The bold headline leaped off the front page of the Herald-Leader, and Beth Webb grinned. Adjusting her wire-rimmed reading glasses, she pored over the feature article.

$6 Million Equestrian Facility Hosts Exhibition Today "Lexington, KY- National and world champions will thunder across the rolling green fields behind Highover Gate Equestrian Center, the dream-child of well-known venture capitalist, Bethany Webb. The new three-and-a-half-mile cross-country course is the first phase of a unique training and show facility that will see completion by the end of the year. "Local investor Tim Trent voiced confidence in Webb's ambitious undertaking, emphasizing the need for a first-class horse show facility to soak up the overflow from the Kentucky Horse Park."

Beth frowned. "Dammit, Tim. Why do you always have to be in the spotlight?" She scanned the remainder of the article, satisfied with the detailed coverage. Today was her "show them the money" phase, the proof that her investors had chosen wisely and could each confidently hand over another two hundred grand for the second phase of Highover. She laid the newspaper aside and carried her coffee mug out to the flagstone terrace. Just above the hills to the east, the sky wore a thin ribbon of bright pink, but directly above it, a heavy blanket of rain clouds threatened to smother the promise. "Nuts. Just what I need."

Thirty minutes later, Beth's bright yellow Miata whizzed down the long driveway toward the main barn. Several horse trailers were already parked in the field, and handlers were working with horses in the warm-up paddock. At the end of the lane, the dark skeletal outline of the new dressage arena and barn contrasted against the pale gray sky, and her stomach jigged with pleasure and pride.

Inside the estate's original barn, the lights blazed and the air hummed with morning activity. Beth hurried to her office, determined to check every detail of the day one more time. She had too much at stake to leave anything to chance.

Hal MacGregor appeared about an hour later, his brown eyes twinkling from beneath bushy red eyebrows, his gravelly voice echoing a hint of Scotland. "Mornin', Lass. Ready for your big day?" She grinned mischievously. "Oh, Aye!" He chuckled, then his expression sobered. "Are ye sure about ridin' in this event?" His expression reflected apology. "Ye haven't a chance against the big boys." "I know, but that's not my goal. I just want to be part of the excitement. The next phase of construction starts on Monday and, after today, I won't have much time to ride."

Beth fiddled with the chinstrap on her black velvet riding helmet as she watched a horse and rider cross the finish line. "First call, Miss Webb." Her pulse quickened and she drew in a deep breath, nerves instantly on edge. Nodding to the event official, she nudged her horse toward the starting area. A quick glance at the vast gray sky sent a murmur of tension through her chest. Low, dark clouds were rolling in from the north, and the temperature had dropped noticeably in the past ten minutes. With any luck, the rain would hold off until she'd finished the course.

Two riders waited ahead of her, and Beth narrowed her eyes with curiosity at a vaguely familiar man astride a muscular gray Irish Draught. The rider's broad shoulders filled out a perfectly tailored hunter green jacket, and his thigh muscles rippled beneath tight tan breeches. Add his excellent posture, and he was the picture of equestrian perfection. As though feeling her scrutiny, he turned and looked at her. Embarrassed to be caught staring, she looked away, feeling warmth creep across her cheeks.

Hal's voice rumbled into her thoughts. "Ready?" She nodded, an eddy of anticipation and apprehension swirling through her head. He patted her mount's shoulder. "Lassie, ye'll do fine." She watched him amble away. A prize find, that one. Her campaign to hire the finest instructors in the country had targeted the famous world-class jumping instructor. Through him, she'd hooked up with a former Olympic dressage rider and two world-champion equitation instructors. With a state-of-the-art, fully accredited training facility and the best equestrian educators, on completion, Highover Gate would be the crème de la crème.

She scanned the horses and riders milling about the grounds, then let her gaze sweep across the magnificent, gently-rolling green pastures. From there, her gaze drifted to the specially-constructed VIP viewing boxes where her investors were assembled, sipping champagne Mimosas. I'm on my way. "Hal MacGregor your coach?" The nearness of the soft drawl startled her, and she nearly lost her balance. Brilliant green eyes scrutinized her from barely four feet away, while the handsome guy astride the equally handsome horse stared boldly, a sly smile playing about the corners of his mouth. Regaining her composure, she leveled a cool look at the stranger and nodded. Her stomach did another little dance-his impudent smile unnerved her. He saluted. "I'm Brett Hall from Louisville." "Ah, yes, the one who's chasing Wegner's crown." Another charming grin. "Yup, and gaining fast."

