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 meanout? 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.
