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

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2007

Text Copyright © Stacy Gregg 2007

Cover design copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

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

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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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Source ISBN: 9780007245192

Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2009 ISBN: 9780007340668

Version: 2020-08-18

For Venetia

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

Keep Reading …

The Pony Club Secrets Series

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

Please, please let it be sunny tomorrow, Issie had prayed as she went to bed the night before the gymkhana. But when her alarm clock woke her at quarter to six the next morning and she ran to the window there were grey clouds covering the sky. Still, there was no sign of rain and when she listened for a cancellation on the radio nothing was mentioned, so she headed out into the pre-dawn light to prepare Mystic for his big day.

Stella and Kate were already down at the River Paddock. Stella was busily brushing out Coco’s tail, while Kate was sectioning out Toby’s neatly pulled mane so that she could start plaiting it into tiny knots along the top of his neck.

“You’d better hurry.” Stella smiled. “Tom said he’d be here by seven to help us load them into the truck and take them to the show grounds.”

Grabbing Mystic’s halter out of the tack room, Issie set off across the paddock. The grass was wet with dew and her riding boots were soaked by the time she reached the spot where Mystic was grazing. The pretty dapple-grey was chewing up great chunks of fresh spring growth and barely bothered to raise his head to acknowledge her.

“Here, Mystic,” Issie called hopefully, hiding the halter behind her back with one hand and holding her other hand out towards the pony.

She had forgotten to bring a treat to tempt him with, but perhaps she could bluff the gelding into believing she had a piece of carrot or apple in her empty fist.

No such luck. Mystic had spotted the halter. He gave a deep snort of surprise, shaking his mane and trotting off to the other side of the paddock.

“Oh, Mystic, no! Not today!” Issie cried in despair.

Of course these things always happened at the worst possible moment. Like today. Issie was nervous enough about riding at her first gymkhana. Now she was running late—the others were nearly ready to plait up their horses and she hadn’t even started grooming. Even at this distance Issie could see that Mystic had got himself into a right state from rolling in the long paddock grass. There were chunks of dirt matted into his silvery mane and his hocks were stained bright green.

“Come on, Mystic,” Issie begged. She bent down, picked a handful of grass and offered it hopefully to the little grey pony. Mystic swivelled his ears towards Issie. He took one step forward, then another. Even though he was knee-deep in grass, the small bunch in Issie’s hand was too good to resist. Issie walked quietly up to his side and slid the halter rope around his neck. Then she eased the halter over Mystic’s nose and quickly buckled it up behind his ears. Success!

“Who’s a naughty pony then?” Stella giggled as Issie led Mystic up to the fence and tethered him next to her Coco.

“It’s not just Mystic,” Kate insisted. “I spent ages catching Toby this morning. It’s this spring grass. It’s making them all act like crazy colts!”

“Do you hear that, Mystic? I bet you wish you were a colt again, eh boy?” Issie laughed.

Mystic wasn’t a young horse. Issie had known that when she bought him. Back then she had been told that the grey gelding was eighteen. But it was hard to tell the age of a horse. Her pony-club instructor Tom Avery reckoned that the little grey might actually be as old as twenty-five which was positively ancient in horse years.

The pony’s dapples had faded over the years from the dark steel of a young colt to a soft dove grey. Mystic’s back was slightly swayed too, from years of riding. Still, he was a beautiful pony, only fourteen hands high but he held himself so proudly he seemed bigger. His eyes were dark smudges of coal in his pale face, and they had the calm depth of a horse that has lived a little. Mystic certainly knew his way around a showjumping or cross-country course.

Issie sighed as she examined her horse’s hindquarters. “Oh, Mystic, why aren’t you a nice dark colour like Toby and Coco? Keeping you clean is twice as much work.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Stella said. “You can’t see the grass stains on Coco, but check this out.” She gave the chubby little brown mare a friendly slap on the rump and a circle of white dust appeared where her hand had been. “See? I’ve been grooming for hours now and I can’t get rid of it.”

Coco turned around to see what Stella was up to and gave her a sniff, nuzzling the girl with her velvet soft nose. “No, Coco. I don’t have any carrots,” Stella giggled, “but if you win a ribbon today I promise you can have as many carrots as you want.” Coco nickered happily. It was a deal.

Stella and Kate were perfectly suited to their horses, Issie thought. Blonde and blue-eyed Kate was as lanky and long-limbed as her rangy bay Thoroughbred, while Stella, with her bunches of red curls and pale complexion dotted with freckles, was small and bubbly—the same personality as her chocolate-coloured mare.

Stella was Issie’s best friend. They had been best friends since the first day of primary school when they realised that not only did they both love horses, they also loved to draw. Even now, art classes were still a competition between the two of them—although their third form art teacher was less than impressed that all they ever wanted to draw was horses.

