nor red – if he was a horse then Georgie would have said he was a liver chestnut. To say he was good looking would be pushing it, but he was…