Impulsion (Station 32 #1)
Jamie Magee
For all those who have felt the burn of a first love…
“The future for me is already a thing of the past -
You were my first love and you will be my last”
― Bob Dylan
Chapter One
Harley Tatum was leading her prized eight-year-old dark bay gelding, Clandestine, into the main barn. Her thighs were burning and her shoulders and arms were tight, almost numb. Her trainer, Camille Doran, was hard-core, a woman that knew this sport inside and out. She could read the horses, the riders. There was little to no softness in that woman. She expected the best and trained the best, which was the only reason Harley’s parents allowed her to be at Willowhaven Equestrian Center.
This was Harley’s third year working with Camille Doran. Harley was barely fifteen when she began to train with her, and now at seventeen there was no doubt that Camille had brought forth the athlete and talent in both Harley and her ride. Yet, Harley still had a long road before her, for in this sport there is no end, only new challenges around each bend in the road.
The center was not only owned by Camille Doran and her family, but was also located just outside of the town of Willowhaven, a town that was near a thousand miles from Harley’s home in New York.
Not that Harley would call the home she had in New York a home; she was rarely there, if at all. Her mother had placed her in an all girls’ school from day one, and when she wasn’t boarding at the school, Harley was chasing her passion in the equestrian world. An expensive hobby that her father, who was twenty years older than her mother, found no fault in supporting.
Her father, Garrison Tatum, may have been one of the nation’s leading corporate finance bankers, but his blood was in the south. He grew up in Texas, and oil was in his blood—at least that was what he’d told his only daughter Harley more than once. He understood what it felt like to be outside, how it felt to be sore, hot, filthy—how satisfying and peaceful that could be. Harley’s mother, Claire, was against this adventure from day one, and she argued her point as thoroughly as she could, but when it came down to it Garrison had the final say, and he had the final say because not many dared to counter him—not even his wife.
Harley was entranced with Willowhaven Farms for more than the obvious reasons. The family aspect was what took her breath away. Every night, dinner was served in the main house. Camille’s two sons and one daughter, along with her husband, his brothers, and parents, were there. Harley had never seen her parents touch, laugh. She rarely saw them in the same room, and if she did, it was a social occasion, which included the holidays; for every event Claire Tatum made a social occasion.
Harley figured out long before she came to Willowhaven Farms that there was no love between her parents. Her mother had married up; even though she came from old money, she managed to find a man with older money, more money. And her father…honestly, Harley was not sure why he married, though she assumed it was because he wanted an heir. Harley was the only blood family he had left, at least that he claimed. At times, Harley thought she was the only one her father trusted and she did her best never to compromise that trust, the one, singular ally she had in this cold world she found herself being raised in.
Of course, all that did was cause more conflict when she was at home. Her mother was vindictive, saw everything and everyone as a threat, even Harley. There was little to nothing that would ever cause Garrison Tatum to turn his back on his daughter, shut her out of his life, his inheritance. Her mother? For all Harley knew, a shift in the wind would cause Garrison to leave his wife and not think twice about it.
Harley’s heart quickened as she stepped into the grooming bay. Wyatt Doran, the eldest of Camille’s sons, was there waiting on her with a secret smile. They had spent the last three summers together. There were only seven months between them, with Wyatt being the older of the two. He was tall, strong, and to say he was easy on the eyes would be a gross understatement; he was a walking heartbreaker. The sun of the summer always kissed his light brown hair, highlighting it perfectly, and his blue eyes, well, they simply gleamed. His skin was golden, pure.
Wyatt stole Harley’s breath from the first moment she saw him. To this day, she had yet to understand the pull he had on her. No doubt his image alone was addictive, but there was more to it than that. He wasn’t cold, a mold of his father focused solely on himself like most of the boys she knew, the ones her mother always placed her with during her famous charity events. No, Wyatt had a good soul, something that could be palpably felt in his presence.
Wyatt had a way of being strong and vulnerable at the same time, though she doubted many had seen that vulnerable side. The first time she saw him nervous was three summers ago down by the back creek, on the fourth of July, just before he leaned in and kissed her, a real kiss. A first for the pair of them. She was sure she was in love with him before that night ended. As that first summer moved on, as the nerves left those stolen kisses that they would fall into when there was no chance they could be caught—there was no questioning that notion. When the summer ended and she had to leave and it felt like her soul was ripped from her body, she knew without a doubt that she’d never get over him. Whatever souls were made of, hers and his were one in the same.
The summer that followed was hotter—in more ways than one. They dared to sneak away more, to explore more. To share more. They always held back, found a way to stop, to hold on to their virtue, their innocence a little longer.