was there to say? Issie could see the future that her mother had planned for her. And there wasn’t a single horse in it.
Issie had been planning to give Comet the day off after the rally and spend Sunday morning hacking out on Blaze, but her mum had other ideas.
“You need some nice clothes to wear to the office next week,” Mrs Brown insisted. And so, instead of going riding, Issie spent Sunday morning being dragged around the shops while her mother bought her a smart black skirt, a striped cotton dress, two blouses and a pair of chic black ballet pumps.
“I don’t see why we’re doing this,” Issie grumbled as Mrs Brown handed her credit card over the counter at the shoe store.
“Because you can’t wear riding boots and jods to work at a law firm,” Mrs Brown told her. “Now, how about we get you a nice jacket as well?”
By the time the shopping torture was over half the day was already gone. Issie still had time to ride, but she decided it was too late to hack out, so she’d focus on dressage instead.
The dark cloud that had been hanging over her all morning disappeared when she saw Blaze waiting for her at the River Paddock gate. It was hard to stay in a bad mood when you were with a horse, especially one as beautiful as Blaze.
With her flaxen mane and tail, white socks and deep liver chestnut coat, Blaze was the prettiest horse you could imagine. Her delicate beauty was the result of centuries of breeding and she had once been the most prized mare of El Caballo Danza Magnifico. However, Issie hadn’t known anything about her pony’s incredible history when they first met.
Blaze had been in a terrible state, mistreated and abused, filthy and half-starved, when Tom Avery turned up with her three years ago in his horse truck. Chevalier Point’s head instructor worked for Horse Welfare and it was his job to re-home rescued horses. Initially, Issie was wary. She wanted to help but she was still recovering from the horrific loss of her own pony, her beloved dapple-grey Mystic, who had been killed in a terrible accident.
One look at Blaze, however, convinced Issie that she had no choice. This mare really needed her. Together the heartbroken girl and the pony began to heal each other.
Through it all though, Issie had never forgotten Mystic. She still loved the grey pony and she felt as if somehow he was still there with her.
It turned out she was right. There was a connection between Issie and her pony that was too strong to be broken. Mystic returned to Issie, not like a ghost, but as real as any horse, flesh and blood at her side ready to help her, whenever she really needed him.
Mystic had helped Issie so many times. They had ridden together in the middle of the night to catch saboteurs and horse thieves, and taken wild rides in broad daylight to save the Blackthorn Ponies in the Gisborne high country. But a couple of months ago when Issie had been riding at the Young Rider Challenge in Australia, Issie had begun to doubt her special bond with the grey pony. There were moments when she thought he had abandoned her. Things had got really desperate and it had become a constant fear that she would inevitably lose her bond with Mystic, as his appearances seemed less frequent as time passed. But Mystic had come through in the end in Australia, turning up when she truly needed him, just as he always did. And although she saw him less and less, she knew that Mystic wouldn’t leave her. He had never let her down, he was her protector.
But now a new threat loomed over Issie — one that Mystic couldn’t prevent. After so many adventures together, was this how it would end? Not in some wild, dangerous escapade, but with Issie stuck in the offices of some boring law firm? Not even Mystic could save her from Mrs Brown’s awful plan, which would keep her inside and away from horses for the whole holidays!
Issie tried to stop thinking about the stupid holiday job. She had almost finished grooming and tacking up Blaze, and as she did up the last straps on the cavesson and the throat lash, she was determined to make the most of her ride. After all, she wasn’t going to have much riding time left this summer if she was working from nine to five.
As they entered the arena, Issie rode Blaze on a loose rein to stretch her neck out long and low, and then gradually collected her up, doing lots of trot transitions before cantering in half circles to change the rein.
She had been working lately on the mare’s lateral work — which meant fancy dressage moves like half-passes and shoulder-ins. Blaze had been well-schooled in all these manoeuvres a long time ago when she was with El Caballo Danza Magnifico, so it was just a matter of pressing the right buttons and the mare would break out the most magnificent dressage paces.
Issie had been riding for nearly an hour and was just finishing up with some trot serpentines when she realised that there was a figure standing beside the arena, watching her. Startled, she pulled Blaze up to a halt.
“Don’t stop on my account!” the woman called out. “I was quite happy watching you. I’ve been here for ages. She’s a beautiful mare, isn’t she?”
The woman stepped over the side barrier of the arena and strode over towards Issie. She was wearing khaki jodhpurs and a white polo shirt. Issie hadn’t recognised her at first because she was wearing a cap on top of her flame-red hair and a pair of wraparound sunglasses hid her eyes.
“I called at your house and your mum said I would find you here,” Ginty McLintoch said. “I hope it’s OK, turning up like this? I didn’t mean to interrupt your training.”
“That’s OK,” Issie said. “Blaze and I were nearly finished anyway.”
Ginty nodded. “So this is your other pony?” She ran a cool, professional eye over Blaze, examining her conformation. “She’s certainly a looker. Does she jump?”
Issie felt herself stiffen at the question. “She’s not for sale either,” Issie said. “I got given her, and it’s a really long story…but I would never sell her.”
Issie couldn’t believe the nerve! Ginty had failed to buy Comet, so why would she ever think that Issie was willing to sell Blaze?
“I think I’ve given you the wrong end of the stick,” Ginty said hastily, sensing Issie’s hostility. “I’m not trying to buy your mare. Don’t get me wrong. She’s very nice, but I really didn’t come here to talk about your ponies.”
Issie was confused. “Then what are you here for?”
Ginty looked at her with a serious expression. “You,” she said. “I’m here for you, Issie. I want to offer you a job at my stables.”
Ginty McLintoch didn’t mess around when it came to business. Her discussion with Issie was swift and simple. She had a place in her stables over the school holidays for a junior groom. She was looking for a young rider who knew their way around a showjumper and could handle the responsibilities of exercising, feeding and grooming up to six horses a day.
“The pay isn’t great and the hours are long,” Ginty conceded, “but you will get to ride some fantastic horses. Not only every day for basic training, but also at competitions on the circuit. I guarantee you’ll learn more about riding in seven weeks with me than you’ve probably learnt in all the years you’ve been taught by Tom Avery.”
There was a sneer in Ginty’s voice as she said Avery’s
