by Stacy Gregg
Issie took a step backwards and then another and suddenly found herself up against the wall of the stall, unable to go any further. Valmont was getting closer and closer when, out of nowhere, a dark shadow launched through the doorway of Liberty’s stall.
“Mystic!”
The grey pony was suddenly right there, manouevring swiftly between Issie and Valmont, placing himself in front of the girl to protect her.
“Hoi! What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!” Valmont began waving his arms at the dapple-grey to drive him out of the loose box. But instead of shying away, Mystic went on the attack, rising up on his hind legs, front hooves flailing.
With one deft blow from his left front hoof he struck Valmont, knocking the syringe out of the man’s hand and Valmont dropped to the floor clutching his wrist, howling in pain.
The grey pony stood above him, malevolent and magnificent in his anger, his nostrils flared and his ears flat back against his head.
“Get him away from me,” Valmont whimpered. He was still clutching his bruised and broken wrist as he grovelled on the floor, afraid to move. “Don’t let him hurt me!”
Issie ignored his pleas and went to the other end of the stall, bending down to examine Stella.
“Your friend’s fine,” Valmont insisted. “They were only sleeping pills – I put them in her tea. She’ll wake up soon. Now come and get this horse to leave me alone!”
It looked like Valmont was telling the truth. Stella was sound asleep and snoring. “Stella!” Issie bent over her best friend and shook her gently. “Wake up! It’s me!”
“Wha… Issie?” Stella opened her eyes, “What’s going on?”
“Come on, Stella!” Issie dragged her friend up to her feet. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Oh,” Stella said dozily, “OK.”
As she stood up she stumbled forward, still half asleep, and then reeled back again on the straw bedding. Then she looked up and saw the grey pony standing sentry over the pathetic, slumped figure of Tyrel Valmont.
“Oh, hey,” Stella smiled dopily, “it’s Mystic! Hi, Mystic!”
“Come on, Stella!” Issie dragged her up to her feet again. “Try to walk – I need to get you out of here.”
With Stella’s arm draped over her shoulder Issie managed to drag her friend out into the corridor.
Outside the stall, Issie let Stella slump down on a bench, propping her against a wall. Then, after making certain that she was OK, she went back into the loose box, grabbing a cloth from the grooming kit on the wall. She hunted around in the hay for the syringe that Valmont had dropped, carefully wrapping it in the cloth, careful not to touch it with her fingers. She was pretty sure that whatever the yellow fluid was, it had enough strength to kill a horse and would be untraceable afterwards. She was also pretty certain that the syringe would have Valmont’s fingerprints all over it.
“Watch him, Mystic,” she said to the grey pony as she left the stall. “I’ll be right back.”
Issie put the syringe in the tack room and locked it in, pocketing the key and then she headed back into the stall. Mystic was standing exactly where she had left him. Every time Valmont tried to move so much as a centimetre Mystic stamped his hooves and flicked his head back, teeth bared, as a warning that if Valmont didn’t want another broken bone then he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Good boy,” Issie told the gelding. “Hold him a little longer, while I get Liberty out of here.”
Since Valmont had released his hold on her the silver-dapple mare had been cooped at the back of the stall. She stood there now tense and nervous, her flanks heaving.
“It’s OK, girl,” Issie tried to reassure the mare as she reached out a hand to Liberty’s halter. Liberty shied back in fear as Issie reached up to take hold of her, but as Issie spoke softly to her the mare relented.
“Hey, girl,” Issie murmured. “It’s over now. He’s not going to hurt you. You’re going to be OK. It’s all going to be OK.”
She led Liberty out of the loose box and along the corridor, putting her in one of the empty, open stalls further down. Then she bolted off the bottom half of the Dutch door and came back to the loose box.
“Mystic…” Issie began to say as she entered the loose box, but Mystic wasn’t there any more. Instead, there was a man, standing in the middle of the room with Tyrel Valmont and he didn’t look pleased to see her.
“You’re the girl that jumped the barrier!” It was the security guard who Issie had ignored when she jumped the security gate. He must have followed her and Comet all the way down the driveway and hunted through the stables to find them.