Issie grabbed a rubber band out of her grooming bucket, using it as a hair tie to secure her long, dark hair out of her face while she worked. Then she dipped her hand back into the bucket of brushes again, this time producing a stiff-bristled dandy brush, and got started on Mystic’s hocks, furiously scrubbing away at the mud. She gave Mystic’s two white hind socks a brisk scrub with a damp brush to remove the last of the marks, then set about bandaging his legs for the trip. It may only be a few minutes down the road, she figured, but Mystic might still injure his legs in the horse truck if they weren’t padded for protection.

The Chevalier Point Pony Club grounds were within riding distance of the River Paddock—about half an hour away at a steady trot. But the stretch of road that you had to ride to reach the pony club was treacherous. The club grounds were just off a busy main road, which made them a nightmare to reach on horseback. Most drivers had no idea of the danger they were causing as they raced past at top speed, never bothering to slow down in case they spooked the horses that were confined to the narrow grass verge on the side of the road.

On rally days, Issie usually rode to pony club the long way using a series of quiet backroads to reach the grounds, avoiding the main road as much as possible. But today, she wouldn’t have to worry about the roads at all. Tom Avery was loading their ponies into his horse truck to drive them to the gymkhana so that they would arrive fresh and ready for the big event.

Issie had bandaged Mystic’s tail to keep it clean and was about to start with some last-minute mane-pulling when she heard the stern voice of her pony-club instructor booming out across the paddock. “Come on, girls, I thought you’d have them rugged up and ready to go by now.”

Issie turned around to see Avery striding towards her, a tall striking figure in crisp white jodhpurs and long black boots. His face was set in a serious expression underneath the mop of thick, curly brown hair. He held a riding crop in one hand, which Issie had never seen him use—except to thwack against the side of his boot when he was making a point. She guessed he carried it mostly to make himself look meaner.

Sometimes Stella would imitate Avery when he wasn’t around, whacking her crop against her leg and barking in a commanding tone, “Come on, chaps, get their hocks under them!” Issie and Kate would hoot with laughter at this impersonation, but the fact was that all three girls had enormous respect for their instructor.

Avery had once been a professional eventer—until he took a bad fall at the Badminton Horse Trials which finished his career for good. He didn’t talk much about those days, but Issie knew he had competed against the best riders in the world. He had even been on the same team as Blyth Tait and Mark Todd. But since his accident he didn’t ride at all.

Now he worked for the International League for the Protection of Horses, rescuing horses and ponies that had been mistreated and abused by vicious owners, and in his spare time he gave lessons to Issie and the other riders at Chevalier Point.

Hardly a glamorous life for him, Issie thought. After all, Chevalier Point wasn’t exactly the most exciting place on earth. It was a small town, perched on a peninsula of land. Issie’s mum was fond of saying that there were more horses there than people. Which may have been true. Certainly, if you loved horses then Chevalier Point was the best place in the world to live. With its flat green fields and rolling hills it was perfect horse country.

“Let’s get them loaded,” Avery instructed the girls. “We’ve got no time to waste.”

“Toby looks great in his new rug,” Issie said as Kate led him towards the ramp of the truck. The handsome bay wore a blood-red woollen blanket. Coco, too, was dressed up in her show rug made of navy-blue netting.

Wearing his plain old canvas paddock rug, Mystic didn’t look anywhere near as grand. “Don’t worry, boy, you look good just as you are,” Issie reassured him, worried that her pony’s feelings would be hurt if the others got all the attention. Mystic seemed happy enough with Issie’s praise. There was a definite spring in his step as he walked up the truck ramp, as if he knew he was on his way somewhere exciting.

Toby whinnied a greeting to Mystic as Issie tied the little grey up in the stall next to the big bay Thoroughbred. She gave each horse a hay net to play with for the five-minute trip and knocked on the window that separated the horses from the passenger cab of the truck to let Avery know they were ready to go. The overcast skies had cleared, the sun was out and they were on their way.

CHAPTER 2

Clouds of dust rose up from the truck tyres as Avery turned off the main road and down the gravel drive that led to the Chevalier Point grounds. Ahead of them were the pony-club gates, hemmed by a line of tall magnolia trees. Beyond the magnolias was another paddock gate and then a series of large plane trees ran like a leafy spine down the middle of the three paddocks that made up the club grounds.

On warm summer days riders could loll about in the shade of the plane trees while their horses rested. It wasn’t going to get that hot today. After all, this was the first gymkhana of the season. Still, Avery pulled the horse truck up in the first paddock under two of the biggest trees so that they would be shaded from the glare of the sun.

They unloaded the horses and set to work braiding manes, stencilling chequerboard patterns on to rumps and oiling the ponies’ hooves.

Issie had never seen so many riders at Chevalier Point before. The gymkhana was open to all riders in the district, and Issie tried to pick out which riders were from the various clubs by the colour of their jerseys and ties. The Chevalier Point club uniform was a navy jersey with a bright red tie and Issie could see two riders dressed in Chevalier Point colours riding towards her from the far field where the showjumps had been set up.

