Pony Club Secrets

Liberty and the Dream Ride

STACY GREGG

www.stacygregg.co.uk

HarperCollins Children's Books An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2011

Illustrations © Fiona Land 2011

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020 Cover photography © Shutterstock.com CBBC logo © British Broadcasting Corporation 2016

Stacy Gregg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN 9780007299317

Ebook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007427253

Version 2020-08-18

Congratulations and thanks to India Lambeth who won our competition to “name a pony”. India’s horse Avatar appears in this book.

For Parker, who arrived just in time. Here’s hoping that your future will be filled with ponies…

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Coming Soon: Stacy Gregg’s Pony Club Secrets

Nightstorm and the Grand Slam

Book One - Mystic and the Midnight Ride

Book Two - Blaze and the Dark Rider

Keep Reading …

About the Author

The Pony Club Secrets series

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

The horses inside the belly of the 747 cargo plane were restless. For eleven long hours they had been cooped up in their tiny stalls, unable to move or do anything more than nibble at their hay nets. Now, at last, they were almost there. Dawn was breaking across the skies above Los Angeles and very soon the plane would be landing and the horses would be craned down on to the tarmac in their shipping stalls, ready to be moved on to their final destinations.

There were three horses in the transporter stalls on this flight. In the first was a sleek mahogany bay Thoroughbred, bound for the racetracks of Flushing Meadows and Belmont. Too nervous to eat, the bay horse hadn’t touched his hay net for the entire journey. He was anxiously moving about in his tiny stall, disturbed by the whine of the plane engines and the strange smells and sounds all around him, an atmosphere so different to his serene life in the stables back home in England.

Beside the Thoroughbred, standing in the next stall, was a chestnut stallion. He was even bigger than the bay, standing at seventeen hands. He was solidly built, a heavy-set Oldenburg with a muscular physique that could have been carved from granite. The sire of countless colts and fillies, this Oldenburg stallion possessed a bloodline that was valuable beyond measure. Like the Thoroughbred, he had been restless throughout the flight, fretting and snorting at every sudden bump and jolt of turbulence.

The third horse onboard the plane looked positively tiny by comparison. He was a mere pony – standing only fourteen-two hands high. Unlike the Thoroughbred and the Oldenburg, who clearly had noble blood in their veins, this pony was a ragamuffin. His stocky conformation and coarse chestnut and white skewbald coat betrayed his lack of breeding. He had spent most of his life sleeping rough without so much as a rug, even in winter. He had never been pampered and he certainly wasn’t accustomed to being on fancy jet planes. And yet, of all the three horses, he was the one that had coped the best with this epic journey. He had settled immediately in his stall and during the course of the trip he’d eaten his way through a miraculous eight netfuls of hay and kept the two grooms assigned to his care constantly on their feet with his antics and demands.

“He’s a real comedian,” the groom with bushy eyebrows said as he offered the skewbald water from the bucket he was holding. He stood and watched the gelding make a fuss, snorting and blowing theatrically as he drank.

“Did you see the way he swiped my sandwich out of my hand this morning?” the other groom, a sandy-haired man replied. “Man, he is one cheeky pony! I’m really gonna miss the little fella.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna miss him!” The groom with the bushy eyebrows glared at the skewbald. “He pick-pocketed my cellphone when I was doing up his halter and he bit the aerial off before I could get it back again!”

“What breed do you suppose he is, anyway?” The sandy-haired groom, whose name was Clement, leant up against his stall and stared at the skewbald. “He don’t look like no purebred I’ve ever seen.”

The bushy-browed groom was called Harrison. He eyed the skewbald warily before stepping forward to lift the clipboard down off the wall to examine the pony’s paperwork. “It says here he’s a Blackthorn Pony,” he replied. “Now what in the blue blazes is a Blackthorn Pony?”

“I’ve heard about them,” Clement said. “They’re from New Zealand, a wild breed from the hill country near Gisborne. They’re small, just like this little guy here, but they’re bred to jump.”

“Well this one must jump pretty darn high,” Harrison said, “because it says here that he’s travelling to Lexington for the Kentucky Three-Day Event.”

“You’re kidding me!” Clement said. “That’s a Four-Star competition! The best eventing horses in the world are going to be competing at Kentucky. That’s no place for a little guy like this.”

The bushy-browed man shrugged. “I ain’t arguing with you, Clement, but that’s what it says on the forms.”

Clement gazed at the skewbald and shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of a crazy man takes a pony like this to a competition like that?”

Harrison examined the skewbald’s paperwork. “Not a man,” he said, “a girl.”

He peered at the papers. “This pony’s owned by some teenager and she’s requested fast-tracking through quarantine because she’s planning to ride him in a week’s time in the Four-Star.”

“So you’re telling me that a teenage girl is riding him at Kentucky?” Clement said. “All right then, what’s the name?”

“It says here the pony is called Comet.”

