Winning Heart. Laura Browning

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      By the next afternoon, she was a mess. Her classes passed in a haze. She rushed from campus to the Hunt Horse Complex, where she found Thomas and the Pheasant Run stalls. Nelson and Olivia Rutledge were out front, still seated in the golf cart Nelson drove in order to get around. They turned when she walked toward the stalls.

      “We were beginning to worry,” Thomas remarked. When she brushed a strand of hair from her face with a hand that shook, his sharp, blue eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”

      Wynter nodded, tensing her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t chatter.

      “Well,” he continued as though he cheered on a reluctant hound in the hunt field, “go change. You’ve got an hour to warm up before your class is called. Chances are with your inexperience, they’ll put you in early.”

      She nodded again. Trying hard to remember her manners, Wynter turned and smiled at Nelson and Miss Olivia before heading inside the tack room to change. She did okay until she attempted the stock tie. Her fingers shook so much she couldn’t get it adjusted, never mind get a decent knot.

      “Damn this thing anyway!” she swore. She mumbled more obscenities concerning the maternal heritage of whoever invented stock ties. The curtain shifted to one side and Nelson limped through the opening. Wynter glared her frustration. “What do you want?”

      “To help,” he responded.

      His tone took the starch right out of her. She dropped her hands from the tie and stood there. “I’m sorry,” Wynter apologized. “I—I do need help. I can’t get it adjusted correctly.”

      Nelson stopped in front of her and leaned the cane against a nearby trunk. Putting most of his weight on the good left leg, he turned his attention back to her tie. “Relax, Wynter. I’ll have it tied in no time.”

      His fingers were swift and steady. It was obvious it came from years of practice. While he worked, his unmistakable scent drifted up to her and she inhaled, eyes closed. It should have been calming, and in some ways it was. But at another level, the scent of him left her wanting something, she wasn’t quite sure what.

      “You must have done this a lot,” she commented, an edge of nervousness still tightening her voice.

      Nelson finished pinning the tie in place and looked at her without any humor. “A year ago, you would have been competing against me.”

      She stared at him dumbfounded as without another word, he picked up his cane and limped back out of the tack room, shoulders straight and stiff.

      Nelson and the golf cart were gone, as was Miss Olivia. Thomas stood there waiting. The Scotsman beamed when she came out.

      “You look grand, Wynter. Are your nerves settling down any?”

      “Some.”

      “You missed the course walk earlier, but they’re on dinner break right now, and I’ve gotten us permission to take a look at it anyway. Let’s go.”

      He led the way to another golf cart and they climbed in. In a couple of minutes, he parked it outside the door near the entrance to the ring. Wynter saw one of the grooms walking Rosie around the indoor warm-up area when they passed. She looked beautiful, sleek and shining, ears and crown covered with a crochet and cloth “hat” to help deaden the noise inside the arena.

      Wynter started to put her helmet on, but Thomas stopped her. “Leave it. We still need to finish your hair.”

      When they walked the course, she felt some of the nervousness leave. It was not as high or as tight as the courses Thomas made her train over at Pheasant Run. On one level she registered what Thomas said, the strides and the pacing sinking in even while part of her mind wandered—noting how different the complex looked now that she was in the ring instead of on the outside like a spectator. Huge didn’t describe it.

      When they walked the triple combination along the wall where most of the spectators were seated, Wynter felt an uneasy prickle along the back of her neck and glanced up. Seated in a box near the edge of the ring were Payton Southard and his wife, along with the Butlers, and both Tory and Payton the Third. She saw a moment of startled recognition on Mr. Southard’s face before he masked the expression.

      Her gaze found Nelson seated in a chair at the very top. No way could he negotiate those steps. Olivia Rutledge stood next to him. Her smile reassured Wynter, who nodded, but couldn’t quite manage one in return.

      “Wynter!” Thomas barked. “Did you hear a word I said?”

      Wynter smiled at the older man. “Don’t let her flatten out going into the triple, but once I’m done and have made the turn to the water jump I should let her run like hell. Would that sum it up?”

      Thomas grunted. “Smart-aleck kid.”

      When they exited the ring to go out to the warm-up area, Miss Olivia met them at the in gate. She handed Wynter a slender box. “I thought you might enjoy these.”

      Wynter’s eyes widened when she opened the box to find a pair of chocolate brown leather gloves. The leather was so fine and supple they felt almost like a second skin going on. She smiled at Miss Olivia and hugged her. “Thank you. What a wonderful gift!”

      Her stomach rolled as she started the warm-up on Rosie as she always did with flat work. It calmed her and the mare, and helped Wynter concentrate on what she must do. She felt Rosie’s nervousness ease when she asked her to move under herself and down onto the bit. Wynter smiled when the mare rounded, her hind end pushing off like a piston as she asked for alternate leg yields.

      Wynter ignored the other riders in the warm-up area. She had to. She had already glimpsed a couple of faces she recognized from magazine articles. She wouldn’t let it psych her out. They must be schooling younger horses. Although this was an A-rated show, it wasn’t one of the better known ones.

      When Wynter saw an opening, she turned Rosie down the center line to the vertical schooling jump in the middle of the arena. Her ears flicked, and Wynter felt a test coming as the mare started to back off from the fence. With strong legs and seat, Wynter pushed forward and felt Rosie relax and go. When they landed, Wynter patted her neck. They would be okay.

      Thomas was right. They were among the first to go, but that suited Wynter. She hated waiting because it gave her a chance to get nervous, a chance to think about the people in there watching. She shook her head to clear it as the announcer called her number. She barely heard him continue with the horse and rider’s name as she pushed Rosie into a trot, halting before the start to salute the judge. Then they were off.

      Rosie felt liquid and powerful beneath her as they approached the first fence. Over the last few days, Wynter had felt the horse’s confidence soar and her pace even out. It paid off now. When each fence loomed before them, the powerful mare pricked her ears forward, eager to take it on. Instead of pushing, Wynter found herself half-halting the mare to keep her from flattening out.

      At last, they took the brick wall and made the turn to the triple line. When they approached the first element, a flash went off, making both Rosie and Wynter hesitate a moment. It knocked her off stride, and Wynter knew as they came in they would have to adjust. The option was take it big or ask the mare to stick in another short stride. It was almost automatic— Wynter pushed the mare forward. The line was set as a two stride to a one stride, so she would gamble on getting her collected back after this vertical. Wynter heard СКАЧАТЬ