Flame and the Rebel Riders Page 2

  “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 name. Issie was well aware that the flame-haired trainer frowned upon Avery’s methods. Natasha Tucker was always talking about the rivalry between them. Ginty considered Chevalier Point Pony Club’s head instructor a low-powered amateur, compared to her and the high-stakes world of professional paid riders.

  The dislike was mutual. Avery had made it quite clear that he was not a fan of Ginty’s methods either. Issie had heard him complaining about the slew of bad habits that Ginty had taught her star pupil, Natasha Tucker. The spoilt blonde was rather too fond of relying on her whip and was renowned for her ‘busy’ hands. But was that really Ginty’s doing?

  Ginty obviously liked the way Issie handled her horses — otherwise surely she wouldn’t have offered her the job? And if Ginty thought that Issie was a good rider then perhaps her methods weren’t a world away from Avery’s after all.

  Ginty was a famous trainer. She had brought on more than her fair share of champions. And being a junior groom in Ginty’s stables meant the chance to spend the school holidays riding amazing horses every day, instead of helping her mum with filing bits of paper and getting the lawyers cups of tea!

  “Would I still have time to ride my own horses?” Issie asked.

  “That’s up to you,” Ginty replied. “You’ll be working a six-day week — sometimes seven days when we’re competing at the shows. You’ll start at seven each morning and sometimes we’ll be away for days at a time on
the show circuit, but usually if you’re not too exhausted by the time you finish work at four, then you’ll have time left at the end of the day to ride your own horses.”

  “It sounds brilliant, thank you,” Issie said politely, “but I need to think about it.”

  “Well, you don’t have much time to do that, I’m afraid,” Ginty said. “I need an answer soon. I’ve only got a week to find someone and I can’t afford to sit on my hands. Tell me now if you’re not keen, because I have a couple of other riders that I’m considering.”

  “No!” Issie said hastily. “I mean, yes. Don’t offer anyone else the job. I want to do it. I just need to go home and check with my mum…”

  Issie spent the bike ride home rehearsing the best way of breaking the news to her mother. She had a well-prepared little speech all ready, but instantly forgot it the minute she walked in the door.

  “Ginty McLintoch has offered me a job. You said I’d never find a job with horses, but I have, and I want to go and work for her.”

  Some people would call the conversation that followed an argument. Later on, when she had calmed down, Mrs Brown referred to it as a ‘heated discussion’. In the end, though, Issie didn’t care what her mum called it. She had won. Mrs Brown finally conceded defeat. After all, she had told her daughter that if she could find herself a paid job with ponies, then she could take it.

  “On the plus side,” Mrs Brown reasoned, “starting work at seven each morning and mucking out poo from that many loose boxes every day might finally make you think about getting qualifications for a proper career. I know I’d rather be sitting down with a cup of tea in a nice air-conditioned office than doing back-breaking work at a stable any day.”

  This was the difference between her and her mother. Issie would rather be sweating in the stables for a pittance. Horses were her dream job and she had just been given her big break.

  Stella and Kate couldn’t believe it when Issie told them her news at school the next day.

  “You are soooo lucky!” Stella breathed excitedly. “I am so jealous! Ginty was really watching you at the pony club that day, when you thought she just wanted to buy Comet! Do you think she needs any more riders?”

  Stella’s holiday job was restocking the shelves each night at the local supermarket, and she wasn’t thrilled with it. “We have to wear smocks and hairnets,” she groaned. “It’s going to be awful.”

  “Have you told Tom yet?” Kate asked.

  “No.” Issie shook her head. “I’m going to Winterflood Farm tomorrow after school to help out with a new rescue pony that he’s just brought in. I thought I would tell him then.”

  “I thought Tom didn’t like Ginty?” Stella said.

  “He doesn’t,” Issie admitted, “but when I explain to him how I didn’t really have a choice, I’m sure he’ll be OK about it.”

  She was dead wrong.

  “You can’t work for Ginty,” Avery told her point blank when she broke the news.

  “But Tom, if I don’t take the job Mum will make me spend the holidays at her office and I won’t get to ride at all—”

  “Anything is better than working for that atrocious woman,” Avery said.

  “Why?” Issie was confused. “I know Ginty has different methods from you—”

  “You’ve got no idea!” Avery said, clearly refusing to back down. “Issie, you don’t understand the pressure you’ll be under riding for Dulmoth Park. Ginty’s got financial backers with big wallets and huge expectations. It’s all about making money for her, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to win.”

  “So she’s competitive. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Issie insisted. “I know it’s a big step for me, working at a professional stables, but I can handle myself. Besides, when we were in Australia a couple of months ago you were willing to let me move to Kentucky to go to Blainford. Now I’ve got a holiday job and you’re acting like it’s a big deal!”

