Page 14

Ellie slept till noon.

When she finally awoke, Prissy was gone, and she was alone.

Feeling a little like a slug, her stomach still uncertain, she showered, dressed, and headed out to the show grounds.

It was time she faced the music.

At least that’s what she told herself all the way there.

Once she arrived, she stayed close to her stalls, polishing her equipment or grooming Rose and Jubilee.

She’d done every chore she could think of and still hadn’t found the courage to go out to the show ring.

“How are you feeling?”

Prissy Knowles walked into the tack room.

“Like an absolute fool.

I’m so embarrassed I could die.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.

You were among friends.”

“Have you ever done anything that stupid?”

“Only a thousand times.

I’m engaged to a great guy, so I’m a little more settled down now.

But there was a time when I’d have been up on that table with you.”

Ellie grinned, liking Prissy more all the time.

“It’s none of my business,”

Prissy said, “but that little display didn’t, by any chance, have anything to do with Clay, did it? He was watching you like a hawk all night.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when he carried you out of there over his shoulder.

He looked like a stallion protecting his mare.”

“Flex and I were playing a little joke on Clay, only it got out of hand.”

“I see.”

Prissy picked up Ellie’s snaffle bit.

“How many times a day do you clean this?”

“I was trying to work up the courage to face everyone.”

“Especially Clay?”

“I really don’t want to talk about Clay.”

“Listen to me, Ellie.

Every girl on the circuit’s in love with Clay.

What you’re feeling isn’t abnormal, believe me.

I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“You seem immune to his charms, how do you do it?”

“Simple.

I fell for Clay years ago.

Slept with him and got dumped just like the others.

Fortunately, I met Phil a little while later. Phil’s just the opposite of Clay. He’s loving and considerate, a one-woman man. I fell madly in love with him, and now we’re getting married.”

“You think that’s what would happen to me if I slept with Clay? He’d dump me, just like everyone else?”

Prissy paused a moment before answering.

“Normally, I’d say yes without even thinking about it.

But lately, Clay seems different.

Maybe he’s finally growing up. Sometimes I think Clay would like to stop chasing, but his father’s got him convinced that’s unmanly. I don’t know. The safer route is definitely to keep your distance.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

“Then again, he treats you differently.

He certainly came to your rescue last night.”

“He rescued me, all right.

Then went to bed with Gabriella.”

“What can I say? That sounds like Clay.

Listen, I’ve got to run.

Maybe we can grab something to eat back at the hotel tonight.”

“That sounds great.

Thanks, Prissy.”

Prissy left.

Ellie saddled Jube and led him toward the practice ring.

It was late in the afternoon.

Everyone else was gone. What a relief, she thought. At least she wouldn’t have to face Clay today.

Not for the next few days either, as it turned out.

When the show started on Thursday, she saw him for the first time since Le Palace.

At the beginning of the competition, it was hard to concentrate with Clay so near.

Eventually, her years of dedication took over and her desire to win pulled her through.

Out of thirty-seven riders, she placed sixth behind Clay and Flex in the Grand Prix on Sunday.

Jake seemed unimpressed.

He’d grown increasingly distant and oddly wary.

When she asked his advice on one of the jumps, he just walked away as if he hadn’t heard her.

She was beginning to worry about him. Maybe she should talk to him.

Then again, their friendship was based on their working relationship and love of the sport.

They had never delved into the personal aspects of each other’s lives, and Ellie wasn’t sure she wanted to.

That night they packed up.

Tomorrow they were leaving for Rotterdam.

She hadn’t talked to Clay more than a time or two since the competition began.

It was obvious he was avoiding her. When she’d placed second in the 140-meter class, Clay had railed at her for the four faults that had cost her the first.

They were the only words he’d spoken.

She was going to tell him the truth, she decided that afternoon after the show.

Screw Flex and his crazy ideas.

Of course, she’d have to wait until they arrived in Holland.

Clay was long gone, she was sure.

Her mouth tightened.

Probably somewhere with Linda Gibbons, celebrating his win.

Standing in the tack room, Ellie stretched and rubbed the small of her back.

She’d sent Gerry to get some dinner.

He’d been working since dawn, just as she had, and she needed some time alone.

“Back hurt?”

Clay stood in the doorway, wide shoulders filling it, head nearly touching the top.

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks.

How would she ever explain to Clay?

Ellie swallowed.

“Clay, I owe you an apology.

I’m sorry about what happened.

I really want to thank you for what you did.”

“Don’t thank me, Ellie, thank Flex.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

“From what I hear, he took care of you just fine.”

Ellie’s color deepened.

“What did he tell you?”

It came out as kind of a squeak.

