Emilie tried to shake away the distressing thoughts. Clenching the double reins, she sunk her weight into the heels of her tall black boots and coaxed the young mare onward to begin the course of fences.

The approach. Her braid struck down between her shoulders, marking the number of strides to the fence. One…Two… Three…

Takeoff. Together they soared over the four-foot spread of boxwoods and rails. Her hands and torso moved above the horse's arched neck.

Landing. Her weight shifted back to her seat and heels, and beneath, the bay-colored mare gripped the earth.

Emilie turned to the next jump. Eyes up. Always up. Always ahead.

Continuing through the course with the same precision, she and Chelsea completed ten jumps with no faults—but her performance was lackluster. No doubt Mr. Winslow had noticed as well. She shot a furtive glance at the world-renowned trainer sitting nearby in the open stands, his expression indifferent. Emilie swallowed hard then scanned the arena for Camillo. A four-year-old habit was hard to break. She slumped in the saddle and sighed. When would she get it into her thick skull that her once faithful groom, also her best friend, had left? Without any warning. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Camillo had acted a bit strangely over the last few weeks. But when Emilie had asked him what was on his mind,