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Los Angeles, California

April 1988

Maggie Delaine tried to conceal her nerves as she walked along the narrow, white-fenced lane that led into the Los Angeles Equestrian Center.

She was on her way to the judging stand and the final day of competition in the Grand Prix Classic.

Riders in breeches and hunt caps passed those in cowboy hats and chaps, but none seemed to notice her, each feeling the tension of a world-class competition.

Even with her nerves on edge, it felt good to be a member of the elite society of horsemen at last.

She wondered what Les would say if he could see her—the newly appointed Assistant Director of the United States Equestrian Team.

Her late husband would never have thought she’d be capable of handling the job, but a lot had changed in the past four years.

“Hello, Maggie.”

Shep Singleton, one of the riders, waved as she walked by.

Maggie waved and smiled as Shep rode on.

The day was blustery, whipping strands of blond hair around her face.

The wind had blown most of the usual L.A.

smog away, exposing the mountains in the distance. The equestrian center nestled at the base of the hills.

Nearing the stands, Maggie passed several more familiar faces, but their attention was fixed on the ominous-looking fences dominating the center of the arena or on the animals they were riding.

As the day progressed, horse and rider would be tested to the limits of their endurance and knew what was at stake.

Walking next to the wind-tousled, umbrella-topped tables surrounding the grassy arena, Maggie headed for the staging area.

There the competitors were warming up over practice fences.

Maggie watched the graceful movements of horses and riders taking the jumps, low fences in comparison to those they would face in the Grand Prix.

She felt a pang of regret that her nine-year-old daughter, Sarah, couldn’t be there with her.

Just as her late husband had, his daughter loved horses.

But Maggie hadn’t wanted her to miss school, and the trip was long and tiring, and strange hotel rooms weren’t conducive to a good night’s rest.

“Hello, Maggie.

Didn’t expect to see you here.”

A gust of wind fluttered the pant legs of William Fletcher’s beige gabardine slacks and the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt.”

“Hello, Will.”

The same breeze ruffled Maggie’s white silk pantsuit.

“You heard about my appointment?”

“Of course.”

Will smiled.

“Congratulations.

No one deserves the position more than you do.”

“They didn’t really expect me to be here for the judging since I only accepted last week, but something came up that needed my attention, so I decided to head west a day early.”

Will laid a protective hand on the petite young woman beside him.

“You remember my daughter, Ellie?”

“Of course.”

How could she forget? Though Maggie had seen Ellen Fletcher at only a few East Coast competitions, they had met the day before the car accident that had killed Maggie’s husband.

The Fletchers had been in Tampa Bay for the horse show.

Afterward, both couples and their children had gone out to dinner.

During the evening, Maryann Fletcher, Ellie’s mother, had quietly explained that because of Ellie’s partial blindness their daughter rarely accompanied them on the show jumping circuit, but they’d turned the trip into a vacation of sorts and convinced Ellie and her brother, Tommy, to come along.

That had been a little over four years ago.

Ellie had been twenty, a petite yet curvy young lady much shorter than Maggie’s tall, slender frame, with a pretty face, and thick dark auburn hair.

Four years ago, huge horned-rimmed glasses with Coke-bottle thick lenses distorted her eyes, giving them the appearance of great green trout in a fishbowl.

Through surgery, today the glasses were gone, the nightmare of Ellie’s seeing disorder a well-guarded secret.

“I assume you’ll be competing today.”

Maggie noticed Ellie kept glancing over her shoulder at the horses taking the fences in the practice ring.

She nodded.

“I drew number eighteen.

That should give me a chance to watch some of the others ride before I take the course.”

Her hand trembled as she tucked a strand of red-brown hair up under her riding cap.

“I’m a little nervous, but Jubilee has been working well.

He’s more than willing, as always.”

“From what I’ve read, he’s been performing like a champion.”

In the past twelve months, Jubilee and Ellen Fletcher had become top contenders.

Her performance at the Olympic selection trials had only been average, but she still had a chance, albeit a slim one.

Today’s competition would weigh heavily as to whether she would make the Olympic team and be competing this summer in Europe, then go on to Seoul.

“I need to start warming up.”

Ellie made a weak attempt at a smile.

“It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Delaine.”

Her father gave her a hug.

“You’ll do fine, honey.”

Ellie managed another un-smile and headed off toward the stables.

Maggie noticed several appreciative glances cast the girl’s way as she walked past in her tight beige riding breeches.

She had a full-busted figure many women would envy, though she seemed unaware of her charms.

Maggie smiled.

“I’d better get going.

I’ll be crossing my fingers for Ellie.”