“Suffice it to say he seemed more than pleased with your skills as a lover.

Coming from him, that’s quite a compliment.”

“Clay, I—“

“What I still don’t understand is your sudden attraction to Flex.

I had the strangest idea you felt something for me.”

“You!”

She nervously moistened her lips.

“Do that again, and I’ll come over there and help you.”

She flushed.

“The truth is, that night was...was...”

“An accident?”

“Yes, I mean, no.

I mean it wasn’t anything like that.”

“Look, Ellie...”

Clay moved closer.

“I’ve been thinking things over.

We’re both mature adults.

We live our own lives as we see fit. I don’t care what happened between you and Flex.”

Ellie took a step backwards.

Clay followed.

“I only know I want you—and I think you want me.”

Another step put her shoulders against the wall.

She could feel the roughness of the boards pressing into her back.

“What have I done to give you that impression?”

Clay’s hand brushed her cheek.

He stood so close she could smell his cologne.

“What have you done?”

he drawled.

“Maybe it’s that tiny pulse that flutters at the base of your throat, like it is right now.

Or maybe it’s the sexy way you lick your lips.”

He smiled in triumph as her tongue touched the corner of her mouth.

Lifting her chin with his finger, he bent his head and kissed her.

Ellie felt the light pressure, the heady warmth, and closed her eyes.

Her hands pressed against his starched white shirt. She could feel his heartbeat, thudding beneath her palm.

I should stop him, she thought.

But she couldn’t come up with a single reason why.

Her lips parted and Clay’s tongue tangled with hers.

He probed and tasted and deepened the kiss, sending tiny shivers up her spine. His arms went around her, pulling her close. When she laced her fingers in the soft hair curling above his collar, he pulled her full length against him and she heard him groan.

“God, I want you.”

Another heady kiss had her swaying against him, trembling all over.

His fingers worked the buttons at the front of her shirt then his hand skimmed over skin and slipped inside her bra.

He palmed her breast, lifting and shaping it.

His thumb brushing her nipple, and her knees went weak. She tightened her hold on his neck just to stay on her feet.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Gerry Winslow stood in the doorway, a pitchfork in his hand.

He looked furious.

It was obvious he didn’t intend to leave.

Frowning, Clay pulled his hand from inside her shirt, stepped back a little, but kept an arm around her waist.

Flushed with embarrassment, Ellie drew her shirtfront closed.

“I think you had better go, Whitfield,”

Gerry said.

“I believe Ms.

Fletcher should make that decision.”

“Clay, please.”

She threw him a pleading glance.

“It’s getting late and I...

Why don’t I see you back at the hotel?”

Clay looked furious.

“Send him away, or don’t bother.”

“Gerry’s my friend.

He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Tell your friend, you’re leaving with me.”

Ellie looked from Clay to Gerry and back again.

“Give me a chance to talk to him.”

Clay set his jaw.

He stalked past Ellie, past Gerry, and out of the tack room.

“Clay, wait!”

Ellie started after him, but he didn’t look back.

Gerry’s hand on her shoulder turned her around.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I can make my own decisions, Gerry.

I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Gerry took a calming breath, raked a hand through his wavy brown hair.

“Look, Ellie, you know what Whitfield’s like.

The man will take you to bed, brag about his conquest and never look back.

He’s only interested in one thing.”

“I don’t care.

I’m sick and tired of being a puritan.

I want to live a little.

Why can’t I be like everyone else?”

“Because you’re not like everyone else.

You’re...well, you’re different.

You deserve someone a whole lot better than Whitfield.”

“What’s wrong with Clay?”

“Nothing a good punch in the mouth wouldn’t cure.

He’s arrogant, conceited.

He’s a real prick, Ellie.

He’s not the man for you.”

Ellie felt the wetness on her cheek before she realized she was crying.

“Then why do I feel like he is?”

Gerry pulled her against his shoulder and smoothed her hair.

“You’re infatuated with him, that’s all.

Clay’s a good-looking man.

He knows how to handle women, and you’re inexperienced. He’s playing on your trust, the sonofabitch.”

Gerry handed her his handkerchief.

“You better stop crying,”

he teased.

“Your mascara’s beginning to run.”

“It’s supposed to be waterproof.”

She blew her nose.

“I’ll sue them if it runs.”

They both laughed.

“Come on.”

Gerry draped an arm across her shoulder.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.”

Ellie didn’t see Clay until the following day at the airport.

The horses were being transported by van while the riders were flying on ahead.

Ellie was worried about leaving Jube, but Gerry would be with him, so she knew he’d be okay.