“No, no,” Clement shook his head. “Not the pony’s name! I mean the girl! What’s the girl’s name?”

“Oh, right.” Harrison shuffled through the papers once again. “Here it is!” he said at last. “The rider’s name is Brown… Isadora Brown.”

Isadora Brown stood on the tarmac at Los Angeles Airport, shielding her eyes with her hands as she peered into the sky.

“I hope he’s OK, Tom,” she said to the tall man with brown curly hair standing beside her. “You know what Comet’s like. He’s not used to standing still for more than a minute. He’s probably tried to jump out of the shipping stall by now. Eleven whole hours in a plane is going to drive him insane…”

“Issie, relax!” Tom Avery said. “He’ll be fine. Have you ever known Comet to be fazed by anything?”

“As long as there’s food he’ll be happy,” Stella agreed. “That pony is ruled by his stomach!” She looked over at Avery. “Do you suppose the horses get to choose what they eat on the plane?”

Avery frowned. “What are you talking about, Stella?”

“You know, do they get a menu?” Stella said. “Can they choose, like, the vegetarian option?”

“Stella, they don’t get served dinner on a tray. All they get is hay,” Avery said. “And do I really have to make the obvious point that all horses are vegetarians?”

The bubbly red-head was about to open her mouth to speak again before Avery added, “And before you ask an even stupider question, the answer is no, there are no in-flight movies for the horses. It’s a cargo plane, for Pete’s sake!”

“Poor ponies,” Stella said, “how boring for them.”

“Hey!” Issie pointed at a plane taxiing towards them. “Look! That must be him!”

The plane with three distinctive red cubes painted on the tail eased to a stop beside the cargo hangar. Issie wanted more than anything to race out across the tarmac and greet her horse, but she was caged behind the wire fence surrounding the quarantine area.

Issie groaned. “This is awful, being so close, but not being able get to him!”

“It’s only another forty-eight hours,” Avery said, “just until he clears quarantine. We’ll fill in the paperwork today and then in two days we can claim him from the stables…”

Issie was only half listening. She was staring at the crates being forklifted from the 747 on to the tarmac. She’d watched a bay horse and a chestnut being loaded out and now at last she caught sight of a familiar face with chestnut and white patches sticking up over the top of the high walls of the shipping crate. There he was, with his usual cheeky expression, his eyes bright and curious as he checked out his new surroundings.

“Comet! Over here!” Issie shouted, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the jet engines. “Comet!” she tried again and this time the pony heard her. His ears pricked forward and he turned his face in her direction and gave a vigorous whinny as if to say “Hey! Here I am! Get me out of here!”

Comet’s eyes were glittering with excitement, his nostrils wide. He gave another wild whinny and Issie shouted back to him. “Only two more days! I’ll see you soon!” She pressed her face to the wire mesh as the forklift picked up Comet’s crate once more and ferried the shipping stall away towards the hangar at the far end of the runway.

Issie watched him go, the wind from the jet engines whipping her long dark hair against her cheeks. She felt Avery’s hand on her shoulder. “They’ll take good care of him,” her trainer reassured her. “These international air-transit grooms are experts in equine care, they know exactly what to do. Comet will have lost as much as twenty kilos from dehydration on that flight. He’ll need to drink and eat lots to get over his journey. By the time we get him on Thursday he’ll be fit and ready to leave for Lexington.”

“Until then,” Stella said, “I say we go sightseeing. I’ve got a map of LA with all the celebrity mansions marked on it. We should go down Hollywood Boulevard and check out the Walk of Fame…”

She noticed Avery glaring at her. “What?”

“Stella,” Avery said, “we’re not here on holiday. Kentucky is Issie’s first Four-Star event and as her groom you have work to do. Once Comet is free from quarantine we’ll be on the road to Lexington and we need to be prepared. In just nine days the competition gets underway.”

“Umm, the thing is, Tom…” Issie hesitated, “we were thinking maybe we could spend a day at Disneyland and—”

“Disneyland! What the…?” Avery sputtered in disbelief. “Isadora! You’re seventeen years old. This isn’t some pony club rally we’re about to face – this is serious stuff, and you want to take off on a tour of The Mickey Mouse Club? Have you lost sight of how important this is?”

“No,” Issie replied quietly, “of course not.”

She didn’t need reminding. She knew how much was riding on her success at Lexington. This was the culmination of everything she had worked so hard for over the past two years, ever since she had returned from Spain with Nightstorm to Chevalier Point.

When Issie had brought Nightstorm home to New Zealand she had immediately set about schooling him as an eventer, with Avery as her trainer. The big bay stallion had been a quick learner and by the end of the first season she was riding both Comet and Nightstorm on the eventing circuit, attending horse trials around the country, and getting as many One and Two-Star competitions under her belt as she possibly could.