“Hey, dizzy Issie!” the rider at the front called to her as he cantered closer. “About time you got here. Ben and me have already walked the showjumping course.”

Dan and Ben were Chevalier Point Pony Club members. Dan had a flea-bitten grey gelding called Kismit, while Ben rode a grumpy Welsh pony called Max.

“Are the jumps very big?” Issie asked nervously.

“Huge!” Dan teased her. “And you’ve got to ride fast too, if you want to beat the clock. The best time with no faults wins.” He was grinning from ear to ear. Dan was a speed demon. He and Kismit would be the ones to beat in the jumping ring today.

No time to walk the course now, Issie decided. It was nearly time for the first event. She would have to check out the jumps with Stella and Kate during the lunch break.

“Hello, Kismit.” Issie reached out a hand to pat the slender grey on the nose. “I suppose you’ve been promised extra carrots for dinner if you go fast today?” She smiled at Dan.

“Hey! I don’t need to bribe my own horse to win.” Dan grinned back. “Anyway, we’re going to fill in our entry forms now. Do you want to come?” he asked.

Issie was about to say yes when she heard her mother calling her name.

“Isadora! Isadora!” Mrs Brown cried out as she strode across the field towards her. Issie groaned. She couldn’t stand the way her mother insisted on using her full name. Isadora. It sounded so snobby and girly, not at all the sort of name for a serious horse rider. Sure, Avery called her Isadora sometimes too, but only when he was telling her off during a riding lesson. Apart from that, everyone else, even her teachers at school, called her Issie.

“I’ve filled in your entry forms,” Mrs Brown explained. “Doesn’t Mystic look wonderful?” She gave the grey gelding a very nervous pat and held on to the reins, extending her arm so that she was standing as far away from Mystic as possible while Issie did up the girth.

Everyone said that Issie was exactly like her mum. It was true that they were both tall, tanned and lean with long dark hair. But Issie didn’t think they were alike at all. How could they be when Issie loved horses so much and her mother didn’t even like them?

Issie wished her mum would give riding a try. Maybe if she could experience for herself the thrill of cantering across open fields with the wind in her hair, she’d finally be able to understand why Issie adored riding so much. But her mum was way too scared to even sit on a horse, let alone canter one.

“What’s your first event?” Mrs Brown asked, still reluctantly hanging on to Mystic’s reins as Issie finished adjusting her stirrups.

“Paced and Mannered. We’re due in the ring any minute now,” Issie told her. She gave Mystic a stroke on his dark, velvety nose and her mum gave her a leg up.

“Come on, boy,” Issie murmured softly, leaning low over Mystic’s neck, “let’s show them what we can do.”

In the ring, several horses were trotting around warming up. Dan and Ben were already there. A girl that Issie didn’t recognise rode in on a skewbald with a peppy trot, a young girl on a chubby chestnut mare following behind her. The chestnut pony had a vicious temper. Her ears were lying flat back against her head—a warning to other horses not to get too close.

The prettiest by far in the ring, thought Issie, was a golden palomino with a star on her forehead and high, lively paces. “Wow! Isn’t that palomino gorgeous,” Stella said, reading Issie’s mind as the two riders sat at the edge of the arena checking out the competition. “I wonder who that rider is? I’ve never seen her here before but she’s wearing our club colours…”

The girl on the palomino had golden hair, almost the same colour as her pony, tied back in two severe plaits. She wore a tweed hacking jacket over her club jersey and had a sour expression on her face.

“I know who it must be,” Kate said as she rode up beside them. “That’s Natasha Tucker. Her family have just moved here. I bet she’s joined Chevalier Point Pony Club!”

The three girls were still eyeing up the palomino with envy, when it suddenly spooked at a plastic bag blowing across the ground. The girl with the sour expression jerked back in the saddle, wrenching on the reins and jagging the little pony sharply in the mouth with the bit. Regaining her seat, she raised her riding crop in the air and brought it down hard on the pony’s golden flank. “Stand still you brute!” she squealed.

Issie was stunned. “I can’t believe she just did that!”

“Don’t worry,” muttered Stella, “the judge saw it too and she can’t believe it either. Paced and Mannered? More like bad manners! There’s no way she’s going to get a ribbon for that behaviour. And neither will we for that matter if we don’t get in the ring pretty quickly. Come on! The event is about to start.”

“Trot on!” ordered the judge, a sturdy woman in blue stockings and a matching straw hat, standing in the middle of the arena. The riders obediently trotted around in a circle.

Issie urged Mystic into a trot and tried to look her best. Heels down, hands still, head up, she chanted to herself as she rose up and down to the rhythm of Mystic’s trot.

“Canter!” called the judge. Mystic cantered eagerly around the ring, ears pricked forward, tail held high. Unfortunately his canter was a little too keen. As he got closer to the chubby chestnut mare in front of him she flattened her ears and lashed out with her hind legs. Mystic squealed and shied to one side. Issie let the reins slip and had to grab a handful of mane to stay on his back.