“I can explain everything,” Issie said to him.
“It better be a good story,” the guard said. He was pink-faced and puffed from running after her.
“I had to get back to help my groom.” Issie pointed out into the corridor where Stella could now be seen lying back against the stable wall, snoring with her mouth wide open.
“That man next to you knocked her out with sleeping pills and then tried to kill his own horse.”
The security guard’s eyes grew wide. This girl had nearly mown him down on her horse just a moment ago. Now he’d arrived here to find her with some red-headed kid on a bench in the corridor snoring and drooling on her T-shirt, and one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the eventing business lying in the straw with a broken wrist. What was going on?
“Please, you have to believe me!” Issie said. “Tyrel Valmont is a horse murderer!”
“This is preposterous,” Tyrel Valmont interrupted as he stood up, wincing in pain at his broken wrist. He looked at the guard. “I’m the head of the Valmont Stables. I could have your job for this. Now get out of my way and let me go—”
“Wait!” Issie said. “I can show you proof. I’ve got the syringe of poison that he used to try and kill Liberty. It’s locked up in the tack room!”
Valmont went to push past the security guard, but the guard put up a hand and blocked his path.
“I’m sorry, Mr Valmont,” the guard said, “but this young lady here seems pretty upset. You just hang tight in here for a moment, sir, while I check out her story.”
Issie went to the tack room and brought out the syringe, which she handed to the security guard.
The guard looked at the vial filled with yellow fluid and then set it aside for a moment and dialled his phone. “Hello, police? It’s Kyle Jones here. Yeah, I’m on security detail at the Kentucky Horsepark. Can I get a squad car sent straight away? There’s been an accusation of attempted murder… Yes, ma’am – Mr Tyrel Valmont… No, ma’am, not a person; apparently he tried to kill a horse. Yes, ma’am, that’s right – a horse. You heard me – A HORSE. For Pete’s sake – just send the squad car, OK!”
The guard hung up the phone and turned to Issie. “You better not be pulling my leg – they think I’m crazy down at the station!”
“Thank you,” Issie said gratefully. “It’s the truth. You’ll see.”
The police arrived fifteen minutes later – at the same time as Avery, Marcus and Tara reached the stables.
Valmont tried to smooth-talk his way out of it, insisting he was innocent. But the hard evidence of the syringe, combined with the businessman’s debts and the unsolved death of Valmont Promise, was all they needed to charge Tyrel Valmont and take him into custody.
“So where is Liberty? Are you sure she’s OK?” Marcus asked.
Issie nodded. “She’ll be totally fine. Valmont didn’t have a chance to inject her. I put her in an empty stall.”
Marcus hurried off to check on the mare. Avery, meanwhile, was bent over Stella, who was finally beginning to wake up from the sleeping pills that Valmont had put in her drink.
“Tom! What are you doing here?” Stella slurred in a sleepy voice. “Do you want me to groom Mystic too?”
Avery frowned. “What are you talking about, Stella?”
He knelt down beside her. “It’s OK, try t
o relax. You’ve been drugged. We’ll take you to hospital and get you checked out.”
“OK,” Stella said. “Hospital good. But first I’m just going to have a little, little catnap…” She slumped back down on the bench again.
“Tom,” Issie said. “I’m really sorry about riding off like that in the middle of the course. I know I ruined everything…”
Avery looked at her, completely stunned. “I must admit it gave me a shock at the time, but, Issie, I totally understand why you did it now! You can’t possibly think that I’d be angry at you for wanting to save Stella’s life?”
Issie shook her head. “But Tom, the prize money! This was our chance to—”
She was interrupted by the sound of hooves in the corridor as Marcus and Tara led Liberty out to join them.
“I’ve checked her over and she seems to be fine,” Marcus said.
“Good,” Tara said to him. “I’ll call the vet in to do a blood test just to be safe, but in the meantime you’d better get to work.”
“You want me to do it?” Marcus asked.
