Don't Dare a Diamond (Must Love Diamonds 5)

Annoyed with himself for revealing his resentment, he abruptly turned and went back into the tack room.

“I’ll have you fired.”

The echo of her threat had him clenching his jaw, but he forced himself to take a seat behind the saddle he’d been cleaning and focus on the rhythmic motions of his hand to soothe his pissed-off energy.

While his anger eased, a strange crackle and buzz woke up every cell of his body. The level shot up a notch when, five minutes later, she stomped into the room to deposit Stimpy’s saddle and bridle on an empty rack and hook without so much as a glance in his direction. Then she went straight to the bins on the other side of the room, selected the brushes she needed to rub the horse down, and stomped back out again.

See? He shot a narrow-eyed look at the empty doorway. She hadn’t forgotten where the brushes were located, and after today, he’d bet a hundred bucks she’d remember him the next time they met.

It could be a year, or another ten, but she’d definitely remember him.

2

May - 10 months later

Dallas, TX

Raine leaned forward slightly in the saddle, heels down as she counted Diamond Fire’s strides on their approach to the next jump, a vertical with two rails, one-point-two-five meters high. They could do this jump in their sleep—except her shoulders tensed and body stiffened as the nightmare of their fall during the final event of last season flashed in her mind with sickening clarity.

Fire tossed his head and stumbled a step. When he regained his footing, she wheeled him to the left, and they galloped past the jump with her heart lodged in her throat.

“It’s okay,” her trainer called from the center of the arena. “Take him around and try it again. You’ll get it on this round.”

Charlie’s encouraging claps echoed up into the steel rafters, but she could hear the tight edge of dissatisfaction eating into his patience. He wanted results. Because her dad paid him an obscene amount of money for those results, and the pressure was on for all of them.

She didn’t need to glance toward the tall, blond trainer in the arena to know his sharp blue gaze was analyzing her every move. Anxiety spiked her pulse, and she cantered Fire past the next jump, too.

“Stop pushing so hard,” she snapped. “I told you he’s not ready yet.”

“It’s been four and a half months, Raine.”

“Four and a half months and he’s still stumbling on an easy jump.”

He propped one hand on his hip as he gestured toward the course with his other. “He did okay when Jess rode him while your shoulder healed.”

“So it’s all my fault?” She pointed her baby toward a pathetically low, single vertical. On Fire’s way over, one nick of his back hoof bounced the rail from the cups. “How about that? Was that my fault, too?”

“He can sense your anxiety. He—”

“I’m fine,” she hollered from the far end of the arena.

“—knows you don’t trust him.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” she shot back, nausea threatening to send up her breakfast from two hours ago.

Tears of frustration burned her eyes as she reined Fire to a stop in front of their trainer. Ever since the accident, nothing had been the same between her and her horse. Their perfect partnership had crashed into the dirt right alongside them that day at the end of December. Eight years down the drain. And now Charlie kept throwing it in her face—just like her dad.

“You gotta get this jump back if you’re going to compete at your previous level,” Charlie said, his tone firm, yet sympathetic. “You were almost disqualified last week.”

Her stomach roiled as she recalled how bad their ride had gone at the event. They hadn’t racked up that many faults in years. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. And I certainly don’t need to hear it every damn day.”

A tiny voice whispered she wasn’t so sure she wanted to keep competing, but she didn’t dare listen. She hated the sliver of doubt that kept surfacing at the worst times. Jumping was her life. It had been since her first show when she was nine. If she wasn’t riding, she didn’t know who she was, or what the hell else she’d do.

She gripped the reins tighter to keep her hands from shaking. Fire danced backward until she relaxed her hold.

Charlie heaved a resigned sigh and gave a slight shake of his head. “Cool him down and then do your workout. We’ll give it another go tomorrow.”

Raine swung Fire around and posted as he trotted one circuit of the ring, then slowed him to a walk for a couple more rounds. Finally, she dismounted and led him from the arena into the attached stable while unstrapping her helmet. After removing his saddle and bridle, she gave him a thorough rub down before gathering the tack to put away.