Ellie blinked back tears. “You’re right, or course. You always are. I’ll ride better tomorrow, I promise.”
She reined Rose away, and Jake stared after her, already sorry he’d been so harsh.
“Weren’t you a little tough on her?” Flex asked as he walked up beside him.
Jake sighed. “Whitfield’s got her all balled up.”
“Whitfield’s a little balled up himself.”
“Where the hell is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, he damned well better get back here soon. This team isn’t going to revolve around Clayton Whitfield’s whims.” He glanced over to where Ellie was climbing down from Rose, handing Gerry Winslow the horse’s reins.
“Go talk to her, will you?” Jake said, suddenly tired.
Recalling the expression on Ellie’s face when he’d mentioned Clay, Jake figured had one more problem to add to his list.
Ellie spotted Flex walking toward her, red hair gleaming beneath his hunt cap.
“Jake’s got a lot on his mind,” Flex said.
“I know.” Ellie forced a smile she didn’t feel. She should be worrying about the team. Instead, all she could think of was Clay.
“It isn’t Jake’s fault, it’s mine,” she said. “I’m making a fool of myself, Flex. Everyone knows how I feel about Clay. They look at me like I’ve finally gone over the edge. God, I hate it.”
“Try to forget Clay and concentrate of your riding. Give him some time, maybe things will work out.”
Her lips trembled. She’d given Clay enough time already. A one-night stand was all Clay wanted. But Ellie wanted more.
“Has something happened between you two?” Flex asked, his posture suddenly stiff. “I mean, the two of you haven’t...?”
“Of course not.” It was none of Flex’s business, and the last thing she needed was sympathy.
“Just keep it that way and you’ll be fine.”
Ellie managed to smile. “I’ll do my best.”
The afternoon dragged on. Ellie tried to concentrate on the riders, tried to assess the course designer’s style, how the footing would affect the jumps on Sunday, but her thoughts kept returning to Clay.
Where was he? Who was he with? Had he thought about her at all? He had left with his father. He’d probably had no choice.
She tried to convince herself the woman who had kissed him in the foyer meant nothing. She’d made more out of it than she should have. Clay would call and straighten things out.
She wished she could believe it. Clay had tried to warn her. Now she was paying the price.
After the show, the team bus took them all over to the hospital to see Shep. The nurses let them into his tiny Spartan room two at a time. There was another patient on the bed next to Shep’s, but the curtain was drawn. Only an occasional cough came from that side of the room.
Shep sat propped up in bed, his eyes black-and-blue and puffed almost closed. His lips were cut and swollen.
“You look terrible,” Prissy said.
Shep tried to smile. “Thanks. Believe me, I don’t need to be reminded. My face looks like the rest of my body feels.”
Prissy squeezed his hand. “The doctor says the damage looks worse than it is.”
“I don’t think they meant it to be any worse. They knew what they were doing. I think they could have killed me if they’d wanted.”