On the plane, Clay barely spoke. Ellie took a seat beside Maggie Delaine and her little girl, Sarah. Ignoring Clay’s broad back, she spoke to the little blond girl.

“How did you like Paris, Sarah?”

“It was really great.

Mama took me to see Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower.

We went all the way to the top.”

“I saw it from the ground, but I didn’t get to go up.”

“You were marvelous on Sunday,”

Maggie said to her.

“Until you started having problems in the jump-off, I thought you were going to beat Clay.”

“Sometimes I think that’s the impossible dream.”

“I heard you beat him at the Gardens.”

Ellie grinned.

“Oh, I’ll beat him again.

The way Jube’s been taking the fences, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe Rotterdam’s the place.”

“I hope so.

I intend to give it my best shot.”

“Did you ever ride against Jake?”

Sarah asked.

“I bet he was the best rider in the whole world.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,”

Ellie agreed, seeing the hero worship in the little girl’s eyes.

“Jake coached me a few years back and then again before we left the States.

He’s a terrific rider, but I’ve never competed against him.”

Ellie glanced at Maggie.

Her relaxed smile had tightened.

Everyone knew about the love affair between Jake and Maggie.

In the show jumping world, it had been a foregone conclusion the two of them would marry.

Then some months back, the relationship had come to an unexpected end.

Neither Maggie nor Jake would discuss it.

It was obvious little Sarah hadn’t wanted to lose him.

Ellie’s intuition told her Jake hadn’t been happy about it either. Ellie wondered how Maggie felt.

They landed in Rotterdam and headed through the bustling traffic by bus.

At everyone’s urging, Maggie instructed the driver to take the roundabout route from the airport, circle through town and give them a tour of the city.

“Rotterdam is the largest seaport in the world,”

the narrow-faced driver told them in his heavy broken English.

“It straddles the Rhine River and the Maas.

The Germans almost destroyed the city in World War II,”

he said as they passed the War Memorial in front of the Town Hall.

“Today it has been restored to one of the most modern cities in the world.”

They passed the Laurenskerk, a splendid Gothic cathedral rebuilt in the nineteen fifties.

From the Maas Tunnel, the driver pointed out the Euromast, an observation tower with a terrace three hundred feet off the ground.

Just across the Maas, the largest oil refinery in Europe glowed like a beacon over an army of supertankers.

They were staying nearer the show grounds this time, at a small hotel called the Steinberger Rotterdam.

After lunching near the harbor, the team and crew checked in.

Phil Marshall, Prissy’s fiancé, was flying in, so Ellie had a room to herself.

That night she joined Flex and Jake for dinner, but Jake seemed distracted.

“You’re not worried about what happened to Caesar on the plane?”

Ellie asked him as the waiter at In Den Rustwat served her Rodekool met Rolpens, red cabbage and rolled spice meat with slices of apple.

“Just some joker’s idea of fun,”

Flex said.

He had ordered Pannekoeken, a kind of pancake.

He looked dashing in his pink shirt, black pants, and black plaid sack coat, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“I don’t like people playing games at our expense,”

Jake said darkly.

“You aren’t expecting more trouble, are you?”

Ellie thought about Jube and Rose, and worry filtered through her.

“I’ve had a guard posted at the stables every day since we landed in Paris.

Whoever did it is probably still in New York, but I’d rather play it safe.”

Ellie felt a little better.

“How do you think the team’s shaping up?”

“Everyone’s riding well except Shep.

But he’ll settle down.

He always does.

Nothing bothers Prissy. Clay’s winning as usual, but he’s been a real S.O.B. all week.”

“Maybe he needs to get laid,”

Flex teased, then his grin slipped as he caught Ellie’s turbulent expression.

Jake noticed it too.

“You’d do well to keep your mind on the horses, Ellie,”

Jake said.

Ellie toyed with her food, no longer hungry.

“I know I haven’t been winning enough.

Maybe I should get in a few more hours of practice a day.”

“It isn’t your riding I’m talking about.

Whitfield’s a handful.

You’ve got about all you can handle right now.”

Her eyes met his.

“Not you, too, Jake.

Why do I keep getting lectures about Clay? For God’s sake, we’ve never even been out on a date.”

“I don’t think Whitfield’s interested in a date,”

Jake warned.

“More like a one-night stand.”

“It isn’t always that easy,”

Flex defended her.

“You better than anyone ought to understand.”

Jake’s gaze swung to Flex.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m talking about the way you look at Maggie Delaine.

What happened between you two, anyway?”

“That isn’t any of your business.”

Flex grinned good-naturedly.

“Never stopped me before.”

A corner of Jake’s mouth tilted into a smile.

“Very little stops you, Flex.

But that’s probably what makes you such a damn fine rider.”