The loudspeaker crackled through the air, "Number 962. Karen Allen." He straightened up in the saddle. "Gotta go-I'm next up." He wheeled his horse around, then threw her a quick, tantalizing look over his shoulder before trotting toward the starting gate, his body moving in exact rhythm with the horse's stride. She watched him check in with the gatesman, her thoughts moving into business mode. She could do worse than having Brett Hall at the event. Familiar important names would shine in the newspaper account of the day, and she wanted every possible advantage to publicize Highover.

Hall moved up to the starting line, and Beth's butterflies returned. Annoyed, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on regaining her mental composure for the rigorous course ahead, hindered by his cocky grin still floating in her mind's eye.

Brett watched the current rider cross the finish line. The complicated course would be tricky, but he loved the challenge of a new pattern. An Olympic designer had laid this one out. Though this event was only an exhibition, Brett's determination to be the best still coursed through his head. There were too many national champions and Olympic hopefuls gathered there, and he had an aggressive reputation to protect. Treating himself to one last glance at the aristocratic looking fair-haired woman astride the big bay Trakehner, he erased all thoughts from his head, except those he needed to dominate the field.

Beth watched the gray horse streak across the grass and launch himself over the first fence of the course. As he disappeared around the bend, she considered Brett Hall's obvious talent. I'll bet Wegner is looking over his shoulder all the time. Hal appeared, solemnity creasing his weathered face. "Ye'll probably cross the finish line soaked, from the looks of those clouds. Mind the Glen Trail if the rain starts-it'll be slippery as the devil." He patted her knee, then climbed into his golf cart and drove toward the access road to watch her ride from a position midway through the course. She looked up again at the threatening sky, then leaned forward and smoothed her hand over her horse's sleek neck. "Here we go, Paso. Be a good boy for me, and there'll be treats at the barn." The big horse bobbed his head and chuckled deep in his throat, affirming her belief that horses understood every word their handlers spoke.

"Number 702. Bethany Webb." The tinny announcement sent a surge of excitement swirling through her chest, and she drew in a deep breath. Paso moved forward immediately at her gentle knee pressure. They waited at the starting post, muscles and nerves singing with both apprehension and anticipation. The starting gun cracked, Paso shot forward like a bullet, and Beth lost herself in the exhilaration of the ride. It no longer mattered that it might rain, or that so much hinged on the day's event. Her body became a part of the powerful horse beneath her, flowing with his stride, lifting as he soared over obstacles, then melting back into a single entity that moved at breakneck speed through the open countryside. Her focus became Paso's as she guided him over the rough terrain and through a stream.

The first drops of rain fell as Paso sailed over the hedges, just before the woods-and Glen Trail. Within seconds, the sodden skies unleashed a torrent, reducing her visibility to almost nothing. I need to slow down! The potent desire to show well in the event countered her instinctive thoughts. Paso had his head and gave no sign of slowing his pace in the downpour. Horse and rider charged into the woods. Narrow and winding, Glen Trail snaked through the forest for about a quarter-mile. A tree lay across the path, but Paso easily jumped it, landing solidly without breaking stride. The rain streamed down Beth's neck, soaking her shirt, chilling her to the bone. Then, as quickly as it had started, the downpour stopped and the sun knifed through the trees, dappling the glistening ground with patches of gold, and she relaxed a little.

Suddenly, Paso lowered his head and grunted. Tiny beads of cold sweat crawled across her scalp-they were going down, and there was nothing she could do about it. As she plummeted to the ground, brown and green and wet and gray whirled around her in a crazy kaleidoscope. Soft mud oozed up around her body, then a bolt of lightning surged through her back. A split second later, twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh crashed down on top of her, crushing the breath from her lungs. Stars spun through her view of the world as she sank into darkness.