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Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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wherever you are. Seven o’clock. Look at me, Raine.”
Shaking her head helplessly, she opened her eyes. The look he gave her was as shattering as his kiss.
“Seven o’clock,” she agreed.
But her tone said she didn’t believe he would be there.
Before Cord could speak, the helicopter ripped to full life, its rotors spinning rapidly. The body of the aircraft trembled like a beast crouched to spring on its prey. He handed her the rucksack, then turned and walked quickly away, his black hair rippling in the backwash of the great blades slicing through the twilight.
Eyes narrowed against tears and the harsh wind spinning off the black blades, Raine watched him walk away from her.
The chopper leaped into the air, shattering the twilight into a chaos of flashing lights. Hands clenched at her sides, she closed her eyes.
The sound of the helicopter retreated, swallowed by night and distance, leaving only a fading echo in her ears and an afterimage of a blinking red light in her mind.
When she opened her eyes again, she was alone.
Chapter 4
S tanding in the stall next to Devlin’s Waterloo, Raine was dwarfed by the stallion’s height and muscle. Totally at ease with his bulk, she groomed her horse’s mahogany-red coat with long, sweeping strokes of the brush. In truth, Dev didn’t need the grooming any more than he needed her lingering close to him, speaking in soothing tones. She was talking more for her own peace of mind than for the stallion’s.
Waiting to compete was the worst kind of work for her. Patience never come gracefully or easily. Sometimes patience simply wasn’t possible. She knew her own restless temperament, and allowed for it. Or tried to. The weeks before any three-day event were difficult. She was discovering that the weeks before the Olympic three-day event were impossible.
The syndrome she called “competition madness” had set in around the stables. There wasn’t much left to do in terms of training either horses or riders. The animals were all but exploding with health and vitality. Other than an hour a day of undemanding riding and a few hours of grooming and walking, the horses didn’t require anything.
At this point, hard work or long hours in the ring went against the horses, making them stale and flat rather than eager for the coming test. But not working with the horses left a lot of hours for the riders to fill.
The humans, too, were in peak physical condition, impatient for the competition to begin and the suspense to end. Because they were highly trained athletes, event riders knew better than to deaden the talons of stress with alcohol or drugs. Nor could riders work themselves into a blessed state of numbness, for that would sour them as quickly as it would the horses.
Many riders—and other athletes—relieved the stresses of competition madness with an affair. It was a common and quietly accepted practice that provided a delightful means of killing time without jeopardizing competitive fitness.
More than one man had explained this very logically to Raine. Just as logically, she had explained that she preferred long walks and unnecessary grooming of Devlin’s Waterloo to empty bedroom games.
Only once had Raine given in to competition madness. She had been nineteen, competing in Europe for the first time with world-class equestrians. She had been out of her depth in more ways than one. On the eve of the event, a French rider had seduced her almost effortlessly.
She had mistaken his Gallic appreciation of women in general for a particular appreciation of Raine Smith. He had been dismayed to discover that she was a virgin, and worse, a Chandler-Smith. Despite that, he was kind in his own way, telling her beautiful lies for several weeks while he eased himself out of her life, taking her innocence with him.
Raine knew all about falling and getting back on the horse again. After a few weeks, she realized it was her pride rather than her heart that had been hurt by
Shaking her head helplessly, she opened her eyes. The look he gave her was as shattering as his kiss.
“Seven o’clock,” she agreed.
But her tone said she didn’t believe he would be there.
Before Cord could speak, the helicopter ripped to full life, its rotors spinning rapidly. The body of the aircraft trembled like a beast crouched to spring on its prey. He handed her the rucksack, then turned and walked quickly away, his black hair rippling in the backwash of the great blades slicing through the twilight.
Eyes narrowed against tears and the harsh wind spinning off the black blades, Raine watched him walk away from her.
The chopper leaped into the air, shattering the twilight into a chaos of flashing lights. Hands clenched at her sides, she closed her eyes.
The sound of the helicopter retreated, swallowed by night and distance, leaving only a fading echo in her ears and an afterimage of a blinking red light in her mind.
When she opened her eyes again, she was alone.
Chapter 4
S tanding in the stall next to Devlin’s Waterloo, Raine was dwarfed by the stallion’s height and muscle. Totally at ease with his bulk, she groomed her horse’s mahogany-red coat with long, sweeping strokes of the brush. In truth, Dev didn’t need the grooming any more than he needed her lingering close to him, speaking in soothing tones. She was talking more for her own peace of mind than for the stallion’s.
Waiting to compete was the worst kind of work for her. Patience never come gracefully or easily. Sometimes patience simply wasn’t possible. She knew her own restless temperament, and allowed for it. Or tried to. The weeks before any three-day event were difficult. She was discovering that the weeks before the Olympic three-day event were impossible.
The syndrome she called “competition madness” had set in around the stables. There wasn’t much left to do in terms of training either horses or riders. The animals were all but exploding with health and vitality. Other than an hour a day of undemanding riding and a few hours of grooming and walking, the horses didn’t require anything.
At this point, hard work or long hours in the ring went against the horses, making them stale and flat rather than eager for the coming test. But not working with the horses left a lot of hours for the riders to fill.
The humans, too, were in peak physical condition, impatient for the competition to begin and the suspense to end. Because they were highly trained athletes, event riders knew better than to deaden the talons of stress with alcohol or drugs. Nor could riders work themselves into a blessed state of numbness, for that would sour them as quickly as it would the horses.
Many riders—and other athletes—relieved the stresses of competition madness with an affair. It was a common and quietly accepted practice that provided a delightful means of killing time without jeopardizing competitive fitness.
More than one man had explained this very logically to Raine. Just as logically, she had explained that she preferred long walks and unnecessary grooming of Devlin’s Waterloo to empty bedroom games.
Only once had Raine given in to competition madness. She had been nineteen, competing in Europe for the first time with world-class equestrians. She had been out of her depth in more ways than one. On the eve of the event, a French rider had seduced her almost effortlessly.
She had mistaken his Gallic appreciation of women in general for a particular appreciation of Raine Smith. He had been dismayed to discover that she was a virgin, and worse, a Chandler-Smith. Despite that, he was kind in his own way, telling her beautiful lies for several weeks while he eased himself out of her life, taking her innocence with him.
Raine knew all about falling and getting back on the horse again. After a few weeks, she realized it was her pride rather than her heart that had been hurt by
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