Free Chance Meeting by Laura Moore Page B

pressure of her leg and softened her hands. She guided her horse down toward the far end of the ring, cantering in a circle large enough for her mare to pass by the first few jumps one more time, reminding her of the job ahead of them. And giving them both a little more time before they triggered the sensors that started the clock.
    Out in the open expanse of the show ring, the wind was blowing even stronger. Ty could hear it, the gusts whistling in her ear as she moved Charisma into a strong, forward canter, approaching the first of the eight fences.
    Charisma responded beautifully. Up and over, twisting, turning, checking, then thundering forward, they attacked the course with confidence, clearing the first five fences without the slightest hitch. Ty felt their pace was fine: strong and fast but not recklessly out of control. Charisma was galloping, powerful and alert, moving as if she had plenty of energy left for the last three fences: the double-oxer, down to the wall on the far side of the ring, then over to the vertical planks, where they would finish with a fast gallop past the sensors.
    They were moving together like clockwork. Ty could taste the sweetness of victory. Yes! she cheered inwardly as Charisma launched them up and over the four-foot double-oxer. In midflight, Ty was already shifting her body to the left, her head cocked in the same direction, anticipating the sharp turn they’d need to make as they headed over to the other side of the ring where the wall jump towered. As Charisma’s forelegs landed, Ty’s seat was simultaneously dropping lightly into the saddle, driving her mare around and on, galloping off in the direction of the gray wall, tall and solid, its base decorated with dark green fir trees, their pointed tops dancing in the strong wind. Remembering her mare’s uncertainty from the previous round, Ty dug her heels in, squeezing hard, her crop at the ready in case Charisma needed additional encouragement. Ty was counting off the strides in her head as the distance between them and the jump narrowed. Six, five, four, three, two . . . In the precious few seconds needed to reach the wall, it happened. In the periphery of her vision, Ty suddenly saw a huge white shape, simultaneously round and pointy, cartwheeling wildly. It was coming directly toward them, far too close for Charisma not to react in utter terror at the unexpected sight. Far too swiftly for Ty to stop her forward momentum as her horse frantically sat back on her haunches, as if slamming on the brakes, sending Ty catapulting, the vertical face of the wall blocking her trajectory. Then Ty knew only black.
    The three men hovered near her still body, battered and hidden yet somehow perversely emphasized by the sterile white hospital sheet covering her. Her head was hidden, too, enveloped in layers of gauze bandages, so that she resembled an inexpertly wrapped mummy. The only part of her that was exposed to their collective gazes was her arm, stretched out awkwardly, the clear plastic tubing of the IV sticking into her vein.
    Her eyes were shut, her lashes dark and thick against the paleness of her skin. Since the moment she’d crashed into the fence, those gray eyes of hers had been closed. It felt as if an eternity had passed since that awful, terrifying moment, Sam Brody alternately willing, concentrating all his energy in a silent command, Ty, open your eyes, and then helplessly praying. She hadn’t responded to either. The doctors, however, were optimistic. The broken collarbone would heal quickly in someone so young and healthy. And though the force of the crash had dislodged Ty’s hunt cap and she’d bled copiously from the deep cut on the side of her head, fortunately there’d been no serious damage. The barrage of tests the hospital performed revealed no sign of brain trauma, and the doctors were confident she’d regain consciousness any time.
    As for the large gash Ty had received a mere inch away from her eye, which