Then, at the end of last year, just as Issie was about to sit her GCSE exams, Avery had come to her with a momentous offer. “The past year has gone really well,” he told her, “but if you really want to turn professional then we need to base ourselves where the action is.” Avery looked serious. “I think we should move to England.”

Even though she hated the idea of leaving Chevalier Point behind, Issie knew that it made sense. Most of the top-flight Three-Star events were held in the UK and Europe and she needed to gain international experience riding the big cross-country courses if she wanted to progress.

So, in the final weeks of the school year, while Issie was sitting her exams, Avery began the complex process of moving the team to the UK. He handed over the management of Dulmoth Park and Winterflood Farm to his head groom, Verity. Dulmoth Park’s owner Cassandra Steele had been sorry to lose Avery and Issie, but when it was explained to her that Verity would train up the young eventers in New Zealand and then send them on to England for Issie to ride on the international circuit, Cassandra gave the team her wholehearted support.

Avery’s departure also caused a stir at the Chevalier Point Pony Club as it meant that the coveted position of head instructor now became vacant. There were lots of applicants, but in the end it was one of Issie’s best friends, Kate Knight, who was appointed as his successor. Kate had always been brilliant at teaching young riders and her new role would fit in perfectly with her studies at the vet school she would soon be attending.

Issie had wanted to move to the UK with Avery immediately, but her mum insisted that she sit her GCSEs before she went. And so Avery and his wife, the famed dressage trainer Francoise D’Arth, had gone on ahead to England without her. Issie was thrilled when they emailed back to say that they had found the perfect place to set up their new UK base – a small stables called Laurel Farm, deep in the heart of rural Wiltshire.

With a dozen loose boxes, a manege and twenty acres of meadowland bordered by forest that was ideal for hacking, Laurel Farm was one of the prettiest stables in England. Francoise D’Arth was responsible for the day-to-day running of this new venture, exercising the horses as well as continuing to provide tuition as Issie’s dressage trainer. Nightstorm and Comet made the flight from New Zealand to England before Issie. They would now live at Laurel Farm, along with half a dozen other young up-and-coming eventers that Francoise was schooling up for the future.

Staying back at school proved worthwhile when Issie aced her exams, and just a week after getting her results she was boarding a plane to England, along with Stella Tarrant, her best friend, who had gladly agreed to come with her to be Laurel Farm’s head groom.

Avery wasted no time and as soon as they arrived, the two girls were thrust into the demanding life of the European eventing circuit. Over the next year they were on the road with Avery, driving their horse lorry all around Europe to competitions on such a constant basis that Issie never bothered to unpack her suitcase. It was like being a pop star on tour – always in a different city, losing track of the time zones and the language that she was supposed to be speaking!

Being on the road was exhausting, but it paid off. By the end of the season Issie had risen up the professional rankings and was in the top ten of the prestigious international young rider table. The pinnacle of her achievement was an astonishing win against some legendary competition at the famous Bramham Park Three-Star where she took out first place with a double clear on the cross-country and the showjumping phases.

Winning was great – but the prize money at Bramham had barely covered their running costs. Eventing was a very expensive sport and all the really big superstars like Piggy French and William Fox-Pitt survived on sponsorship money to support their stables.

For an up-and-coming rider like Issie there was no chance of getting a sponsor to pay the bills. Laurel Farm was beginning to build up a string of promising horses, but they had absolutely zero cash. As Avery put it, they were “on the boniest, bony bones of their bottoms”.

One night around the kitchen table, Avery, Francoise, Issie and Stella made the sad decision to sell Amaretto, one of Laurel Farm’s most promising young eventing horses, to raise enough funds for Issie, Avery, Stella and Comet to travel to the Kentucky Four-Star.

Issie had felt awful about parting with one of their best horses, but they had no choice. She knew that this was the hard truth all competitive riders faced – selling off their best horses just to stay in the game. And if Issie couldn’t finish in the top ten rankings in Kentucky and claim some of the prize money, then things would only get worse. Next time she would be forced to choose one of her advanced eventers, and either Comet or Nightstorm could be up for sale when she got home.

Issie didn’t even want to think about it! Instead she was pinning her hopes on recouping prize money in Kentucky. The winner of the three-day event would receive an amazing $100,000! The fate of Issie’s horses, and the future of Laurel Farm, was riding on her success in Kentucky. Avery was right – things had changed. This was the big league – they weren’t kids any more. And this was no trip to Disneyland.

Chapter 2

Issie stood anxiously waiting at the front desk while the quarantine agent worked his way slowly and meticulously through the pages of Comet’s paperwork.

“Has he been behaving himself?” she asked the quarantine agent nervously. “I’m sorry if he’s been any trouble. Comet’s not naughty exactly, but he doesn’t like loose boxes, and he gets bored. One time he tried to roll in his box and then he got his head stuck in a feed bucket and couldn’t get it off!”

