It was the proudest moment of her life.
The team made a victory lap then rode to the judge’s stand to receive their trophy. Clay sat beside her on Max, Flex and Prissy on her right. The British had finished second by the narrow margin of only four faults. The French team placed third.
As Jake accepted the trophy, the band played the National Anthem and a tight lump swelled in Ellie’s throat. She forced herself not to look at Clay but weakened and took one quick glance. He sat tall and proud, but she couldn’t read his expression. When the song ended, they made another lap and left the ring. Clay rode up beside her as she dismounted.
“You said you’d beat me,” he said evenly. “And you did.”
“I didn’t beat you. We’re on the same team.”
“If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have won. You rode brilliantly.”
“Thank you.” It was all she could manage. With the sun at his back and Max prancing beneath him, Clay looked ten feet tall. His face was in shadow, but it wouldn’t have mattered. She could tell by his words and the tone of his voice, his expression would reveal nothing.
“Congratulations,” he said, then turned to go.
“Clay?” she called after him.
A light touch of the rein and Max stopped and turned. Clay looked down at her but wouldn’t quite meet her eyes.
“For whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. I hope that we might still be friends.”
“My God,” he whispered, looking thunderstruck. “You’ve done nothing. Nothing.” He whirled Max and dug his heels a little too hard into the horse’s flanks. Max leaped forward at the unusually active command. Clay slowed him and they moved away.
Ellie closed her eyes. Why did it hurt so much to love someone? Why couldn’t he have loved her in return?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The team dinner that night was a celebration of sorts, though Clay didn’t show up and much of the conversation seemed stilted, the laughter a little too brittle. Clay’s absence seemed a reminder of the ill feelings among the team members that hadn’t been resolved.
The party broke up early, the riders tired from the grueling competition, and there they needed to be ready to leave for Dublin on Tuesday.
Jake remined in the hotel pub, warming a snifter of brandy between his palms. He sat in the corner of the nearly deserved room, thinking about the instructions he would receive in Dublin.
“May I join you?”
Jake glanced up to see Maggie standing in front of him, her tone carefully business-like. His brooding mood lightened, and he smiled warmly. “There’s nothing in this world I’d like better.” Since the Soviets knew about the two of them, staying away from her would do nothing to protect her. On the other hand, if he was forced to do something criminal, he didn’t want Maggie associated with the deed.
But a brief conversation, a bit of her warmth now and then, he’d allow himself.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said as she sat down beside him.
Maggie smiled. “Thank you.” Thick overhead beams and a fireplace at one end gave the pub the charm of the English countryside surrounding them.
“Everything lined up for Dublin?” Jake asked.
“Everything’s ready except the team. That’s what I came to talk to you about.”
“I’m worried about them, too. They rode well today, but Ellie and Clay are barely speaking. Flex and Clay aren’t speaking at all. Sooner or later the strain is bound to cause problems.”
“This is all Clay’s fault,” Maggie said. “Ellie is too trusting, and Clay took advantage. I really didn’t think he was that kind of man, no matter his reputation.”
“I’m not completely convinced he is. He hasn’t been himself since he came back from Monaco. Oh, he’s riding well. Too well. He has little interest in anything else. The solitude isn’t like him.”
“I noticed. And Flex feels guilty. He and Clay have been friends for years.”
“At least Ellie’s kept this from destroying her momentum. She’s riding better than ever. I knew she had guts.”
“She’s competing in the Grand Prix in Dublin. I hope she’s up to it. Working so close to Clay is bound to be tough on her.”