“Halt!” commanded the judge. But there was no hope of that right now. Issie snatched the reins back up but it was too late. Everyone else had stopped their horses and Mystic was still doing an ungainly trot around the ring. She sat down heavy in the saddle and finally he came to a halt. Too late, though—the judge had been watching her mistakes.

When the winners were called into the centre of the ring Issie knew she didn’t stand a chance. Kate rode out with a grin on her face and a red ribbon tied around Toby’s neck. Behind her was the skewbald in second place and a boy on a brown pony came third.

The haughty girl with the palomino hadn’t got anywhere either. As the riders left the ring she barged past Issie and Mystic in a huff. “Get your stupid horse out of the way,” she snapped. Then she halted the palomino and turned in the saddle to glare at Issie. Her face was so bitter it looked like she’d been sucking lemons. “It’s all your fault anyway” she continued. “If your horse hadn’t run wild in there and scared Goldrush I would have won this dumb event. You obviously have no idea how to ride. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Issie opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but it was too late. The sour-faced girl turned the palomino again and set off at a canter, leaving Issie reeling in shock and anger.

“What was that all about?” Stella rode up to join Issie.

“Well, Stella,” Issie said sarcastically, “it looks like I just made friends with the new girl.”

As Issie reached Avery’s truck she was still deep in thought, mulling over all the things she should have said to nasty old Natasha instead of just sitting there with her mouth hanging open. Then she heard Natasha’s shrill voice again. This time, thankfully, she wasn’t yelling at Issie. She was talking to someone on the other side of the truck where a silver horse float was parked behind a matching silver sports car.

“Mum, I hate this horse,” the girl wailed as she slid off the palomino’s back and threw the reins to a tall blonde woman wearing black sunglasses.

“Natasha Tucker!” scolded her mother. “Do you know how much money we’ve spent on that horse?”

“I don’t care!” Natasha barked. “She’s useless!”

“Sweetie, please just try to ride her for the rest of the day,” her mother sighed. “It seems like every horse we buy for you simply isn’t good enough. Give Goldrush a chance.”

“All right,” Natasha muttered. She was staring at the ground, kicking the dirt with her riding boot as she sulked. “All right then. But I really can’t be bothered. I mean, she’s a useless horse. And why do I have to ride anyway? Why won’t you buy me a snowboard?”

“Natasha,” her mother said firmly, “we’ve already bought you a jet ski and a pair of rollerblades and a mountain bike, and you don’t use any of them. Now, you told us you wanted a pony, and we’ve paid a small fortune for Goldrush, so you can jolly well get out there and ride her.”

With a dramatic sigh of resignation Natasha turned away from her mother and mounted the palomino again, giving her a sharp boot in the ribs as they headed back towards the arena.

Issie couldn’t believe it. Was Goldrush just another toy that this girl was getting tired of playing with? How could Natasha Tucker not love the beautiful palomino? And was this awful spoilt brat really the newest member of the Chevalier Point Pony Club?

CHAPTER 3

“Forget about Miss Stuck-up Tucker,” Stella giggled. The two girls were sitting on a tartan rug that had been thrown down on the grass next to Avery’s truck, noshing into the pile of sandwiches that Issie’s mum had prepared for their lunch. “Finish up your sandwich and we’ll go grab Kate and walk the showjumping course with Tom.”

The showjumping course was laid out at the far end of the club grounds. Avery was already there waiting for them.

“The key to a clear round,” he advised them as they set out on foot towards the first jump, “is never take any fence for granted. Especially the first one. Many a rider has a refusal at the first jump because they’re too busy thinking about what comes next.”

The girls followed along as Avery walked between the fences, describing the various obstacles and advising where the ponies should take off and land. Standing beside the third fence, a parallel rail painted in blue and white stripes, Avery measured the jump against his body. The rail was almost as high as his waist. “These fences are a decent size,” he said. “You’ll need to be thinking at all times. Keep your horse well-rounded with lots of power in the hindquarters. If you allow them to flatten out you’ll never make it over these jumps.”

Avery charted out the rest of the course, taking slow careful steps and measuring the strides needed between each fence. “When you’re riding I expect you to follow exactly in my footsteps,” he told Issie as he walked the line between the fences. “Don’t be tempted to cut corners,” he said. “Better to risk time faults than to have a refusal.”

As they headed back to the truck to saddle up, the girls stopped at the judges’ tent and collected their competition numbers, which had been written in black felt tip on to fabric squares that they tied on over their jerseys. Issie was number twenty-two, the last to go. An advantage, she decided, since she could watch the other riders and learn from their mistakes.

“Your first showjumping competition, eh? You must be nervous.” Dan gave Issie a grin as he rode up to join her at the side of the show ring.

“Nervous?” Issie tried to act cool even though her tummy was churning with butterflies. “No way! Mystic has done this sort of thing a million times before. I’m pretty relaxed,” she said airily.