She waved to Will and started walking, then noticed a man in conversation with one of the riders.

For an instant, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet.

She should have been prepared for this.

She thought she had been.

“Are you alright?”

Will asked, catching up with her.

Maggie forced a calm she didn’t feel.

“I’m fine.

I just...I should have eaten breakfast, I guess.”

Unwillingly, Maggie’s eyes fixed on Jake Sullivan, the taller of the men in conversation.

His wavy black hair, touched with silver at the temples, curled above the collar of his shirt.

Maggie remembered the way it felt between her fingers.

Tiny lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes, a brilliant, mesmerizing blue.

“I’ve got to go,”

Will said.

“I need to talk to Ellie’s coach before her round begins.

I’ll see you later.”

Maggie barely heard him.

Will moved off across the hoof-torn grass and Maggie looked at Jake.

She wondered if he was there with a woman.

The fact she cared stirred a self-directed shot of disgust. How could Jake still affect her after nearly a year?

She had known she would run into him sooner or later.

He was Chef d ‘Equipe, head coach of the U.S.

Olympic show jumping team.

She’d taken that fact into consideration before she’d accepted the job as assistant director. She’d just been caught off guard.

With a calming breath, Maggie headed for her place in judging stand.

After her husband’s death four years ago, she had immersed herself in the horse world he had loved, reading every journal, determined to know as much about what was happening as she possibly could.

Eventually, she’d accepted the job as Assistant Director of the U.S.

Equestrian Team.

Now that she was in L.A, fully immersed in her role, Maggie wondered if Les would have been proud of her.

Climbing into the booth, she greeted the judges, took her seat and began making pleasant conversation.

But as she waited for the show to start, her thoughts drifted from the colorful sights and sounds, back to a time in the not-so distant past.

It was the day of Les’ funeral.

She and Sarah were sitting in front of the casket beneath a dark green canopy.

The Florida air smelled musky though the mound of damp earth from the grave was covered with a canvas tarp.

Maggie held onto the five-year-old’s small hand, as moist and clammy as the air around them.

Her own felt cold and dry.

It seemed like an eternity since the funeral had begun in the grassy cemetery on the hill, but finally, mercifully, even the graveside portion of the service was over.

There was nothing to do now but accept the condolences of the throng of people around her.

Dozens of horsemen were in attendance, people Les had competed with as a rider or been involved with in his work as director of the three-day eventing team.

Someone handed her an Olympic flag.

She remembered seeing the Fletchers, more emotional than some of the others since they’d all been together the night before the accident.

Through her thick horn-rimmed glasses, Ellie must have seen her as a faceless blur.

Then Jake Sullivan had spoken in his deep masculine voice.

“My condolences, Mrs. Delaine.”

Jake was an assistant coach then, a rider and an accomplished horse breeder who lived in Charleston, South Carolina.

Les had known him well, but until that day, Maggie had never met him.

“Thank you.”

In her numbed and disoriented state, she hadn’t thought of him again until later when she had remembered his reputation as a loner, a man obsessed with privacy, and wondered what made him that way.

Footsteps sounded, snapping her out of the past.

“You seem a little lost, Maggie.

Don’t let all this tension rub off on you.”

She glanced up to see Clayton Whitfield grinning down at her, a broad smile dimpling his cheeks.

Muscular and handsome with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes, Clay looked at the whole world as his private amusement park.

He was the top rider in the country, certain to make the team even if he made a poor showing today—which was highly unlikely since Clay rarely put in a less than shining performance.

“I guess I am a little nervous.

Everything’s so new to me and I want to do a good job.

Besides, there seems to be something in the air.

Everyone’s a little tense.

“Not a damned thing in my air,”

Clay said.

“Max and Warrior are both more than ready, and so am I.”

Max was Maximum Effort, a huge blood bay stallion, the best show jumper in the nation.

Warrior was the second horse Clay had entered in the event.

“The only thing I’m nervous about,”

Clay said, “is whether that cute little blonde across the way is going out with me tonight.”

He tipped his head toward a woman near the entry gate and Maggie couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you sure you mean out? The way I hear it, the only place you take a date is up to your room.”

Clay flashed another grin.

“Don’t go prudish on me, Maggie.”

He’s smile slowly faded.

“You know it wouldn’t hurt you to try it—dating someone, I mean.”

It wasn’t meant to be one of Clay’s come-on remarks.

He knew her affair with Jake had ended badly and he was showing his concern.

Unlike most of the women he considered his playthings, Clay had always treated her with respect.

Initially because of Les, then later because of her involvement with Jake.

At thirty-one, Clay was seven years younger than Maggie, but they were friends of a sort.