Issie grinned, but the quarantine agent appeared unmoved. He looked up briefly from his paperwork, frowned and then typed something else into the computer on his desk before returning to the stack of papers. Issie looked at her watch. How much longer was this going to take? She’d been at the desk for nearly an hour! Finally, the official reached for the large rubber stamp on his desk and brought it down with a thump on top of Comet’s forms.

“OK. You’ve been approved. It’s all in order,” he told Issie gruffly, pushing the papers back across the desk towards her. “Take these with you and present them at the front gate. They’ll let you enter the compound and pick up your horse.”

The guard at the stable block was no friendlier. “What’s the name of the horse that you’re collecting?” he asked without looking up as he flicked through the papers.

“Comet,” Issie said.

As Issie’s voice echoed down the corridor of the stables, there was a sudden sound of hooves stamping on the straw from inside one of the loose boxes. A moment later a skewbald face appeared over one of the Dutch doors and Comet began whinnying and flicking his head up and down.

“Your horse?” the guard asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh-huh.” Issie beamed.

“You can go and collect him out of the loose box if you want,” the guard said.

Issie didn’t need to be told twice – she raced down the corridor to greet her pony.

“Hey, boy.” She patted Comet’s broad white stripe. “How are you? Have they been treating you OK in here? Have you made friends with the other horses?”

Comet was nickering vigorously, telling Issie all about his epic plane journey and the days of boredom in quarantine.

Issie listened and nodded sympathetically. “I know, I’ve missed you too, but it’s OK now, we’re here to take you with us. We’re going to Kentucky.”

She clipped the lead shank to the pony’s halter and led him out of his stall. She could hear the other horses in their stalls whinnying their goodbyes as she led the skewbald down the corridor of the stable block. Massive electronic gates swung open to let them out into the bright sunshine of the quarantine yard where Avery and Stella were waiting with the rental horse float hitched up to the back of their Jeep.

“Ohmygod, we’ve been waiting hours!” Stella said as she helped lower the ramp of the horse float so they could load him onboard.

“Let’s get moving,” Avery told them. “We want to be on the freeway and out of Los Angeles before the traffic gets heavy.”

The skewbald was looking around the yard, his ears pricked forward. When he saw the rickety horse float that Avery was towing behind the Jeep, however, his ears went back. He refused to step up the ramp and in the end Avery had to place a lunge rope around his rump to urge him onboard.

“Poor Comet,” Stella said. “I’m not surprised he doesn’t want to get on – look at the state of it!”

The horse float they’d hired was an ancient contraption. Issie had been quietly horrified when they picked it up from the rental yards yesterday and she saw the peeling blue paint flaking off the framework exposing the rust underneath. There was black lettering around the front of the float that must once have said Horse Star, but a couple of the letters had rusted away so that the sign read Hose tar.

“What’s a ‘hose tar’?” Stella had wrinkled her nose up.

“Umm… Is this thing actually roadworthy?” Issie had asked nervously.

Avery had clambered about underneath the chassis and pronounced the horse box perfectly sound. “It’s not pretty, but it will get us to Kentucky.”

Now, with Comet finally loaded onboard, they pulled out on to the Los Angeles freeway, and listened as their satnav gave Avery directions through the complicated spaghetti junctions of the city, until finally they were on the open roads of Route 40, heading towards Kentucky.

By midday the landscape had changed. The houses had disappeared and been replaced by desert. The view out the car windows was like watching a cowboy movie, nothing but dust and cacti as far as the eye could see.

“You couldn’t keep a horse here,” Stella observed. “This is terrible grazing!”

She gazed out the window wistfully. “I can’t wait to get to Kentucky to see the blue grass.”

“What?” Avery looked at her like she was mad. “Stella, Lexington, Kentucky is called ‘bluegrass country’, but it’s a nickname – it doesn’t mean they really have blue grass.”

“Well what colour is it then?” Stella said.

“It’s green, Stella,” Avery rolled his eyes. “Just like ordinary grass.”

“Well that is majorly disappointing!” Stella flopped back in her seat. “I thought it would be like Smurf-land or something.”

Issie looked at her watch. “What time is it in New Zealand?” she asked Avery.

“About five p.m.,” Avery said. “You can call your mother when we stop for lunch if you like.”

Issie looked around at the alien landscape of the Mojave Desert and felt a sudden pang of homesickness for her old life in Chevalier Point. She felt a bit weepy for a moment, but she knew she was just exhausted because of jetlag. She was still having trouble sleeping at night and kept waking up, sitting bolt upright in bed at three in the morning, unable to get back to sleep. And now, here they were in the middle of the day and she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“How come I have jetlag and Comet seems to be totally fine?” Issie asked Avery.

“Horses and humans react entirely differently to long-distance travel,” Avery told her. “For horses, it takes several weeks for the jetlag to set in. Right now, Comet hasn’t got jetlag at all. That’s why we’ve brought him here on such a tight schedule right before the competition. The timing is crucial because we want him in peak condition and jetlag-free when we’re in Kentucky.”

