Riding on Air Read Online Free Page B

perfect self-carriage and impulsion from Jinx. A moment of perfect unity between us. I wanted to laugh and scream and cry, all at once.
    â€œFantastic effort, Melissa, well done. He’s a very nice horse, this one. Very nice. Are you entering the Novice championships at Goulburn next month?”
    â€œI think so,” I managed to choke out, mind spinning. ‘A very nice horse’ was the highest praise from Petra Hein, or so I’d heard.
    â€œGood, good. I think you’ll do very well. I look forward to seeing you there,” she said.
    â€œMe too,” I said. “Thank you so much, that was an awesome lesson.”
    She grinned. “A pleasure, you are a good student. You’ve done enough, now, so you can go back if you like. Get your horse out of the sun so he can cool down, rest.”
    Then she turned away, clapping her hands together, calling out for the next rider and leaving my head almost exploding at the unexpected praise. Or maybe it was just the usual helmet-induced baked-skull headache.
    As I pointed Jinx towards the gate, I was kind of surprised to realise just how much I’d improved in the last two years since I’d been going to pony club and having other occasional lessons when I could earn enough extra pocket money. That’s tricky when your hands sometimes aren’t much use. You can’t just volunteer for most of the usual household chores even when you’re after more cash.
    I slid my feet free from my stirrups and dropped the buckle of the reins on Jinx’s sweat-darkened neck. I held my hands up and flexed my fingers cautiously, but the painkiller was obviously still doing the job. I had a dull sort of ache in the bones of my fingers and my knuckles were a bit warm, the skin stretched tight over the swollen bulges, but that was as good as it got during a flare like this. My shirt stuck to my back and my face was so hot and sweaty I was sure it was beyond red, probably as purple as a beetroot. But I didn’t care about that, either. I was so happy I felt like I was walking—no, make that riding—on air.
    I rode Jinx right up to our horse float, slid off and swapped his bridle for a halter, tying him to string so if he got a fright and pulled back he wouldn’t injure himself. I unsaddled him, thrilled all over again to be able to do it with so much ease and so little pain. I felt like I normally did when the arthritis wasn’t active in a flare; still swollen and stiff and kind of wrong in my joints, but basically functional. Almost ordinary. I even managed the buckle of my helmet and dumped it inside the float, closed the door and locked it, then untied Jinx.
    â€œA nice cool shower for you, my star,” I told him, offering a carrot I’d grabbed from the bag inside the float. Jinx bit the end off, gigantic teeth gleaming, and crunched noisily, dribbling little orange flecks over me as he nudged with his muzzle for more. I gave him the rest and then led him towards the wash bays; concrete slabs surrounded by pipe railings where we could hose the sweat off our horses.
    Both bays were empty, although there’d be horses queued up all the way back to the floats as soon as everyone else finished their sessions. If I was quick I could be done and have Jinx back in his yard before anyone else showed up. Jinx followed me onto the concrete where I tied him up and untangled the hose. I took hold of the tap and went to turn it on. But nothing happened.
    Bugger. Whoever had turned it off last had done it really tight. I dropped the hose and tried with both hands, but still nothing. Leaning over the bar in between the two bays, I tried the tap on the other side, but it too had been turned off by someone with superpowers.
    Trying the tap on my side again, I was rewarded with zip, apart from an ominous warning stab deep in the knuckles of my right hand. Emergency extra pill or not, I’d lived with JRA long enough to know not to push