Flex’s grin widened.

A compliment from Jake Sullivan was a gift.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Flex walked Ellie to her first-floor room.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said.

“My pleasure,”

Flex said.

“By the way, Clay’s barely speaking to me.

I think our little campaign is working.”

“Oh, sure.

That’s why he’s out to dinner with Linda Gibbons.”

“Is he?”

Flex seemed surprised.

“I don’t know.

Probably.”

“Cheer up.

Things’ll either work out or they won’t.

For Clay’s sake more than yours, I hope they do.”

He leaned over and bussed her cheek, took her key, and opened her door.

“Good night, Ellie.”

He handed her the key.

“Good night, Flex.”

As she stepped into the room, Ellie flipped on the overhead light.

She felt bone tired, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

The horses had arrived with no problems.

They’d had a pleasant evening. At least she and Flex had. She wasn’t sure about Jake.

Except for his comments about Clay—out of the norm for Jake—he’d been even quieter than usual.

What was he so worried about? Or was it just seeing Maggie again that had him on edge?

Fortunately, Flex had saved the evening by keeping them all entertained.

He was becoming a very good friend.

Ellie unbuttoned her blouse and tugged it out of the waistband of her navy blue skirt.

On her way to the bathroom, she kicked off her sandals and turned on the small radio that sat beside her bed, tuning it to a channel that played easy-listening music.

All the while, she kept thinking of Clay, wishing their last meeting had turned out differently.

There are no accidents, she told herself, espousing a philosophy she’d believed in for years.

Choices, yes.

Accidents, no.

Gerry’s interruption had saved her—more from herself than from Clay. It was probably for the best.

In her skirt, bra, and chemise, Ellie washed her face and brushed her teeth.

Glancing up at the small window over the tub as she finished, she felt a hint of unease.

The window stood open a crack, a faint evening breeze drifting in.

Surely the memory of closing it was just a trick of the mind.

Or maybe the maid had come in and left if open to freshen the room.

She was just tired, she told herself, but she wished she’d checked the room as she usually did.

An odd noise sent a second thread of alarm sliding through her.

Working up her courage, she opened the bathroom door.

Better to find out the truth than imagine something worse.

The room was empty, the double bed neatly made, the simple Danish modern chair in the corner undisturbed.

She dropped down beside the bed to look underneath, but it was only a few inches off the floor, not enough space for someone to hide.

She headed for the closet, the only place big enough to conceal an assailant.

The door made a shrill squeak as it swung open, the sound sliding over her nerves.

Peering into the darkness, she tried to see behind the row of jackets, breeches, dresses, and blouses that blocked her view.

Ellie shrieked as an arm shot out of the darkness and grabbed her, jerked her against a man’s hard body.

She tried to scream, but the sound died behind the hand clamped over her mouth.

Panic hit her.

Ellie struggled as he dragged her back into the room.

She tried to wrench free, but his arm was a steel band around her waist.

Dressed completely in black, he half-carried, half-dragged her toward the bed. Ellie scratched and clawed, tried to kick him, jammed her elbow into his ribs.

The man grunted, spun her around, and slapped her hard across the face.

The blow knocked her to the floor and sent the chair crashing against the wall.

The room spun and her vision blurred.

Dragging her to her feet, he shoved her down on the bed and used his body to pin her to the mattress.

He wasn’t a big man, but he was wiry and strong.

He was wearing a black knit ski mask, but she could read the hard look in his eyes that warned her not to fight him.

Fear rolled through her, so strong she felt dizzy.

Freeing a hand, she shoved the radio against the wall as hard as she could.

It crashed, then thudded as it hit the floor, continuing to play soft music from somewhere on the carpet.

Her attacker slapped her again.

“Nee,”

he warned, shaking his head.

The word was Dutch, but it was spoken with some sort of accent.

He showed her the gleaming blade of a knife before he pressed it against her throat.

“ Bweeg je niet. ”

She had no idea what the words meant, she but understood the meaning.

Fighting a fresh coil of terror, feeling the edge of the blade, Ellie stopped struggling.

Breathing heavily, gasping for air, she tried to remain calm, tried to force her mind to work.

Her compliance pleased him.

His lips curved in what might have passed for a smile.

When his fingers groped her breast, bile rose in her throat.

Through the folds of her skirt, she could feel his erection pressing between her legs. Then his hand moved lower, sliding her skirt up along her thigh. When he crushed his thin lips against her mouth and tried to force his tongue inside, she lashed out, trashing and flailing, determined to stop him. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Tears burned her eyes as she swung at him with all her strength, but her attacker managed to block each blow.

Dear God, she thought, please don’t let this happen.