The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

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СКАЧАТЬ it was Liam’s turn to feel bad. “I’m sorry, Abby. Of course that’s true. We’ve been away for almost two months. I’m sorry.” Liam searched for a way to cheer his daughter. “I was worried sick when I saw what was happening. That’s why I sound so cross.” He smiled warmly at Abby. “And anyway, nothing bad happened, so we’re all right. It all worked out. Mission accomplished.”

      Abby smiled back, relieved that she was out of trouble. “Did you see Leggy jump, Dad?”

      Liam laughed. “Like a deer, Abby. Like a deer. She’s a good one, all right. Just like her father.”

      “She’ll be a good one if she turns out like her mother, Dad. Moonie’s a great girl.” Abby thought of the expert way the mare guided Dancer away from the path.

      Liam nodded. “That’s the only way to breed them. Good stock on both sides, or you risk the weak genes coming out in the foal.”

      Liam got home first and waited to help Abby with the horses. They walked up to the house in good spirits, and smelled bacon as they came through the kitchen door. Abby grinned. She was ready for the task ahead.

      The show grounds were busy. Spectators had come out in full force to watch the spectacle and enjoy the beautiful, warm, sunny day. Abby and her parents followed the Hogscroft truck and trailer past rows of temporary stalls and tack shops and food stalls. There was no shortage of activity. A young man at the gate looked at their pass and directed them to their parking spot. Liam pulled up beside the rig and stopped.

      “Abby!” called Hilary. “If you go in and untie Dancer, I’ll put down the ramp.”

      “Okay,” Abby called. She opened the small door at the front of the trailer and climbed up. She patted Dancer’s head. “There’s a boy. Did you have a good ride over?” He gently butted her with his nose. “Good, I’m glad. Today we have a job to do, Dancer. Let’s go get ’em.”

      Abby pulled the rope through the loop. “Ready!” she called to Hilary, who slowly dropped the ramp to the ground and unhitched the stall guard at the stallion’s rear. They backed the great horse off the trailer.

      Dancer’s head came up. His nostrils filled with familiar smells. He arched his neck proudly and blew through his nose. His front right hoof pawed the ground, and he spun around, challenging any takers.

      Christine and Hilary laughed. Christine said, “Just like always, right, Mousie? He’s ready.”

      Hilary nodded and laughed. “Hang on to your hat, Abby! Dancer’s back!” Hilary felt proud of her gorgeous horse, and loved the way people were throwing admiring glances his way.

      “Okay, folks, let’s get Dancer settled,” said Liam, taking charge. “Then we can figure out how to get ourselves organized.”

      “Look!” exclaimed Abby. “Over there. The Piersons are here.” They all looked to see where she was pointing. Pete’s new green sedan was parked half a field away in a row of cars. Pete was gallantly helping Laura out of the passenger’s side. She wore a brilliant ensemble of yellows, pinks, and bright blues. Just as her large pink sunhat lifted with a gust of wind, Pete grabbed it and slammed it onto her head.

      Fiona chuckled and said, “I’ll go with them. I’ll meet you at stall thirty-three.” She strode across the field turned parking lot, happy to have a chance to visit with the Piersons while the others dealt with the details of the show.

      Two hours later, Abby was on Dancer’s back, surveying her competition. Her personal cheering section was settled in the stands. Liam had managed to secure her the number “97,” the same number that Mousie had always worn when she competed. Abby checked that the string was tied properly. Even though the day was heating up, Abby shivered with nerves. She forced her mouth shut to stop her teeth from chattering.

      They’d drawn their places. Ian Millar was going first on his newest champion, Beaverbrook. Jay Hayes was next on the brilliant Raven. Chris Pratt had pulled the gallant Davos out of retirement, and Jill Henselwood was riding Leicester Square. Dancer and Abby were the last of eighteen entries.

      Abby became more and more uneasy. What was she doing here? She couldn’t be more outclassed. What are they all thinking about me? she wondered. I should have a sign on my back, “Dancer was invited, that’s why I’m here.”

      Over there was Beth Underhill and the great Monopoly. There was Ainsley Vince. Gayle Greenough. Mac Cone. Hugh Graham with Secret Agent. Jennifer Foster with Zeus. Lisa Carlsen came back from Edmonton for the show, and the Spruce Meadows contingent was highly visible, with Jonathon Asselin and John Pearce on their powerful mounts. Mario DesLaurier and Nightingale trucked in from Quebec with hopes of winning the coveted Grand Invitational Trophy.

      Not only was the competition scary, the stands were filling with Canada’s riding elite. Abby spotted Jimmy Day and Torchy Miller, Olympic team medal winners. Further along sat the Gayford family, and she was sure she saw Jim Elder and his brother Norman. The famous Major Gutowski, coach of Canada’s winning team in the sixties, perched on a seat in all his stiff-backed military elegance.

      Holy, thought Abby as her stomach lurched, I’m going to crash and burn in front of all the horse greats in Canada. I won’t even remember the course.

      The rules of the Grand Invitational were simple. The ride with the best time and the fewest faults would win. Each knocked-down rail counted as four faults. If a horse refused to jump, four faults were added. Two refusals, and the horse and rider would be eliminated. There was a prescribed time in which the course should be completed, and each second over that time was one-quarter of a fault. Horses that jumped clean within the time would jump again in a jump-off.

      The caller ran into the warm-up ring. “First horse, please. Ian Millar, please, at the gate.” As Abby watched, Beaverbrook lifted his head delicately and trotted through the entrance, tail swishing, head high.

      Abby observed his ride very carefully. She had a lot to learn from the way this man rode, and she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. She noticed the way he slowed before a tight turn, and the way he set up his mount for the first oxer. He kept his head up and his hands still throughout his ride. It was almost like he was merely a passenger, doing nothing. The art of concealing art, thought Abby. He made it look so easy. Abby wasn’t fooled.

      But suddenly the crowd groaned. Beaverbrook had landed in the water jump. That was four faults. His back hooves slid on the slippery bottom and he struggled to right himself. Shaken, the horse lost confidence as he came into the triple combination. He knocked over a rail, but landed well, and expertly cleared the second and third jumps in the obstacle, thrilling the crowd.

      Abby could feel the release of tension in the riders around her. Hugh Graham, sitting next to her on Secret Agent, breathed out. Ian Millar was the man to beat, and he’d just raised all their hopes by racking up eight faults.

      Ian and Beaverbrook finished the course without further faults. Always a gentleman, Ian Millar patted his horse and waved to the crowd, smiling as he exited the ring.

      Raven snorted and twisted to the starting gate. He bucked in anticipation of his solo in the spotlight as the crowd laughed with pleasure. He was Jay Hayes’s feisty gelding, and named appropriately. Black as the bird, and seeming to fly, he was brilliant and keen, quick and accurate. Jump after jump, he flew and soared, defying gravity.

      Abby checked the timer. He was speeding through this course in a time that few could touch. СКАЧАТЬ