Patty’s smile widened and a slash of pink touched her cheeks. She was always on a diet, always looked exactly the same, and always wished she were thinner. Clay had slept with her years ago, though on which occasions he couldn’t quite recall. She was married now, which made things easier on both of them.
“I’ll track him down. Thanks, Patty.” He could feel her eyes on his back as he headed out the door and knew she’d sleep with him again if he made the slightest effort. He wouldn’t. He knew he’d hurt her the first time, though it hadn’t been his intention. Patty had wanted a serious relationship. Clay just wanted to have some fun.
Spotting Jake near the door to the stable, Clay strode across the compound in that direction. Jake was busy with one of the grooms, a thin-faced youth who jumped at his every command. Handing the boy a bridle, he gave firm instructions to saddle soap the leather more carefully this time, then turned as Clay approached.
“I thought you were in Palm Beach,” Jake said, surprised to see him there.
“Got back the first of the week. I just dropped by to find out the results of the selection trials.”
“You didn’t get your letter?”
“Oh, I got it, but I wanted to know who else would be riding.”
“I think we’ve got one helluva team. Besides you, there’s Flex McGrath, Shep Singleton, and Prissy Knowles. Ellie Fletcher is the alternate.”
Clay smiled until the last name was read. “Fletcher. You can’t be serious. Fletcher’s been chosen over Peter Grayson?”
“Look, Clay, there were a lot of good riders to choose from. It was a tough decision by a lot of hardworking people, and one I’ll stand behind all the way.”
Clay regarded him closely. Both tall men, they stood nearly eye to eye. Jake had come into his own in the two years since he’d been named head coach. He’d always been confident in his abilities as a rider. Now he displayed an authority in dealing with people he hadn’t revealed before.
“Damn it, Jake, the girl’s only been competing for the last few years. She hasn’t got the experience Pete has, or even Jack Dillon for that matter.”
“I’ve been watching Jack and Peter closely. They’re both good riders, but they don’t show the potential Ellie does. She’s come farther in the short time she’s been competing than most people do in a lifetime. Besides, that horse of hers is one of the best show jumpers in the country.”
Footsteps sounded behind them as one of the grooms walked past, and Jake glanced over his shoulder to see who it was. After he’d met Maggie Delaine, he’d lost some of the guardedness that kept him so aloof, but once their affair had ended, his wariness had returned full force.
“I won’t argue about the horse,” Clay said. “Jubilee’s one of the best. But what makes you think the girl will hold up under Olympic competition? You know the kind of strain she could face in Seoul.”
“Because beating the odds isn’t new to her. Because she’s got balls—and she’s got heart. And because I’m going to coach her myself. What have you got against her? It couldn’t have anything to do with her beating you at Madison Square Garden?”
Clay clenched his jaw. “I won’t deny she rode brilliantly that day. I won’t deny I hated losing to her. But Peter has experience. That’s worth a lot more than potential. The committee should have asked her to loan the horse to the team.”
“Look, I know you and Peter have been friends for years, but that’s beside the point.”
Clay grunted. He’d been looking forward to the tour with Peter along, one of the few riders who could keep up Clay’s demanding, over-indulgent, after-hour’s pace. Hell, Peter could drink until dawn then ride all day with no more to show for it than a smudge or two beneath his eyes.
“I realize Peter’s consistent while Ellie is a little sporadic,” Jake continued. “But you don’t win gold medals by being mediocre, or even just good. The girl’s a worker. She’s got a chance for greatness, and I intend to see she gets it.”
“Christ,” Clay grumbled, “a month in Europe with that Pollyanna is more than I can stand.”
“You always were a chauvinist, Clay. I’m surprised you aren’t complaining about Prissy, too.”
“Prissy’s one of the best. There’s no denying that. The Fletcher girl, well, she’s—“
“She’s what, Mr. Whitfield?”
Clay stiffened. He cut his eyes to Jake, whose mouth edged up in one corner. With a silent curse, Clay turned to face the female voice touched with anger. Ellie Fletcher glared up at him, green eyes snapping, her riding crop gripped against her thigh.
“Ellie,” Jake said, “I believe you know Clayton Whitfield.”
“So you think Peter Grayson would have been a better choice,” she said.
“Peter has more experience. Even Jake said that.”
“By the time we reach Seoul,I’llhave more experience.”
Clay felt the pull of a smile. “Yes, you will, Ms. Fletcher.” Since she rode the West Coast circuit and he the East, he’d seen her only a few times over the years. He hadn’t really noticed her until she won the twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse in the Mercedes Grand Prix last year at Madison Square Gardens. He’d chalked it up to bad luck for him and good luck for her.