“Well, Stella can’t possibly manage in her condition. Can she?” Tara pointed out. She looked at her watch. “You’ve got plenty of time. She’s not scheduled to go until one twenty.”
Marcus nodded. “OK, I’ll start bandaging her legs.”
Issie turned to Tara. “What’s going on? What is Marcus doing?”
“He’s taking over as your groom,” Tara replied. “We’re getting your horse ready.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m deadly serious,” Tara said. “Liberty is still in the game, Issie, and so are you. In two hours you’re going to be back out there – riding the cross-country.”
Chapter 13
Issie had turned her back on eventing glory, giving up her dream to save Stella and Liberty. After abandoning the cross-country mid-competition she never thought that she’d be given a second chance.
Tara, however, saw matters differently. “Liberty is still entered in this competition,” she pointed out. “You’re still registered to ride her.”
“But what about Valmont?” Issie asked.
“The police are charging Tyrel Valmont with financial fraud and attempted horse murder,” Tara said. “However, you and Liberty aren’t being charged with anything. Officially, you still have every right to go ahead and ride her. It’s up to you, Issie – what do you want to do?”
“Even if I wanted to do it, the judges will never let me ride again!” Issie said. “After the way I tore off on Comet there’s no way I’d be allowed back on the course. I’ve probably been banned from ever riding in a Four-Star again.”
“Leave it with me,” Avery said. “Once I explain the situation to Blaire Andrews I’m certain they’ll be more than sympathetic to your plight.”
Avery looked at Issie. “You can pull out if you really want to, Issie. I would understand completely, and so would Tara and Marcus, after the ordeal you’ve just been through. But the opportunity is here if you want to take it. It’s up to you.”
Issie looked at him and grinned. “Are you kidding, Tom? Of course I want to!”
With that decision made, everyone was swiftly allocated their roles. There was much to be done over the next two hours before the mare was due in the start box. Avery headed off to clear the paperwork with Blaire Andrews, Marcus took on the preparation of Liberty and Tara went to check on Stella, who was being cared for by the St John’s medics, who were on site, monitoring the cross-country. It was left up to Issie to take care of Comet.
After his mad gallop the skewbald needed a good wash-down to get the sweat off him. Issie took her pony to the wash bay and hosed him all over, then used the sweat-scraper to squeegee off excess moisture before walking Comet to keep his muscles from getting too chilly as he dried off. She rugged him up afterwards in his woollen stable blanket and then took him back to his loose box where hard feed was already in the feed bin waiting for him.
Comet, true to form, stuck his muzzle straight into the feed bin and began to hoover down his supper greedily.
“You’ve certainly earnt it this time,” Issie told him as she watched him devouring the barley and sugar beet. She gave Comet a pat on his damp chestnut and white neck.
Through all the drama that morning, it was only just dawning on Issie that she had thrown away her chance on the talented skewbald.
“We never did get to show them, did we, Comet?” she murmured to the pony. “I’m so sorry, boy, I know you deserved to win. If I hadn’t dragged you off like I did then you would have gone clear.”
Comet lifted his head out of the feed bin for a moment and looked at Issie with his big, soft brown eyes. Then he gave a snort as if to say, “Don’t worry about it – I’m over it already!”
Issie giggled. “You’re right, Comet. There’ll be other cross-countries. You and I will get another chance.”
Right now, though, Issie still had a chance of her own on her second ride. Somehow, she had to put the incredible events of the morning behind her and pull herself together. Liberty was waiting for her.
Issie had been worried that Liberty would be more shaken by her ordeal, but the mare had trusted Valmont and didn’t seem to realise the extreme danger she had been in. When Issie arrived at Liberty’s loose box she found Marcus trying to tack the mare up, but he was having problems with his arm encased in plaster. He was fumbling with the tendon boots and couldn’t do up the buckles.
“Here,” Issie said gently, “I’ll do it.”
“It’s just so frustrating!” Marcus complained.
“They’re only tendon boots, it’s no big deal,” Issie said.
“Not the boots,” Marcus sighed, “I mean this!”