“Still, hadn’t you better go over a few practice jumps?” Dan said, teasing her. “Maybe your problem is that you’re a little too relaxed.”

Dan was so confident, so self-assured. Issie couldn’t stand it any longer. She stared up at him with her hands on her hips. “You think you’re so cool, don’t you, Daniel Halliday? Well how about a little bet? The losing rider has to groom the winner’s horse for a week.”

As soon as Issie had opened her mouth she regretted it. What was she saying? Dan hadn’t meant to be mean or anything. He only teased her because he liked talking to her, she knew that. She also knew that he was a better rider than she was.

Still, she figured, even losing wouldn’t be so bad. She was more than happy to groom Kismit—and hang out with Dan.

Dan removed his helmet, pushing back his blond hair with one hand and then reaching that same hand out to her. “I could use a good groom,” Dan smirked. “Let’s shake on it.”

“Number twenty, Natasha Tucker on Goldrush, please enter the arena,” the announcer called over the loudspeaker.

With only three competitors to come, the showjumping course had claimed its fair share of victims. In fact, so far there hadn’t been a single clear round. Now it was the turn of Chevalier Point’s newest rider to try her luck.

Natasha cantered Goldrush into the ring, pointed the pony towards the first fence and gave her a swift slap with her whip. Goldrush gave a surprised snort and leapt forward, rushing the fence and catapulting Natasha back in the saddle. It wasn’t the best start, but somehow Natasha managed to hang on and re-settle herself for the second fence, which Goldrush took with a perfect stride.

One by one, the golden pony took each fence after that without a hitch. As they cleared the final fence, a serious oxer, the crowd let out a cheer. The first clear round of the day. With a fast time too—three minutes and five seconds exactly.

Issie couldn’t watch Dan as he entered the ring to begin his round. It wasn’t that she was too nervous to watch him; she would have loved to. But she had to warm Mystic up over the practice jump and get him worked in so that he would be ready when her turn came. She rode to the far end of the field and cantered him back and forth over the low crossed rails, all the time half-listening to the loud speaker to hear how Dan was doing. It would be dreadful to lose to Dan, she decided, but much, much worse if they both lost to Natasha.

Issie arrived back at the ringside just in time to see Dan clear the final fence. Kismit took the rails cleanly, then gave a high-spirited buck to signal the end of a clear round, nearly unseating Dan as the pair rode between the flags to finish.

“A clear round in two minutes and forty-four seconds for competitor twenty-one, Dan Halliday,” the voice over the loudspeaker announced. “That time puts Dan Halliday in the lead. Would the final competitor, number twenty-two Isadora Brown, please enter the ring.”

As the last rider to go, Issie thought to herself, at least she knew where she stood. With only two clear rounds before her, all she needed to do was go clear too and she would win a ribbon. But if she wanted to beat Dan’s time? Then she would have to ride faster than she had ever done before in her life.

“Let’s go, Mystic,” she breathed into the little grey’s ear as she leant down low over his neck. Then she squeezed her legs around his plump belly and trotted into the ring. As the judges’ bell went to signal the start of the round, Mystic tossed his head and Issie pressed him on into a canter. Her nerves disappeared as she kept her mind focused on clearing the first fence. She sat down heavy and urged Mystic on. He leapt it boldly and fought against her hands to get his head. “Steady boy,” Issie cautioned, holding him firmly and looking to the next fence. Again they took it cleanly and Issie’s confidence grew with each jump.

They were gaining speed now, until it seemed to Issie as if she were flying. The grey gelding fought against the bit to go faster still and Issie was forced to hang on tight to the reins to keep Mystic under control.

By the time they rounded the corner to face fences six and seven—a double combination—Mystic was in full stride and too strong for her to hold back. Issie found herself on a sharp angle as the headstrong pony rushed the fence and had to put in a last-minute stride to adjust himself. His hind legs went thwack against the top rail of the first jump and Issie could hear the crowd gasp and hold their breath as the pole rocked in its metal socket. Would the rail fall? She couldn’t look, she must concentrate on the next fence ahead of her. She tensed, expecting to hear the crash of the rail falling behind her, but instead she heard a cheer rise up from the crowd. The rail hadn’t fallen. She was still clear.

Over the next fence and there she was with just one jump between her and a clear round. As they neared the big oxer she felt butterflies rise in her tummy and tried to calm herself. “Trust your horse, Issie,” she commanded herself out loud. She gave Mystic his head and sat deep in the saddle. The dapple-grey took off perfectly and soared over the rails, landing cleanly on the other side. Clear round!

Mystic was flecked with sweat and snorting from his efforts as the pair left the ring. Issie slid to the ground and threw her arms around his neck giving him a hug and inhaling the sweet smell of warm, damp horse sweat. It must be the best smell in the world! Issie thought, breathing in deeply.

“Good lad, Mystic. Well done! A clear round!” she murmured to her pony, her face still buried deep in his grey mane.