Maggie knew he carried some deeply buried childhood scars and a loneliness he glossed over with his give-a-damn attitude and cavalier ways.

He antagonized most of the riders, the rest were jealous of his unequaled talent.

Though she often found him exasperating, Maggie liked Clay.

She just wished he liked himself.

Clay left the booth and Maggie glanced across the arena to find Ellie Fletcher in conversation with Jake.

Unconsciously her fingers tightened in her lap.

Surely Ellie wasn’t the object of Jake’s affections? Maggie shook her head.

No, if Jake was involved with someone, it wouldn’t be Ellie.

She was pretty enough, but at forty-seven, Jake’s tastes ran to older, more sophisticated women—and he never mixed business with pleasure.

Ellie Fletcher fidgeted with the riding crop dangling from her wrist.

“Where’s your coach?”

Jake asked.

“I can’t find him and it’s almost time for my round.

I need all the help I can get, Jake.

Is there anything you can tell me that will help?”

Like everyone else today, Jake seemed a little restless, his gaze darting back and forth over the crowd.

Ellie wondered if he had seen Maggie, if that was the reason he seemed so on edge.

But Jake had been nervous and jumpy the last few times she’d seen him, more withdrawn than usual.

They were friends and had been for years, but Jake was an extremely private person who rarely confided his thoughts to anyone.

“I walked the course a while ago,”

he said.

“It’s tough, all right.

The first jump looks worse than it is, the second is worse than it looks.

There’s a big oxer like the one I took at Montreal in ’76. The damned thing nearly got me killed. Watch the way it spreads out beneath you, the way part of it falls in shadow.”

Ellie nodded and they both looked back out at the jumps.

She’d met Jake Sullivan through her father four years ago, right after her eye surgery.

He was one of the few people in the show jumping world who knew her secret, since he had coached her for a while after she was first able to see.

Though she looked perfectly normal, she’d been born with a seeing defect, her eyes misshapen, more elongated than round, causing an astigmatism.

She was also myopic—nearsighted.

By itself, the myopia could have been corrected with prescription lenses, but the combination of the two, and the unusual degree of severity, made normal vision impossible.

Even wearing glasses, she had lived in a world of blurred shapes and fuzzy colors, light and shadow without form, all tilted at disturbing angles.

Fortunately, if she held the books close enough, she was able to read and get an education.

Then a little over four years ago, her father brought Dr.

Albert Halstein to see her.

She’d been out in the barn at first light, feeding, watering, and grooming, followed by her daily two-hour riding practice.

The arena had been set up especially for her, with low practice fences carefully positioned to school Gentle Lady, her sorrel mare.

Ellie knew the height of the jumps, and though she couldn’t see them clearly, their bright red color allowed her to gage the distance between them.

Once Lady was warmed up, Ellie took the three-foot fences with ease, using her senses and the feel of the horse beneath her instead of her eyes.

Sometimes she wondered if her inability to focus wasn’t an asset instead of a liability.

Except that she was limited to riding in the practice arena, and taking higher fences was out of the question.

It was just too dangerous.

“There you are!”

her father said.

“You can finish working Lady later.

There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Ellie dismounted, handed the reins to a groom, and took her father’s hand to lead her out of the arena.

The family owned five acres in the middle of Hope Ranch, an exclusive development on the Santa Barbara coast.

From the house and grounds, Ellie could see the blue color that distinguished the ocean, though some days it was difficult to tell where sky left off and water began.

“Dr.

Halstein, this is my daughter, Ellie.”

The doctor, a thin, stoop-shouldered man, extended a fine-boned hand.

Ellie caught the movement and extended her own.

The doctor adjusted his reach in order to connect.

“Dr.

Halstein is here to talk to us about a new surgical procedure that might be able to help you,”

her father said.

Ellie felt the familiar knot in the pit of her stomach.

How many times had she been through this same routine?

“How new is it?”

she asked, an unwanted edge to her voice.

The doctor just smiled.

“Myopia surgery was introduced here five years ago.

By then, doctors in Russia had been using the procedure for some time.

It’s still considered experimental in this country, though I and dozens of others are convinced of its safety.”

“Surely my father told you I have astigmatism as well,” she said.

“I was coming to that.”

Patiently he explained the procedure, a radial keratotomy.

“If, after testing,”

he finished, “we decide you’re a candidate, it’s possible for you to achieve completely normal vision.”

Shock ran through her.

No promise so big had ever been made.

If she agreed, she’d be setting herself up for another disappointment.

But if it worked?

“I’ve seen the results myself,”

her father said.

“You’ve got to let him test you, honey.”

Ellie swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes,”

was all she said.