He held his plaster cast up in the air with a look of despair on his face. Issie suddenly realised just how awful this must be for him, having to sit on the sidelines and watch while she rode the horse that should have been his.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It should be you out there today – not me.”
Marcus took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “No,” he said. “This mare owes you her life. You deserve to ride her today.”
“Marcus.” Issie looked worried. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve only had one practice ride on her and you saw how badly it went.”
“You’ll be OK,” Marcus reassured her. “Liberty is the best cross-country horse I’ve ever ridden. She’s bold and strong. She’s so powerful she almost pulled my arms out of their sockets the last time I rode her round a course.”
He looked at Issie. “Issie, you can win with this mare. But you’ll need to change the way you ride if you’re going to make it clear and inside the time. Listen very carefully – because I’m going to tell you what to do…”
In the start box the silver-dapple mare moved anxiously, crab-stepping from side to side. Issie took a tighter grip on the reins as she watched the steward speak into his walkie-talkie to check that the course ahead was clear.
“OK,” he told Issie, “we have confirmation. You’re good to go. Are you ready?”
Issie could feel her heart pounding like it was trying to escape from her chest. She looked over at Marcus, who was standing on the sidelines. He gave Issie the thumbs-up signal and she waved back. After their talk during the tacking up, she had agreed to go with his game plan for the cross-country. It was risky and Issie knew it, but then Marcus knew the mare better than anyone – if this was the way he wanted Issie to ride Liberty, then she had to trust him. More than that, she had to trust the horse beneath her.
“Are you ready, Liberty?” Issie whispered to the mare. She could feel Liberty’s body quivering in anticipation. She took a deep breath and looked out from the start box at the smooth green turf that led to the first fence.
“I’m ready,” she told the steward. Issie took an even tighter hold on Liberty’s reins with one hand, the other holding at her own wrist in preparation to press the stopwatch. She stood up in
her stirrups in two-point position like a jockey, as the steward counted her down.
“And four… three… two… one… go!”
Liberty broke from the box like a Thoroughbred. As the mare surged forward Issie felt a rush of adrenalin and, for the second time that day, she suddenly found herself facing down the Kentucky Four-Star cross-country.
As they approached the first fence, Issie thought back to that conversation she’d had with Marcus. Now she was on the course she understood with shocking clarity what Marcus had been trying to tell her. She could feel the pure, brute strength of the mare beneath her as Liberty began tanking, leaning so heavily on Issie’s hands that it felt like her arms were going to be wrenched off.
Marcus was right, Issie would never be strong enough to hold back a horse like Liberty for six whole kilometres of cross-country jumps. “It would be fatal to try to hold her back,” Marcus had told her in the stables. “She’s more powerful than you are, Issie – if you try to control her you’ll never win.”
“So what should I do then?” Issie said.
“Let her go,” Marcus replied. “Don’t try to hold her back or fight her. Just go with her.”
“Are you kidding?” Issie’s eyes grew wild. “Liberty could bolt on me! I’ll be on a cross-country course with a horse that is barely in control.”
“If you try and slow Liberty down then you’ll lose the Four-Star,” Marcus said. “There’s no way you can make it in the optimum time if you fight her back or take the long routes. But if you go straight and let her go – if you trust her to handle the jumps at a gallop, stay with her and kick on – then you just might make it.”
As she jumped the Flower Box for the second time that day, Issie marvelled at the differences between cheeky Comet and silver-dappled Liberty. The mare wasn’t a natural jumper like Comet, but she was incredibly well schooled. It was clear that Marcus had spent hours and hours drilling her so that technically you couldn’t fault her style. While Comet tended to bound all over the place like an eager puppy, Liberty wasted absolutely no excess energy over a jump, always judging it precisely and never giving more than a centimetre of clearance above the rails. The grease on her legs came into effect by the time they had reached the Mushroom. Issie heard the scrape of the mare’s hind legs as she slid over it. Liberty was a pro and she knew exactly how to handle every obstacle. It was the same at the Bridge. Issie aimed the mare dead centre on the sweet spot and Liberty didn’t waste any time before she was back in a gallop again and racing towards the next fence.