“Hey, hey,” Dan called as he rode over to her, “what are you doing? Get back on your horse—you’ll have to ride into the ring in a minute to get your ribbon!”

But which ribbon? With three clear rounds, Issie’s time was crucial now. Had she gone fast enough to beat Dan?

“Competitor number twenty-two, Isadora Brown, a clear round in two minutes fifty-six seconds,” the announcer called. “The winner is Dan Halliday on Kismit. Second place goes to Isadora Brown on Mystic, third Natasha Tucker on Goldrush. Would all riders please come back into the ring to collect your prizes.”

As Mystic trotted into the arena, Issie felt like she was in a dream. It didn’t matter that Dan had beaten her. She had won her first ribbon. Mystic seemed to know it too; as the three riders cantered around the ring in a lap of honour he bristled with pride, flicking his tail and arching his neck.

“You are totally the best pony ever, do you know that?” Issie told Mystic as they rode back to Avery’s truck. “Just the best,” she repeated again proudly as she pulled the little grey up to a halt. OK, so she’d lost her bet with Dan and she’d have to groom Kismit for a week—she didn’t care. Second place. And a clear round! How fantastic was that?

Issie was just about to dismount and give Mystic yet another hug when she heard someone crashing about on the other side of the silver horse float.

“Stop that! Stand still, damn you!” Natasha Tucker’s voice was raised in a high-pitched squeal. She had been trying to take off Goldrush’s tack but the pretty palomino kept dancing nervously as the girl tried to undo her bridle. “Stop it!” Natasha shouted again, this time giving Goldrush a slap across the neck with her riding crop.

As the whip cut hard into her flesh the palomino reared up, jerking the reins out of Natasha’s hands. Natasha stood there helplessly as Goldrush planted her front legs back on the ground, standing on top of the loose reins and tangling them around her legs.

Caught in the reins, Goldrush went wild with terror. The mare tried to back up to get free, but found herself pressed up hard against Toby and Coco who were tied to the truck beside her.

What happened next came so suddenly that Issie didn’t have a chance to stop it. She watched as Goldrush kept backing up into the other horses, kicking out in terror with her hind legs. Then Toby gave a snort and pulled back hard against his halter rope. The knot gave way and his lead rope came loose. Coco, too, had worked her way free from her tether. Now, all three horses were loose and heading for the paddock gate.

It was then that Issie noticed that the main pony club gate was still open—someone must have forgotten to shut it as they had driven in to park their horse float.

“Hey! The gates. Shut the gates!” Issie yelled.

As the horses bolted through the first paddock gate and headed for the main gate, Issie saw people running after them, trying to divert them from the exit. It’s no use, she realised. They’ll never catch up with them on foot. But maybe she could reach them on Mystic.

She wheeled the little grey around and clucked him into a canter, leaning low over his neck. The horses were through the gate now and already clattering along the gravel driveway that would lead them to the deadly road.

In full gallop now, Issie and Mystic rounded through the gate behind them. “Come on, boy, we’ve got to beat them to the road.” Issie dug her heels into Mystic’s sides, urging him on even faster. Mystic was gaining on the horses but as they got closer to the intersection where the roads met, Issie realised they weren’t going to make it in time. She would have to ride out on to the road after the horses and try to herd them back again.

The clatter of gravel became the clean chime of metal horseshoes hitting tarmac as the horses struck the main highway. There was the honk of a car horn as two vehicles sped past, one of them narrowly missing Toby.

Issie quickly checked for more traffic then followed the runaway horses out on to the road. She pulled Mystic around hard in front of Toby and waved an arm at him, spooking the big bay and directing him back down the gravel drive, back towards the pony club.

If she could get Toby to lead the way, maybe the others would follow. It was their only chance. Two cars had already nearly hit them. How long could their luck last?

Suddenly the deep low boom of a truck horn sounded off behind her. Issie heard the sickening squeal of tyres and smelt burning rubber. As the truck rounded the corner towards her, everything suddenly seemed to go into slow motion.

To Issie it seemed as if Mystic was turning to face the truck, like two stallions set to fight. The grey horse reared up suddenly, throwing her backwards with such force that she flew clear of the oncoming traffic, landing hard on the shoulder of the road. There was a sickening crack as her riding helmet met with tarmac, the peak splintering as it took the full force of the blow.

Groggy from the fall, Issie tried to stand up, to move, but her vision blurred and she could taste blood in her mouth. In the distance came the screech of tyres again and then the most hideous sound she had ever heard, the sound of a horse screaming. Through the sirens and the traffic noise she could make out a voice calling out her name, and then everything faded to black.

CHAPTER 4

Issie could hear hoofbeats. In the pitch black she saw the blurry grey shape of a horse galloping towards her. Just out of her reach, the horse reared to a stop. His nostrils flared, and he pawed the ground impatiently, flicking his head and nickering to her. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he wheeled around and galloped away again. Mystic? It had to be. Issie tried to yell out to him but she couldn’t speak. What was happening to her?

