The Fame Equation Read Online Free PDF Page A

and water therapy, many horses now received the same kind of physical therapy that people got. The vibrating plates had made a huge difference in quieting our yearling filly, Glamour Girl, whom we called Gigi, at a big show last summer. I would love to have one of those plates right here.
    I gave Sally a final pat and looked in on the other horses. Darcy’s tall dark gelding, Petey, was sprawled out flat on his side, snoring, and Reddi, the other horse owned by Sally’s mom, Agnes Temple, was munching the last of her hay. Bob, and Wheeler, a palomino gelding who would soon be moving with his owner to another state, were dozing, and Gigi was walking in circles around her double stall. That horse had more energy than all the others put together.
    Excited about the furniture Melody had offered, Hank and I trotted up the stairs to Jon’s loft, and I knocked. Until earlier this year Jon and I had a great working relationship. But, Jon thought that finding two dead bodies within a matter of months had distracted me from the barn and the horses, and I have to admit that he was right. A lot of extra work had fallen on his shoulders as a result, and he did what he could, but sometimes the boss has to be there to make decisions. That would be me.
    Jon was intensely private, and I had recently discovered that was part of his background. His privacy was why I rarely went up to his loft. But new furniture was a big deal and I wanted to get his ideas.
    “Coming,” Jon called. Then he kept talking. It sounded as if he was speaking to someone other than me, but his words were soft and indistinguishable. His voice grew louder, however, as he got closer to the door.
    “Okay honey,” I heard him say. “Love you, too.”
    I was flabbergasted. Love you, too? How could Jon have a girlfriend? He never went anywhere and often chose to work on his days off. Maybe once a month he disappeared down the driveway for the day, but he was always home by dinnertime. To make matters more confusing, even though I often begged him to come out with Darcy and me to lunch, dinner, or a movie, he rarely accompanied us. Now I hear him say, “Okay, honey. Love you, too?” What was that all about?
    Jon ended the call as he opened the door.
    “Cat?” he asked. “You okay? Your mouth is kind of hanging open.”
    “Ah, fine. I’m just fine.” I said.
    With anyone else I would have asked about the call, but with Jon it seemed inappropriate to inquire. Jon still had on the matching blue jeans, turtleneck, and warm, waterproof vest that he had worn to the video shoot, but he had removed his ball cap and boots. Short dark hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and a slender frame on a five-foot-nine inch body, Jon was probably around my age. Thirty.
    “Um,” I stammered, still flustered, “I have good news. I think.”
    “You think?” Jon smiled all the way up to his eyes. “Come in. Hank, you too, but leave your stick. Hurry, though. This standing in the doorway is letting in cold air.”
    Hank debated his options, obviously torn, but then he clamped down hard on his stick, turned, and trotted back down the stairs.
    The loft was long and narrow with an open living room, dining alcove, and kitchen, with a small, three-quarter bath and bedroom at the far end. The whole place was only twelve by fifty-four, so it was a little over six hundred square feet. The roofline of the barn came to within five feet of the floor, which further reduced the space, but there were several skylights to let light in and the bedroom had a big window that looked into the covered arena. The furniture was as I had remembered.
    “I’ve got a bit of news and thought it would be best to deliver it in person,” I said.
    “Sit down,” he said pulling out a chair next to a small, white table that had been placed under a skylight. Years ago the little rectangular table had sat on my grandmother’s front porch. Often, a yellow ceramic pitcher filled with flowers had been on top of