Issie wished she was jetlag-free. She felt like an ocean tide was washing her in-and-out, in-and-out. Her brain was swimming in a warm pool, making it impossible to think clearly. As Avery drove on towards Flagstaff she was inexplicably gripped by a desperate urge to go to sleep, and so she succumbed.

It was probably the noise of the trucks whizzing by on the freeway that made her start dreaming. She had flashed back in time five years to that fateful day at Chevalier Point Pony Club. She could see it all so clearly, as if it was real – which of course it was, because this wasn’t actually a dream. It was a memory, an event that had happened long ago, and that had haunted her ever since.

It was her very first gymkhana at Chevalier Point Pony Club and Issie and her pony Mystic had just left the show ring with a blue ribbon when chaos broke loose.

Natasha Tucker had stamped out of the arena after losing the showjumping and in misguided fury she had viciously taken a swipe with her whip at her poor pony Goldrush. Issie watched in horror as the terrified Goldrush backed away and barged into Coco and Toby who were standing right beside her, tied to a horse truck. Natasha lost control of Goldrush completely and Coco and Toby both panicked and tore themselves free from the truck. Then all three horses bolted, heading straight for the pony-club gates.

As people began to run after the horses, trying to divert them before they reached the gate to the main road, Issie realised they’d never catch them in time on foot. But maybe she could reach them on Mystic.

The horses were out of the gates and had reached the road before Issie got to them. Cars were honking and swerving as she pulled Mystic around in front of Toby, and waved an arm at him, spooking the big bay, driving him back towards the pony club. The other two loose horses followed Toby’s lead and scattered back off the road. Issie was just about to turn Mystic and follow them to safety when she heard the deep low boom of the truck horn. There was a sickening squeal of tyres as the truck driver tried to stop, and the intense smell of burning rubber as the truck went into a slide. To Issie, it seemed as if everything began to move in slow motion. She felt Mystic rear up beneath her to face the truck, like a stallion preparing to fight. As the grey pony went up on his hind legs he threw Issie back with such force that she flew clear out of the saddle.

She was falling, the tarmac racing up to meet her. She braced for the impact, but this time it never came. Instead, she was jolted out of her dream state by the sharp honk of a car horn and a man’s voice shouting.

“Hey, buddy! You’re on the wrong side of the road!”

She was suddenly wide awake. They were at a petrol station and Avery had just swerved to avoid another driver, honking vigorously and waving his fist as he went past them.

“Stupid Americans,” Avery muttered under his breath, “It’s not my fault you drive on the wrong side of the road. Why can’t you drive on the left like everyone else?”

Then he caught sight of Issie’s face.

“Are you all right, Issie?” he asked with genuine concern. “You look utterly exhausted. I’m sorry you got woken up.”

“I’m fine,” Issie said. “I guess I’m a bit jetlagged.”

She was relieved that the honking had woken her up. At least she didn’t have to relive the rest of that nightmare. After the fall on the road that day, Issie had been knocked out. She remembered the crack of her helmet on the tarmac, the taste of blood in her mouth and then everything had turned black.

When she woke up again, she was in a hospital bed with her mum sitting at her side holding her hand.

“Mum? Where is Mystic? Is Mystic OK?”

The look on her mother’s face told her everything she needed to know even before she spoke. “Isadora, there was nothing anyone could have done… the truck… Mystic is dead.”

Overwhelmed with grief at the loss of her beloved Mystic, Issie truly believed that she would never ride again – but then she didn’t know what was to come, or that the bond she shared with Mystic would prove to be unbreakable.

The first time he returned, Issie didn’t know how it could possibly be happening, and yet she instinctively knew somehow that the grey pony standing before her was real. Mystic had returned to her – not a ghost, but flesh and blood, and here to help her.

Ever since then Mystic had been her protector and her guardian, turning up out of the blue whenever Issie and her ponies really needed him.

Issie knew it wasn’t just the jetlag that had brought on her dream. She’d had premonitions like this before. It was a sign that trouble was looming.

She didn’t dare to fall asleep again. Instead, she stared out the car window, listening to the country music pouring out of the car stereo as they drove up mountain ranges through the dense conifer forests, and into the heartland of New Mexico.

It was almost seven and the sun was turning blood-red on the horizon when they finally reached their destination for the evening – a motel called The Hacienda on the outskirts of the township of Rio Rancho.

The motel buildings were old Spanish Mission plasterwork painted pale pink and there was a pink neon sign on the roof above the office that read: Vacancy. Horses welcome.

Stella stared at the sign with wide eyes. “I’ve never stayed at a horse motel before,” she said. “Does Comet get his own bedroom or will he sleep with us?”

Avery looked at her. “Stella, they have loose boxes here for the horses.”

“I was only joking,” Stella grinned.

Avery backed the horse float up beside other floats parked in front of the stable block.

