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Three years ago
Clint
“It’s too late,” I muttered, watching as the young rider I’d been training for six long, frustrating months accepted yet another blue ribbon. “I am too late to help him.”
The man standing to my right shook his head.
“You’re wrong, Clint. He’s gonna make it.”
“That kid is gonna get himself killed. He won’t listen to me. You have his head filled with too many dreams. Sponsorships. Championships. The Olympics. He rides too fast. He doesn’t maintain complete control. It is just a matter of time until he and his horse get hurt. Maybe worse than hurt.”
I stared at the team assembled there, each of them clearly eager to start drinking champagne to celebrate. Thomas was almost eighteen. Almost old enough to get out from under his handler, public relations consultants, lawyers and the sad, perpetually drunk woman who had given birth to him.
But I knew it didn’t matter. Not anymore. The boy’s natural, God given ability was a cash cow to them, and he had started to see himself that way. His talent was incredible, all natural, but his recklessness smacked of a wild animal caught in a trap, and willing to chew off his own leg to break free.
The kid hated his life, even if he didn’t know it.
“Mrs. Van Cleese. I am tendering my resignation.”
“Fine, Clint,” she said, casting a weary eye over me. “But don’t expect your bonus.”
She’d tried to lay me more than once. The lady might still be beautiful and perfectly maintained, but she left me utterly cold. Her heart was made of stone. Or ice.
No. Her heart was a diamond, polished to perfection and impossible to reach.
I wanted to tell her where to shove her bonus. The woman was already rich. She didn’t need the money her son’s riding brought in. She just needed to feel important. I supposed I could sympathize with that, on some level. Everyone needed to count. Everyone wanted to matter.
But not like this, lady. Not like this.
I turned on my heel and walked away.
I waited by the stables for him. I told him goodbye. I told him what I thought. I told him what I thought he should do. I told him I kept fervently hoping I was wrong, but I was just as sure that I wasn’t.
Just for a second, I saw a crack. Thomas’s bright blue eyes showed me something I hadn’t seen before. A flicker of fear. Regret. And then resignation.
“Thank you, Clint. You’ve been a good trainer,” he said without emotion. The kid had class, I had to give it to him. But he was dead inside. I knew it was a matter of time before he ended up drunk and sad, just like his mother.
As long as he’s alive, a voice whispered in my mind. He still has a chance as long as he’s alive.
“If you ever need anything, reach out. It doesn’t matter how big or small,” I said with a hand shake. He nodded, clearly not listening to me. Not really. “I wish you luck, kid. I wish you all the best in the world.”
“Same to you, Clint. Same to you.”
I walked away, a little piece of my heart breaking. But I couldn’t stand by and watch. If I didn’t leave now, I doubted I ever would. I sent a little prayer for the kid heavenwards and then let it go. I’d done what I could. I’d done what I had to do. Maybe, just maybe, the kid would hear my words.
But I sincerely doubted it.
Chapter One
Clint
I gnawed on the toothpick, shredding it slowly. The familiar scent of hay and horses filled the air. The sun was beating down on my hat. I leaned on the fence, staring at the outrageously beautiful girl on the horse.
Jesus Christ, I could use a smoke.
But I'd quit last year, and I wasn't giving in now, no matter how tense I was. And I was plenty tense.
It was day one of a new job. The first job since I’d walked away from it all. A new rider. And what a rider she was.
The horse in the ring skittered to the side, on edge as she ran through her routine. That move would have thrown a lesser horsewoman.
But she was not a lesser rider. There was nothing about the girl that was anything less than excellent. Her posture. Her looks. The relaxed confidence that was evident in every move she made.
Phoenyx Delancey just tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and grinned as she put the horse through his paces.
I cursed under my breath at her arrogance. Of course, I'd heard of her. I’d heard of all the Delanceys. I’d sat up and taken notice every time.
How could you not?
I'd seen her photo a dozen times, though I'd never seen the young lady in person. She had only been active a year or so, but she already had a reputation as one of the best riders in the country. Possibly the world.
