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I bet she is. Dolly will be jealous.

Hattie

Dolly will sigh with relief that she gets a break from “jumping.”

Hank

you’re probably right.

Tucking my phone away, I run a hand down Oakley’s neck. Now that I got a ride in—and got all my tears out—my shoulders feel lighter, my body less rigid.

Unfortunately, that feeling doesn’t last very long. Because when I walk back into the barn with Oakley, the groom is there waiting to un-tack her…and my mother and my trainer, Loren, are standing and waiting off to the side.

I hand Oakley off to George with a gentle pat on her shoulder, then turn toward my trainer. “You’re up early.”

“Well, we have much catching up to do,” Loren says in his Swedish accent. “You’re way behind, Harriet. Let us not forget you barely snagged fourth place in the Grand Prix.”

“Let’s not forget about the Olympic medal.”

He sniffs. “Bronze.”

“We know you’re capable of greatness,” my mother jumps into the conversation. “We only want you to live up to your full potential, to accomplish your dreams.”

I slowly turn my head to look at her. “My dreams…or yours?”

She rolls her eyes and turns to leave. “Good luck with her, Loren.” Mother waves as she walks out of the barn.

I slump down on a wooden bench, and Loren comes to sit beside me. I can feel his steady gaze on my face. Loren is a tough trainer, regimented and practical…but he also has the knowledge of what it takes to be at the top of the show jumping world. The physical and mental toll it takes.

“Do you want this, Harriet?” He finally asks. “Because your mother wanting it for you isn’t enough. Want it for yourself, push yourself. The other jumpers around the world who are training and competing in their qualifiers…they want this. They’re striving for first place, they’re pushing through the blood, sweat, and tears to get the gold medals. They want it more than anything.”

I close my eyes, trying to picture what the next year could look like. Spending everyday training, working out, eating right. Pushing myself and Oakley to the limit. Traveling to the FEI qualifiers, getting another invitation to the Grand Prix…I even allow myself to picture winning. I imagine Oakley being draped in a wreath of red roses, myself with a giant medal…and of course, the multi-million-dollar prize money.

I picture all of it…and I feel nothing.

“No,” I finally answer, turning to look at my trainer. “I don’t want it.”

Loren nods solemnly. “What do you want, then?”

I huff a laugh. “I have no idea.”

CHAPTER 35

Lincoln

“Rocky, you’re a pain in my ass,” I grit out. The words mean nothing to the stallion who couldn’t give two shits what my opinion is.

I throw the horseshoe I’ve been working on for the last hour, and it lands with a thud in the dirt somewhere behind Rocky’s barn.

“Fucking debutant is what you are.” I glare at Rocky, who stares at me from the side. I’m being judged by a damn horse.

Rocky stomps his hoof on the ground in a petulant display of his superiority.

I’m in a mood, and the high-maintenance stallion isn’t helping.

Someone clears their throat behind me. I’m already tightly wound, so I whirl around with my fist in the air, raised and ready for a fight. But it’s just Otto. The old man stares at me, not unlike the way Rocky just did.

“Listen, Linc. I’m not sure what Rocky did to earn your wrath…but I have an inkling your temper has nothing to do with that horse.”