“I’ll unload Comet,” he told Issie. “You go in to the front desk and ask them for two rooms and a loose box for Comet. Oh, and get them to provide some hay too.”

As she trudged across the motel forecourt, Issie realised that despite her nap in the car she was still exhausted. All she wanted to do was get those room keys, get Comet bedded down in his stall for the night and get some sleep.

At the reception desk, Issie waited patiently while an elderly couple checked in, and then it was her turn. She was about to step up to speak to the manager, when out of nowhere a boy slipped in front of her, barging in and taking her place.

“I’d like to book a room for the night, please…” the boy began.

Jetlagged and exhausted, Issie lost her cool. “Uhh, sorry, but I think I was next.”

The boy turned around to look at her. He wasn’t much older than Issie, and had short-cropped, ginger-blonde hair and wore dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt.

“Actually,” he replied, in an English accent, “I was here first. You didn’t notice me because I was just sitting down over there waiting.”

“Sitting around isn’t the same as being in the queue,” Issie said. “I thought you English wrote the rule book on how to queue.”

The boy gave a faint laugh. “There was no queue when I got here because you weren’t here,” he pointed out. “I was just waiting for my turn.”

“Well it didn’t look like you were queuing, that’s all…”

“Ah, excuse me?” the motel manager spoke up. “Do either of you actually plan on checking in at any stage or is this going to go on forever?”

Issie sighed and gestured defeat with a tired wave of her hand. “You go ahead,” she said to the boy.

“Thank you,” he said and turned to the man at the desk. “Right! I’d like a room, please, and a loose box for my horse.”

The man behind the counter handed him a key and pointed out the directions. “Park your horse truck over there with the others and you can put your horse in the last stall at the end of the stables.”

The boy signed his name into the guest register and then gave Issie a grin. “Now it’s your turn,” he said.

Exhausted and fed up, Issie finally stepped up for her turn at the desk. “I’d like two rooms, please, and a loose box for my horse and hay for the evening.”

The man shook his head. “Sorry, miss. No can do.”

“What?” Issie was stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve got the two rooms,” the man continued, “but I haven’t got any more horse stalls available.”

The man behind the desk pointed out the doors to the boy in the white T-shirt outside in the forecourt.

“Your friend out there, he just took the last one.”

Chapter 3

This was a nightmare! It was dark, they were exhausted, they had been travelling for twelve hours straight and there was nowhere else for them to go.

“I’m sorry,” the motel manager said, “it’s been crazy-busy today and I’ve got five horses checked in already – we’ve got no vacancies.”

“Don’t you have anything else at all?” Issie pleaded.

“Well,” the man said, “that last stall I gave to the boy has a partition gate in it. You could always ask him if he’s willing to share the loose box and get both your horses in there for the night.”

Issie looked out of the doors of the motel reception. The boy was by his truck on the forecourt, making a call on his mobile phone.

“I’ll go and ask him,” she told the motel manager. “I’ll be right back.”

The boy had pocketed his phone and was just about to climb back in his truck when Issie rushed over to him.

“Hey!”

The boy looked up at her. She noticed at that moment that his hair was a really unusual colour, somewhere in between blond and copper, and that he had the coolest pale green eyes. “Yes?”

Issie took a deep breath and summoned up her last reserves of good humour and smiled at him. “I’m sorry about what happened in there.”

“That’s OK,” the boy said, “don’t worry about it.”

“My name is Isadora, by the way,” she said and stuck out her hand.

The boy took it and shook it. “I’m Marcus, Marcus Pearce.”

He was about to climb into his truck, but Issie blocked his path. Marcus frowned at her. “Is there something else?”

“Ummm, yes,” Issie said. “You see, the funny thing is, it turns out you got the last stall…”

“Is that so?” Marcus raised an eyebrow.

“… and I was just talking to the guy behind the desk and he suggested that your horse and my horse might, you know, share a stall for the night. There’s a partition gate we can put in so they’d be kept separate and they’d be quite safe.”

“Let me get this straight,” Marcus said. “You want to share my stall?”

“Well,” Issie couldn’t help pointing out, “strictly speaking, if you hadn’t pushed into the queue ahead of me then it would be my stall…”

Marcus shook his head in disbelief and began to get back in his truck again.

“Wait!” Issie said. “Please. My horse has nowhere else to sleep tonight and we’ve come all the way from Los Angeles and I’m jetlagged and I’m just really, really tired…”

Marcus raised a hand to stop her from continuing. “OK, OK. I guess I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I knew your horse was stuck on the street for the night.”

He smiled at her. “It looks like my mare has a new room-mate.”

Avery and Stella already had Comet unloaded and waiting when Issie turned up with a total stranger in a sleek black horse truck.

“This is Marcus Pearce.” Issie did the introductions. “They were short on stalls so he’s offered to let his mare share with Comet.”

Marcus grinned at the sight of the skewbald standing before him. “He’s a cute little guy, isn’t he?” he said. “Where are you taking him?”