“I think she’s coming round,” a voice broke through the blackness.

Then another voice, softer, calling her, “Isadora. Isadora. Wake up.”

And there she was, lying between the cool white sheets of a hospital bed, looking up into her mother’s eyes.

“My God, Isadora! You gave me such a scare.” Mrs Brown had tears in her eyes as she hugged her daughter tightly. The embrace was so strong, Issie found it hard to breathe and had to gasp for air. As she took a deep breath her chest ached and she let out a squeal of pain.

“Do your ribs hurt?” A woman in a white coat was leaning over her. Issie nodded yes.

“Isadora, my name is Doctor Stone,” the woman said. “I don’t think your ribs are broken. I suspect it’s just bruising. We’ll be sending you down to x-ray shortly to check. But first I need to ask you a few questions, just to check that you’re OK. You had a bad fall and you may be suffering from concussion.” The doctor held up her hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” said Issie. She was surprised at how wobbly her voice was. “And what day is it?” Doctor Stone asked as she checked Issie’s eyes with a little torch light. “Umm…Saturday?”

“Excellent.” The doctor was making notes on her chart now as she talked. “How old are you, Isadora?”

“Twelve,” Issie had to think for a moment, “but I’ll be thirteen soon.”

Doctor Stone gave her young patient a concerned look. “Now, I want you to think carefully, Isadora. I want you to try to remember the last thing that happened to you. Do you know why you’re here?”

Issie shut her eyes and tried to think. What had happened to her? She remembered the sound of a truck horn, and the way Mystic had reared up, as if to protect her from the huge steel vehicle that was bearing down on them. Then nothing, nothing but the tarmac rushing up to meet her, that inhuman scream and then the blackness.

“Where is Mystic?” Issie felt a wave of panic sweep over her. “Mum, is Mystic OK?”

Her chest ached sharply as she tried to sit up. “Isadora, please try and stay still until we can get those ribs x-rayed,” Doctor Stone said firmly. She turned to Mrs Brown. “I don’t think we’ll need to keep her in overnight. If the x-ray comes out OK, she can be discharged this evening.”

“But what about my horse?” Issie was cold with horror as she spoke. Her mum kept ignoring her questions about Mystic. Something was wrong. Mrs Brown had turned her head away from her now. At first she couldn’t speak. Finally she faced her daughter and took her hand. Her words came softly but in Issie’s ears they were like crashes of thunder.

“Isadora, there was nothing anyone could have done. The truck…” Her mother’s voice trailed off for a moment. “…Isadora, Mystic is dead.”

“No!” Issie felt hot tears running down her cheeks. She was shaking, gasping once more for breath. “No!”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Her mother was still clutching her hand, and she was crying too. “Stella saw it all from the side of the road. You and Mystic saved the other horses, you know. If you hadn’t gone after them and herded them back up the driveway, who knows what would have happened. But then the truck came…” Mrs Brown stroked away her daughter’s tears. “You know, I think Mystic was trying to save you too. When he reared up and threw you clear of the truck, it saved your life. So it wasn’t just the other horses he saved. He saved you.”

“Isadora,” the doctor interrupted, “I’m just going to give you a sedative. It’ll take away the pain and let you relax for a while.”

Issie nodded vacantly. She didn’t really hear what the doctor was saying, and she could no longer feel the pain in her ribs. Instead, it was her heart that ached. An ache that consumed her entire soul. Mystic was dead.

Issie barely even noticed the sting of the injection that Doctor Stone gave her, but she began to feel its effects almost immediately. She felt woozy, and her muscles went limp. Through half-closed eyes she could see her mother sitting beside the bed holding her hand, then she drifted off, back into darkness, back into black sleep.

Her mother was still sitting by the bed two hours later when she opened her eyes again.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Mrs Brown ran her hand softly over her daughter’s forehead, smoothing back her dark hair. Issie’s complexion, usually a light olive colour just like her mum’s, was so drained and pale she was almost the same colour as the hospital sheets.

“I’ve telephoned your dad,” Mrs Brown told her, still stroking her hair as she spoke. “He said he would fly up to see you, but I told him it would be OK, that you were likely to be going home tonight. Still, he was very worried about you.”

“Sure he was,” Issie said. Since her mum and dad divorced three years ago it seemed like she hardly even existed. Her father had remarried and had a whole new family in another city now and it had been months since she saw him last. What made her mum think that just because she’d been in an accident he would come running?

“Anyway, he sent you these.” Mrs Brown lifted up a pot of yellow chrysanthemums and plonked them down on the table by Issie’s bed.

“Issie,” Mrs Brown took her daughter’s hand, “when you’re ready to talk about what happened to Mystic…”

“Mum, I don’t want to. Not yet…” Issie was trying hard not to start crying all over again. She looked down at the bed clothes, refusing to meet her mother’s eyes. “Can’t I…can’t we just go home now? I just want it all to be over.”

