Nightstorm and the Grand Slam Read Online Free
Author: Stacy Gregg
questioned it. They were meant to be together.
In the years that followed, whenever Issie or her horses were in trouble, Mystic would come to her. He was her guardian, her protector and her secret.
While the horses had luxury accommodation at Badminton, Issie and her team werenât quite so well off. Their horse truck was comfortable enough to live in for a few days, but it was a little cramped with four people in it. Avery and his wife Francoise had the double bed in the cavity above the driverâs cab, Stella had created a makeshift bed on the banquette seat next to the kitchen table, and Issie was out at the back in the part of the horse truck where the horses themselves usually travelled, on a camping cot bed. It wasnât exactly the Plaza Hotel, but it suited Issie just fine. She loved the sweet smell of horses and the quiet chirp of crickets right outside as she lay there, trying to get to sleep.
With the cross-country starting at seven-thirty in themorning, an early night was crucial. As Issie had two horses to compete, the organisers had split up her two rides at either end of the day. Her early start was on Storm. The big bay was due in the ten-minute box a little before eight a.m. Victory was her second ride, with a late allocated start time of one-thirty p.m.
Although Nightstorm wasnât due in the box until nearly eight, their day would start much earlier. Stella would be up and grooming him before sunrise and Issie would be down at the stables not long after that. After the exhausting day sheâd just had, Issie desperately needed a good nightâs sleep. Of course, just when you need it most, thatâs when sleep refuses to do the business. For almost an hour she lay in her cot bed, thinking about the dayâs events. She was finally beginning to relax, could feel drowsiness overwhelming her, when she heard hoofbeats.
Convinced that the sounds were nothing more than echoes from the stables on the other side of the competitorsâ park, she ignored them and tried once more to sleep. But in a moment of clarity she sat up, suddenly wide awake. The hoofbeats were too close. They couldnât be coming from the stables.
And then she heard another sound, quite distinct. It was the soft nicker of a horse and it was right outside!
Padding over to the back of the truck in pyjamas and bare feet, Issie pushed open the canvas flap at the rear by the ramp and peered out. It was dark, but there were a few lights on in the competitorsâ park, providing enough illumination for her to see. There was a horse standing just a few metres away.
Eventing horses tended to be solidly built and at least sixteen hands high. By comparison, the swaybacked grey pony in front of her was tiny, no more than fourteen hands. He stared at her with coal-black eyes, standing so still that he looked like a marble statue. Then he shook his long mane and the statue was suddenly alive and impatient. The gelding gave a snort as if to say, âCome on! Whatâs keeping you? Letâs go already!â Issie couldnât believe it.
It was Mystic.
Chapter 3
Mystic stamped a hoof impatiently against the gravel and looked up at Issie, his dark eyes making his intent quite clear. They needed to leave now.
âOK, wait!â Issie ducked back inside the canvas flap and hunted frantically for a pair of boots. Her heart was racing and she couldnât think straight â the fact that Mystic was here now meant that one or both of her horses must be in real trouble. She began to panic. They needed to go now!
There was a sound of hooves and Issie looked back to see Mystic pushing his muzzle through the canvas flap to look for her. She could see his nostrils flare as he sniffed for her. âIâm coming!â she insisted. She unearthedthe boots from beneath a pile of coats and pulled them on and pushed her way back out through the canvas flap. Mystic was standing close to the ramp so that Issie could use
In the years that followed, whenever Issie or her horses were in trouble, Mystic would come to her. He was her guardian, her protector and her secret.
While the horses had luxury accommodation at Badminton, Issie and her team werenât quite so well off. Their horse truck was comfortable enough to live in for a few days, but it was a little cramped with four people in it. Avery and his wife Francoise had the double bed in the cavity above the driverâs cab, Stella had created a makeshift bed on the banquette seat next to the kitchen table, and Issie was out at the back in the part of the horse truck where the horses themselves usually travelled, on a camping cot bed. It wasnât exactly the Plaza Hotel, but it suited Issie just fine. She loved the sweet smell of horses and the quiet chirp of crickets right outside as she lay there, trying to get to sleep.
With the cross-country starting at seven-thirty in themorning, an early night was crucial. As Issie had two horses to compete, the organisers had split up her two rides at either end of the day. Her early start was on Storm. The big bay was due in the ten-minute box a little before eight a.m. Victory was her second ride, with a late allocated start time of one-thirty p.m.
Although Nightstorm wasnât due in the box until nearly eight, their day would start much earlier. Stella would be up and grooming him before sunrise and Issie would be down at the stables not long after that. After the exhausting day sheâd just had, Issie desperately needed a good nightâs sleep. Of course, just when you need it most, thatâs when sleep refuses to do the business. For almost an hour she lay in her cot bed, thinking about the dayâs events. She was finally beginning to relax, could feel drowsiness overwhelming her, when she heard hoofbeats.
Convinced that the sounds were nothing more than echoes from the stables on the other side of the competitorsâ park, she ignored them and tried once more to sleep. But in a moment of clarity she sat up, suddenly wide awake. The hoofbeats were too close. They couldnât be coming from the stables.
And then she heard another sound, quite distinct. It was the soft nicker of a horse and it was right outside!
Padding over to the back of the truck in pyjamas and bare feet, Issie pushed open the canvas flap at the rear by the ramp and peered out. It was dark, but there were a few lights on in the competitorsâ park, providing enough illumination for her to see. There was a horse standing just a few metres away.
Eventing horses tended to be solidly built and at least sixteen hands high. By comparison, the swaybacked grey pony in front of her was tiny, no more than fourteen hands. He stared at her with coal-black eyes, standing so still that he looked like a marble statue. Then he shook his long mane and the statue was suddenly alive and impatient. The gelding gave a snort as if to say, âCome on! Whatâs keeping you? Letâs go already!â Issie couldnât believe it.
It was Mystic.
Chapter 3
Mystic stamped a hoof impatiently against the gravel and looked up at Issie, his dark eyes making his intent quite clear. They needed to leave now.
âOK, wait!â Issie ducked back inside the canvas flap and hunted frantically for a pair of boots. Her heart was racing and she couldnât think straight â the fact that Mystic was here now meant that one or both of her horses must be in real trouble. She began to panic. They needed to go now!
There was a sound of hooves and Issie looked back to see Mystic pushing his muzzle through the canvas flap to look for her. She could see his nostrils flare as he sniffed for her. âIâm coming!â she insisted. She unearthedthe boots from beneath a pile of coats and pulled them on and pushed her way back out through the canvas flap. Mystic was standing close to the ramp so that Issie could use
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