“Are you all right?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well.” Flex put an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward her tack room, shielding her from the horses and riders they passed along the way.
“You lied to me, didn’t you?” he said. “You went to bed with him.”
“I couldn’t help it. I wanted him so much. I just didn’t know how rotten I’d feel afterwards.” They reached the tack room, and Flex led her inside. Wearily, she sank down on a bale of straw. “I knew he didn’t love me, but I thought he cared a little.”
“That bastard. He just couldn’t leave you alone. He had to score, no matter how much he hurt you. He hasn’t got a decent bone in his body.”
Ellie willed herself not to cry, but her eyes burned, and the room seemed suddenly too warm. “I have a mind of my own,” she whispered. “I could have said no.”
Flex took a last look at her tortured expression and stormed out of the room. He headed straight to where Clay now stood beside Max. The big blood bay stallion stomped a hoof and swished his glossy black tail while Clay adjusted the length of a stirrup.
Clay glanced up as Flex approached, but his expression remained inscrutable.
“You rotten, no-good bastard. I didn’t think even you could sink so low.”
Clay ignored him, just kept working on his stirrup. Max pawed nervously, anxious for him to finish.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Since when did I start answering to you?”
“Since right now.” Flex grabbed Clay’s shoulder and spun him around. “You couldn’t leave her alone, could you? You even had me fooled into thinking you cared for her, but all you wanted was another piece of ass.” Flex doubled up his fist and punched Clay in the jaw so hard he sprawled in the dirt a few feet away between Julius Caesar’s legs. The horse twisted his head to look down at him, but otherwise didn’t move.
“Get up.”
“I won’t fight you, Flex.”
“Why not? Afraid I might give you the beating you deserve?”
“This is none of your business.” Clay climbed to his feet, brushing himself off. Flex stepped forward and hit him again. Clay went down hard, his hat rolling off into the dirt. By now Prissy had returned and a circle of riders begun to gather to watch the fray.
“Get up and fight.” Flex stood over him, breathing hard, his mouth a thin, grim line.
“No.”
Flex reached down and grabbed the front of Clay’s shirt, jerked him up and punched him again. Blood trickled from the corner of Clay’s mouth.
“Stop it!” Ellie rushed toward them, her voice high and strained. “Leave him alone!” She stood at the edge of the circle, ashen faced.
“Stay out of this, Ellie, this is between Clay and me.”
“Don’t you understand? It wasn’t his fault! I wanted him to make love to me. I practically forced myself on him. He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to. It wasn’t his fault—it was mine!” The wind whipped strands of her hair while tears slid down her cheeks. “I’m not sorry about what happened. I cherish that night, even if he doesn’t.”
Flex glanced from Ellie to Clay. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. “You’re a fool, Whitfield.” Flex stepped across the circle to Ellie.
“All right, the show’s over,” he said to the crowd of riders, who began to disperse.
Slicing Clay a last hard glance, he put an arm around Ellie’s shoulders and led her away.
Clay watched them go. Climbing to his feet, he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and combed his fingers through his hair. He picked up his riding cap and settled it back on his head. His stomach was knotted into a hard tight ball, his ulcer eating at his insides.
Through the whole ordeal he’d kept his expression carefully blank. He hadn’t once looked at Ellie. He didn’t dare.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
For the first time Clay noticed Prissy, who leaned against the rail, knee bent, a booted foot propped on the fence behind her. He hated the condemnation in her voice.