“Lexington, Kentucky,” Issie said. “We’re competing in the Four-Star.”

“You’re kidding!”

“He’s only a pony,” Issie said, “but he’s more impressive on the cross-country than he looks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Marcus said. “It’s a coincidence, that’s all. I’m riding at Kentucky too.”

From inside Marcus’s truck there came a whinny as if to confirm this, followed by the sound of hooves moving restlessly, thudding against the rubber-matting floor.

“I think my mare is tired of being cooped up,” Marcus said. “I’d better unload her.”

He lowered the truck ramp and the girls got a rear view of the mare’s long silvery blonde tail and chocolate brown legs dressed in hock-high white sheepskin floating boots.

Marcus made gentle clucking noises at the mare to get her moving down the ramp, although she hardly needed much encouragement. After being on the road for so long she almost bounded off, her head held high and erect, nostrils wide with excitement as she sniffed the air and looked around.

Issie couldn’t believe how pretty she was. The mare had a long silver-blonde mane that matched her lustrous tail, and her coat was a delicious cocoa colour with dapples in the chocolate on her rump and over her shoulders.

“She’s unusual-looking, isn’t she?” Marcus said as the girls stared at the mare. “She’s a silver dapple.”

Stella wrinkled her nose. “She looks more like chocolate to me.”

“That’s just what they call it,” Marcus said. “A chocolate coat and a silver mane and tail. She’s got three white socks underneath those floating boots too.”

He ran a hand over the mare’s neck. “My groom Annie is supposed to keep her mane short so that it’s easy to plait for competitions, but she keeps letting it grow long because it’s too pretty to pull.”

Issie looked at the long forelock hanging down over the mare’s eyes. “You should at least trim her forelock. I’m surprised she can even see the jumps from underneath all that hair!”

The mare seemed to know that everyone was talking about her. She moved about anxiously, her sheepskin-booted legs never staying still for more than a second. As she watched the mare strutting about, Issie put aside the mare’s striking colour and examined her conformation with a cool, professional eye. The horse was a good size, about sixteen hands high, but lightly built with a lean frame and long legs that were perfect for travelling fast across country. Her shoulders had a perfect slope – the mark of a good mover – and she had exceptionally powerful hindquarters. It was the mare’s face that Issie liked best, though. She had dainty white markings, a tiny white star beneath her silver-blonde forelock, and at the end of her muzzle there was a cute white snip as if she had dipped her nose into a pot of paint and then thought better of it. Her liquid brown eyes were wide set and intelligent.

“What’s her name?” Issie asked.

“Valmont Liberty,” said Marcus. “Valmont is the name of the stable that owns her – her name is Liberty.”

As they’d been talking, Liberty had taken a good look around and now her eyes were locked on Comet. The skewbald gelding was being held by Stella just a few metres away and he was fidgeting at the end of the lead rope, keen to meet this newcomer.

“You wanna say hello, boy?” Stella led him forward so that he was close enough to greet the mare nose-to-nose.

“Watch it,” Marcus warned. “She’s a typical mare – she can be pretty grumpy around other horses.”

As she touched muzzles with the gelding, Liberty’s ears flattened back and she let out a guttural squeal, making it clear that she wasn’t the slightest bit convinced about being friends.

But Comet wasn’t to be deterred. He thrust his nose out and nickered to the mare. Liberty had her ears hard back against her head, warning him off, but Comet kept his ears resolutely pricked forward, his eyes shining as he nickered to her again, trying to start a conversation. The mare stomped a hoof, her tail thrashed objectionably. She held her nose in the air, staring at this impertinent skewbald as if he were a commoner trying to make friends with a queen.

“She’s not very friendly, is she?” Issie said.

“Oh, she’s all right once you get to know her,” Marcus insisted, giving the mare a firm pat on her glossy neck. He smiled at Issie. “Just like me, really.”

The stalls for the horses at The Hacienda were a collection of covered yards, built in a U-shape around a dusty central courtyard behind the main building of the motel. Each of the covered yards was bordered by wooden railings and the floors of the stalls were covered in wood shavings for bedding. It was nice and clean, but it certainly wasn’t fancy, Issie thought. Comet would be fine here – but a horse like Liberty was probably used to a life of luxury – a proper, elegant loose box.

“We should put the partition gate in between them tonight—” Marcus began to say as he led Liberty into the stalls, but before he could finish his sentence the mare intentionally swung her rump towards Comet and flung out a hind leg, taking a swift and vicious kick at the gelding, which thankfully missed its target. “I can’t risk Liberty getting injured.”

Issie frowned. “I think she can take care of herself.”

Marcus shook his head. “The Valmont stables would freak out if they even knew Liberty was sharing her stall with another horse. They’re very uptight about this mare. Mr Valmont doesn’t even call her by her name – she’s worth so much money that he refers to her as ‘The Asset’.”

“And they let you travel with her by yourself?”

