“If anyone can, he can,” Ellie said grudgingly. “He certainly isn’t worried about impressing the judges.”
“He’s bound to be selected.”
“You’d think he could at least pretend a little humility.”
Her father chuckled. “Clay may be a lot of things, but humble isn’t one of them.”
She watched as Whitfield touched the bill of his cap to signal the start of his round. At first it appeared her father’s prediction would prove true. The stallion pranced and pulled at the bit and began to lather even before the tone signaled the start. But Whitfield held him easily, controlling him with seemingly little effort, soothing him with a gentle pat or an undistinguishable word.
As the horse broke into a canter, it strained with bottled-up energy. The stallion rushed the first fence, over-jumping it, using more power than needed. The second was almost a disaster, the animal cutting the curve too close, then landing wrong. It seemed they were bound to err, but at the middle of the course, Clay’s ride remained faultless.
The difficult triple combination, a five-foot-wide double oxer, followed by a Liverpool water jump, and ending with another tough oxer, waited two fences ahead. The triple was painted brown, difficult for the horses to see, the fences close together, allowing the animal only two short strides in between.
Clay took the eighth and ninth fences, setting himself up for the triple. The stallion had settled into a graceful, second-eating gate while still clearing the jumps with inches to spare. By now the pair moved with such precision it seemed as if each knew what the other wanted and was determined to achieve it.
Though Whitfield was taller than most of the riders and more powerfully built, his height and weight were no disadvantage to the big black horse. With perfect timing, Clay used his size in precisely the right manner to help the animal, not hinder him, guiding him and rewarding his trust.
Clay cleared the triple, leaving the crowd gasping and cheering. The round went faultless.
Ellie released a rush of air and realized she had been holding her breath. God, he was magnificent. Then the thought occurred—now she would have to go clear just to face Whitfield in the jump off.
As her round drew near, Ellie walked back toward the staging area to begin final preparations and take a few practice fences. Passing Clay Whitfield, still mounted, along the way, it was impossible not to admire the easy grace with which he sat his horse.
Ellie glanced up at him, but two female riders vying for his attention stepped in front of her and she couldn’t see if the look was returned. The brunette asked for his autograph. The other girl said something and smiled up at him. Clay chuckled and winked at her.
Ellie kept on walking, but the sound of his voice and the look he’d flashed the girl stayed with her the rest of the day.
By the end of the afternoon, only six of the thirty-six competitors had earned a chance at the jump off. Amazingly Ellie was one of them. The course was shortened, but the fences were even higher. Whitfield was number four, clearing the jumps without disturbing a single rail. Ellie made the round in the time allotted but took down two fences.
When the meet was finished, Clay had won the twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse and Ellie had finished third. Considering the caliber of the competition, she still felt proud. She’d done her best,almostall she expected of herself. She just wished it had been enough to make the team.
Jake Sullivan stepped off the plane at the Newark Airport at two o’clock Monday afternoon. Walking briskly, he headed for the baggage claim. He’d have to hurry to make it from the airport to Gladstone, headquarters of the U.S. Equestrian team and his four o’clock meeting with members of the Olympic selection committee.
Though it wasn’t more than an hour’s drive, he needed time to stop at the house he had leased in Peapack, a few miles from the training grounds. He wanted to make some phone calls and change out of his flight-wrinkled clothes. Rounding a corner as he hurried along, he reached the baggage claim to find a fair-haired man in a dark blue suit holding a sign with his name on it. As usual, he was thankful for the efficiency of the Gladstone secretarial staff.
“I’m Jake Sullivan,” he told the limo driver as he approached.
“Just point out your bags, Mr. Sullivan, I’ll do the rest.”
Jake grabbed his suitcase and pointed to the hanging bag on the conveyor belt beside it. Together he and the driver made their way through the crowded room, out through the wide glass doors that led onto the busy street in front of the terminal. The New Jersey sky was clear, but the air was cool, with just the hint of a breeze.
A black Ford sedan waited at the curb. The driver loaded Jake’s bags into the trunk. As the car pulled into the bustling airport traffic, he made himself comfortable in the back seat for the forty-five-minute ride home.
Home. He ran the word over his tongue. Gladstone didn’t feel any more like home than it had when he’d moved there two years ago to coach the team.
Pleasant Hills was his home and always would be. The first call he’d make when he reached his destination would be to the man who ran his breeding stables. Then he’d check with his housekeeper, though he was certain to find everything in order.
Still, he missed being there. Sometimes he wished he’d never accepted the job as coach. If he hadn’t, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so screwed up.
Thinking about it, Jake glanced out the rear window of the town car. It took a minute to spot the plain beige Chevrolet following a few leagues distant. But as the town car weaved in and out of traffic, a pattern began to develop and there was no mistaking that the car was being followed.
Damn them! Jake clenched his fists in frustration. He ought to be used to it by now. They hadn’t let him out of their sight for the past eight months. Not since that first phone call—the reason he’d been forced to end his relationship with Maggie Delaine.
Maggie. At one time the wordshomeandMaggiehad seemed destined to go together. But now?
Yesterday, when he’d found out she was on the show grounds, his stomach had balled into a hard tight knot. By the end of the show, when he’d finally worked up the courage to face her, he discovered she was already gone.
He could still recall the profound relief he’d felt. Thinking about Maggie and seeing her again were two far different things, though her position as assistant director insured it would happen sooner or later.
