A Lasting Impression

them—every last rewarding moment—had been worth it.
    Crouched low, wind whipping his face, he knew with a certainty born of boyish dreams matured by manhood that that was what he really wanted to do with his life. Train horses—thoroughbreds—for racing.
    With the ease of a blink, Truxton cleared the creek, and Sutton spotted the two riders as they crested the final hill toward Belmont. Unfortunately, the women were at least thirty yards in front of him. They approached the manor from the south, so the mansion lay between them and the stables.
    Sutton knew which way Adelicia would take—he’d raced her before—and he could tell by the way Claire looked first to her left, then right, that she was weighing her options. At the last moment, Adelicia veered left and headed around the back of the mansion. Claire headed right, and so did Sutton.
    To his relief, no carriages were parked in the front drive. Claire had a clear shot to the stables. Halfway down the road, when he was certain Claire thought she had it won, Adelicia and Bucephalus bolted through the trees. And again, the horses were neck and neck.
    Just then a carriage appeared from around the corner, coming down the road at a healthy clip. Adelicia and Claire apparently saw it too because they adjusted course at the same time, and headed straight for the corral. Adelicia never slowed. She and Bucephalus scaled the split-rail fence in a perfect arc. And, to Sutton’s amazement, it looked as though Claire and Athena would too.
    Until the very last second. When Claire hesitated.
    He read it in her body, in her hold on the reins, and he saw it in how Athena’s confidence weakened beneath Claire’s doubt. Athena skidded, her legs stiffening, and Claire went sailing, straight over the split-rail fence.

25

    C laire!” Sutton leapt from his horse, vaulted the fence, and ran to where she’d landed on her side. He knelt, and careful not to jar her, tugged her skirt down over her legs and brushed the hair back from her face. “Claire . . .” He leaned close. Her gray dress was torn at the shoulder revealing a bloody scrape. “Are you all right?”
    She blinked, and then her eyes slipped closed.
    He checked her pulse on the underside of her throat the way he’d seen his father do. Her heartbeat was strong. Rapid, but that was to be expected.
    “Miss Laurent!” Adelicia’s panicked steps sounded behind them. “Is she hurt, Mr. Monroe? Is anything broken?” She knelt, her face ashen.
    “I don’t know yet.” Keeping his own panic at bay, Sutton ran a hand over Claire’s left arm and found it sound. Her right was still tucked beneath her.
    “Zeke!” Adelicia called over her shoulder. “Ride for the doctor. Immediately! ”
    Sutton took Claire’s hand in his. “Claire, I need for you to tell me where you hurt. I don’t want to move you until we’re sure nothing’s broken.”
    Her eyes fluttered open. She turned her head and looked up at him, squinting as though trying to clear her vision. Adelicia smoothed a hand over Claire’s forehead and cheek—a motherly instinct that Sutton appreciated. But what had the woman been thinking? Racing that way . . .
    “Claire?” He spoke louder. “If you can hear me, I need to know where it hurts. That’s all you need to do, Claire.”
    She took a breath. “I will”—she frowned as though in pain—“if you’ll please just stop saying my name. . . .”
    Her mouth tipped in a weak smile, and Sutton exhaled, cautious relief trickling through him. He wanted to take her and hug her tight but knew better. There’d be opportunity for that later. And if not, he’d make one.
    Adelicia brushed a smear of dirt from her cheek. “Can you tell us if you’re injured, Miss Laurent?”
    Slowly, and with Sutton’s assistance, Claire eased over onto her back. She took a deep breath and released it, her eyes looking more focused. “Mostly . . . it’s my pride that’s wounded.”
    Adelicia half laughed, half sighed, and bowed her head. “I never should have challenged you like that, Miss Laurent. I don’t know what I was thinking. Will you please forgive me?”
    Sutton glanced up. It wasn’t the apology that surprised him so much. When proven wrong, Adelicia admitted it. She was a woman with fierce opinions but also a woman of fine character. It was the glistening in her eyes that took him aback.
    Claire looked over at her. “Of course I’ll forgive you, Mrs. Acklen . . .” She smiled. “If you’ll