“It was a last-minute thing. I was supposed to have Annie, my groom, with me to help out,” Marcus said. “But Mr Valmont was short-staffed and kept her back at the stables. He’s supposed to be hiring a new groom to meet up with me once I reach Kentucky. It’s all right being on the road alone, though, I really don’t mind.”

“So you ride for this… Valmont Stables?” Issie asked.

“Uh-huh,” Marcus said. “Valmont are a massive operation with lots of horses. I was considering moving back to England when my old riding instructor from boarding school phoned up and said she’d organised the ride on Liberty for me. That was six months ago and I’ve been working at the Valmont ranch in California ever since.”

While Marcus slotted in the gate down the middle of the stall, Issie held on to Comet and Liberty. As soon as Marcus had locked the gate into place she let Comet loose in his stall, and then let Liberty go right next door.

Marcus looked at his watch. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her while she eats her feed? I better go back to my room and charge my mobile. I called Mr Valmont before to let him know where we are and the phone died. He likes to keep track of The Asset – he gets nervous if I don’t call him while we’re travelling.”

“No problem,” Issie said. “I’ve got to stay and make sure Comet settles in OK anyway.”

“See you in the morning then?” Marcus said. “There’s a diner just up the road. Maybe we can meet there for an early breakfast before we hit the road?”

“That sounds great,” Issie said. “And thanks again for sharing Liberty’s stall with me.”

They watched as Comet craned his neck over the partition gate trying to get Liberty to notice him, but the mare steadfastly ignored his overtures and turned her rump on him so she was facing the corner of her stall.

“Give it up, Comet,” Issie said as she turned out the light. “She’s just not that into you.”

Even with the curtains drawn shut in their room, Issie and Stella could still see the pink neon of the motel lights glowing softly outside in the forecourt. They had eaten pizza for dinner that evening with Avery.

“We’ve got a six a.m. start,” Avery said as he scooped up the empty pizza boxes and headed for his room. “You girls should get some sleep.”

As soon as the door was shut behind him Stella began pressing the buttons on the TV remote, flicking through the endless channels. “Ohhh! There’s a vampire versus werewolf movie marathon on channel forty-seven,” she said. “Issie, we have to watch that!”

Issie knew they were supposed to get an early night, but if they were only going to be driving again tomorrow, surely it didn’t matter how late they got to bed?

“All right,” she agreed. “Turn it on then!”

“Wait!” Stella had an idea. “All those vampires will make us hungry – we need snacks!”

The vending machine in the motel forecourt was filled with strange sweets and chocolate that Issie and Stella had never heard of before. They pushed their coins into the slot and bought two Hersheys, a Butterfinger and a Peter Paul Almond Joy and took their chocolate haul back to their room.

“Imagine having to live on blood instead of chocolate,” Stella said as she bit into the Almond Joy. “It must suck to be a vampire.”

The movie marathon seemed like a good idea at the time, but the girls had underestimated just how tired they were. Stella was asleep within minutes, way before the first werewolf even appeared onscreen and Issie was left awake watching the TV.

The movie had just reached a particularly scary bit where the girl was all alone in the house and the werewolf was coming for her, when Issie heard the sound of an animal howling outside, somewhere in the darkness.

“Stella?” Issie hissed. “Did you hear that?”

Stella responded with a snore. Issie tried to pull herself together. She was imagining things. It was just one of the werewolves in the movie.

She’d almost convinced herself that this was true when she heard the noise again – definitely outside this time. It was a long, high-pitched howl, like a wild creature baying its heart out at the moon.

Probably a coyote, Issie thought. She recalled Avery saying that the hills around this region were full of them. As long as the coyote kept its distance and didn’t bother the horses…

The coyote howled again and the motel lights outside flickered for a moment, and suddenly Issie had the strangest feeling. Something was out there – not far away in the hills, but right there – outside her room. She could sense it somehow and it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

Turning down the volume on the TV she got up out of her chair and padded silently towards the window. Issie held her breath as she slowly pulled back the curtain. The neon glow of the motel sign bathed the car park in pink light and at first Issie didn’t see anything moving. She was about to let the curtain drop when she caught a glimpse of a shadowy shape heading towards her.

“Stella?” Issie hissed. “Stell? I think there’s something out there!”

Issie looked back over her shoulder at her best friend who, despite everything, was still fast asleep. For a moment she considered waking her, but then she realised she would feel pretty stupid if it was just a stray dog outside.

Issie turned back to the window once more and immediately jumped back in fright. Right outside the room there were two coal-black eyes in a ghostly face, staring straight at her!

“Ohmygod!”

This was what happened when you watched silly movies! Issie had got herself totally freaked and had begun to imagine a werewolf lurking outside the window. What she hadn’t been prepared for was a pony. But there he was, his snowy white coat taking on a pinkish glow from the neon light, making the sight of him strange and ghostly, but no less wonderful.

It was Mystic.

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