Page 17 of The Past

Or rather, the same girl.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus as I shoved the last rail into its slot.Across from me, Rory gave a firm nod of approval as he assessed our work.

“Good job,” he said, stepping forward to test the jump’s stability.“This one was gettin’ a bit loose—last thing we need is a horse takin’ a fall.”

I pulled off my gloves, stuffing them in the back pocket of my jeans.“Never worked with steeplechase before,” I admitted.“What’s the difference between this and regular jumping?”

Rory’s green eyes twinkled, clearly enjoying the chance to educate me.“Difference is, this isn’t for show.It’s a race, lad.Speed and endurance over fences, all at a full gallop.”He gestured toward the rolling course, where several jumps were spaced out over the undulating ground.“This isn’t a tidy little ring with measured poles.This is real cross-country ridin’—banks, ditches, water jumps.A horse needs heart for this, and the rider needs to be fearless.”

I whistled low, watching as a groom led a young gelding past the training course.The bustle of activity around the training center was nonstop.“Hell of a sport.”

Our saddlebreds couldn’t compete in this level of equine activity.They were bred for elegant high-stepping, fluid motions rather than speed and endurance.Our horses competed to show off conformation and precision and I loved that breed beyond compare.I was, however, discovering a newfound appreciation for the thoroughbred and I’d only been here a day.

Rory chuckled.“Aye, it is a hell of a sport.And it’s not for the faint of heart.”He fixed me with a prideful look.“Takes a rider with guts.One who trusts their horse more than they trust their own senses.If a horse refuses mid-run, could be disaster.”

I was intrigued, because any type of riding came with its own perils.Serious injury and sometimes death were always the possibility on a thousand-pound beast.“So, how do you know if a horse’s got it in ’em?”

“Watch their stride,” Rory said, pointing toward one of the jumps.“Watch how they read the ground.A good steeplechase horse won’t hesitate—they’ll adjust naturally, find the perfect takeoff spot.If they’re second-guessin’ themselves, they’re not built for it.”

I scanned the course with a new appreciation and tried to imagine myself flying over it.While I’m an accomplished horseman, I’d never jumped one before.“And the riders?What makes a good one?”

Rory grinned knowingly.“Confidence.Good hands.A feel for the horse.And a brain that can shut out fear.”

On my best day, my father would call me reckless, but I think even I’d have enough sense to let this challenge go.A short laugh escaped me.“So basically, you gotta be insane.”

“That too,” he admitted with a chuckle, then tilted his head at me.“But ye did good today, Blackburn.Ye’ve got a steady hand with the horses, and ye’re not afraid of gettin’ dirty.Means ye were raised right.”

“Appreciate that.I don’t mind hard work.”

Rory opened his mouth to say something else but then stopped, his attention shifting toward the far end of the field.His smile widened with a deep fondness and I twisted to follow his line of sight.

A petite figure walked toward us, leading a tall chestnut horse with a sleek coat that gleamed even under the dull gray sky.I estimated it to be about seventeen hands upon a brief perusal, but it wasn’t the horse that had my undivided attention.

It was the sprite of a girl with flaming red hair and summer green eyes that had it.

Fiona Conlan.

She’d tamed that wild mane into a long braid and had a riding helmet tucked under one arm.Gone were her wellies and instead she wore riding boots.

I knew the woman could ride, but the fact she was heading toward us, toward the steeplechase with such determination, made me look at her in a different light.

I could see the proud lift of her chin, the confidence in how she moved, and my stomach tightened in a way I didn’t particularly appreciate.

Pretty girls were a strong interest of mine but only to have fun with.

Fiona Conlan was stirring up feelings unknown to me, most importantly that of genuine interest in what was going on inside that beautiful head of hers.

Rory chuckled under his breath.“Speaking of fearless riders…”

I pulled my regard from her, clearing my throat.“She’s ridin’ the course?”

“Aye,” Rory replied, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.“Her da’s away this afternoon, so we’re sneakin’ her on.”

I arched a brow at the subterfuge because Seamus Conlan didn’t seem like a man you’d want to fuck around with.“Her father doesn’t approve, I take it.”

Rory grimaced.“Not in the slightest.Thinks this is not fittin’ for a lady.”

Rory was Seamus’s brother, so I was confused.“But you help her anyway.”

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