“I’m sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting?” Doctor Stone entered the room. “Only we really need to get Isadora down to x-ray now.”

Mrs Brown sighed. “Of course. We can talk later when we get home.”

Two hours later, the x-rays had been taken and Doctor Stone’s diagnosis was confirmed: no broken bones, just some bruising, slight concussion and a large swollen lump at the front of her head where the peak of the helmet had connected with the road.

Issie was getting dressed to go home when she heard a knock. “Can we come in?” Stella and Kate stuck their heads around the corner of the door to Issie’s room. Issie gave them a weak smile and the two girls entered the room and sat down beside her bed. Kate looked pale with shock and Stella’s freckled face was flushed hot pink from crying.

“How are Toby and Coco?” Issie wanted to know.

“Well, Toby has gone lame. But it’s nothing serious. The vet thinks it’s a stone bruise from galloping on the gravel but he should be OK in a week or so.” Kate managed a grin.

“And Coco is just fine. She threw a shoe, but she wasn’t hurt,” Stella continued. “In fact, that run is probably the most exercise she’s had in years!”

“If you and Mystic hadn’t caught up with them…” Stella sighed. “Well, it was just the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” She looked down at her shoes for a moment and then back at Issie. “I mean, I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Mystic back, but Kate and I were thinking…if you wanted to, you could ride Coco and Toby any time you like. We could even work out a roster. You could have Coco on Mondays and Tuesdays and ride Toby on Wednesdays…” She paused as Issie began to cry.

“Oh, Issie, I know it’s not the same as having your own horse but…”

Issie shook her head. “It’s not that. Don’t you see? I don’t want another horse. Not after what happened to Mystic. I couldn’t…I’m never going to ride again.”

That night, home from the hospital, Issie found it hard to sleep. When she did finally close her eyes, the vision of the grey ghost horse returned. There was the pounding of hooves, and then once again the horse appeared and reared to a halt just out of Issie’s reach.

This time she could see his face more clearly. The smouldering charcoal eyes, the velvety nostrils flared with tension. It was Mystic. She was sure of that now. She held out her hand and the horse whinnied gently, lowering his head so that the tip of his nose traced just above the ground as he stepped towards her. Issie knew that the lowered head was part of “horse language”. It was Mystic’s way of saying, “I know you. I trust you. You’re part of my herd.”

She spoke softly to him now, “Easy, Mystic, easy, boy. It’s me, boy…” Her hand reached out and Issie felt a shock of wonder as her fingers touched the silver tussock of his mane. The sensation of the coarse, ropey hair against her skin was totally real. This horse was no ghost! It was as alive as she was. Why, if she only reached out her other hand and grabbed on to his mane, she was sure she could swing herself up on to Mystic’s back and ride him. Ride him just as she had done before the accident had ruined everything. She reached out a hand, but Mystic stepped backwards and pawed fitfully at the ground with his left front hoof .Then he turned again and galloped off, the silver stream of his tail disappearing into the blackness.

“I know it sounds stupid,” Issie told her mum at breakfast the next day, “but it was as if he was real. I mean, I know it must have been a dream, but it didn’t feel like a dream. It was like Mystic was really there, right in front of me. I even touched him!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mrs Brown took her daughter’s small, tanned hand in her own, “you had a bad fall and you’ve been through a terrible experience. It’s only natural that you’ll be pretty shaken up for a while. But you have to face up to what has happened. I know it hurts and you miss Mystic. But you’re lucky to be alive.”

Mrs Brown smiled gently as she reached over and poured out a cup of hot chocolate for Issie and a fresh cup of tea for herself. “Your father and I have discussed the best thing to do about this…” Mrs Brown looked down at her cup of tea. She paused, unable to get the words out. “Isadora, I know how much you love horses. And I know what happened wasn’t your fault. You were very brave to do what you did. But, well, your father agreed with me on this…” Mrs Brown finally looked her daughter in the face.

“Issie, I can’t let you have another horse. It was so terrifying when you were in that hospital bed and I didn’t know whether you would even wake up. I couldn’t go through that again. I am your mother and…oh, Issie, you have to understand I can’t risk something else happening to you. I know that you want to get another horse and—”

“No, Mum, you don’t understand!” Issie felt hot tears well in her eyes. How could her mum even think she would want a new horse? All she wanted was Mystic. She wanted her horse to come back to her. How could she explain to her mother that Mystic was more than just some pony to her? That he had been her closest friend, the one soul that she could confide all her secrets to, because he would never betray her. A kindred spirit who she could trust totally and love absolutely. The most important thing in her life. The truth was, she couldn’t explain it to her mother, or to anyone.

Issie took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the bowl of cereal in front of her. “I don’t care anyway.” Issie could feel the tears running down her cheeks; she wanted to stop crying but she couldn’t. She wiped her cheeks roughly with her sleeve and faced her mother. “I said that I was never going to ride again, and I meant it.”

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