  “This is different,” Avery said coolly. “Tara Kelly is a brilliant trainer and Blainford Academy is the best riding institution in the world. I was only doing what was best for you—”

  “I’m fifteen years old!” Issie objected. “I’m not a kid any more, and you need to stop deciding what’s best for me! You’re not my dad, you know. You’re just my pony-club instructor!”

  The words came out before Issie could stop them. And then she saw the pain in Avery’s eyes, deep disappointment written all over his face.

  “Tom,” Issie stammered, “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s OK,” Avery said quietly. “And you’re right, this is your decision. I can’t make your mind up for you. Maybe it’s time for you to try a new instructor. Maybe this is a good thing.”

  And with that he turned his back on Issie and headed towards the stable block.

  “Tom?” Issie called running after him. “Wait…I thought you wanted me to help with the new pony?”

  Avery turned back to look at her. “No, Issie, I think it’s probably best if you go home. I can cope with the pony on my own.”

  In all the time she had known Tom Avery, Issie had never heard such hurt in her instructor’s voice. As she watched him walk away, she wondered whether she was really doing the right thing. But it was too late to change her mind now. She had already told Ginty that she would take the job. She was starting work at Dulmoth Park on Monday.

  Chapter 3

  Issie stared up at the horse towering above her. It was rearing up on its hind legs, with a tousled mane and wild eyes. She put a hand out to stroke the horse and felt cool, smooth marble against her skin. There was the security keypad, embedded in the pedestal below the statue, just as Ginty had described it. The letters on the pad lit up bright blue at the touch of her fingertips as she carefully coded in the password Ginty had given her — w-i-n-n-e-r.

  The sleek, state-of-the-art metal gates beside the statue slid open and Issie wheeled her bike through the grand entrance and into the manicured grounds of Dulmoth Park.

  Issie had got up at 6 a.m. to make it to work on time. She had dressed, eaten breakfast and then cycled the half-hour journey along the main road past the pony club and the Chevalier Point airfield to reach the stables. She had hoped that maybe her mum would drive her to work, but Mrs Brown had laughed when Issie suggested this.

  “You want me to drive you to work before seven?” Her mum was horrified. “You must be joking! I’m not getting up at dawn each day to be a taxi service.”

  It had been hard to force herself out of bed, but once she was up and on her bike, Issie actually enjoyed the ride to the stables. The morning air was crisp, and as she cycled up the driveway of Dulmoth Park the grounds looked pristine and perfect with the dawn light tinting everything golden.

  As she rode past the white post and rail fences, Issie noticed that Dulmoth Park’s paddocks were eerily empty. There were no horses grazing. Even in summer, when New Zealand nights were warm and most horses were left out to pasture, Ginty had a reputation for keeping her horses stabled. Right now the horses would still be tucked up snugly in their loose boxes, waiting for their day to start.

  The stable complex at the end of the long driveway had the air of a posh racehorse training facility. The driveway forked in three directions and there was a series of smart, creosoted black buildings surrounded by well-pruned trees and neat lawns.

  Issie had just dismounted from her bike and was wondering which path to take when suddenly two very yappy, angry-looking Jack Russells came charging out from the building right in front of her.

  The dogs were barking their heads off as they bore down on her. They were just a few feet away and closing in fast when a sharp whistle made them stop in their tracks.

  “Hoi! Jock! Angus!” Ginty McLintoch called out.

  At the sound of Ginty’s voice Jock and Angus sat down obediently, waiting for their mistress to catch up.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Ginty said. “They’re very suspicious of strangers.” S
he smiled at Issie. “They’ll be fine now that they can see you’re with me.”

  Issie put out her hands to scratch the two Jack Russells under the chin. “Hi Jock, hi Angus!” She smiled at Ginty. “I love dogs. I’ve got a blue heeler at home.”

  “A blue heeler?”

  “An Australian cattle dog,” Issie explained.

  “Good around horses?” Ginty asked.

  “Wombat’s brilliant with horses.”

  “Wombat?” Ginty was confused. “I thought you said he was a dog?”

  “He is a dog,” Issie said. “His name is Wombat. I got him in Australia…it’s kind of a long story.”

  “Well,” Ginty said briskly, clearly not interested in hearing it, “as long as he doesn’t bother the horses and he can put up with Jock and Angus, then you’re welcome to bring him to work with you.”

  “Really?” Issie couldn’t believe it. “That would be amazing!”

  “You can park your bike in the equipment room,” Ginty told her. “It’s just through that doorway beside the office.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better go down to the stables. I’ve got another new junior groom starting today as well. Come and join us there when you’re ready.”

  The equipment room was stocked with jump stands and painted rails. Issie leant her bike against the wall and unzipped her backpack. She’d already put her helmet on for the bike ride and she grabbed her back protector out of the backpack and slipped it on too before heading for the stable block.

  Up ahead of her at the stable entrance Ginty was engrossed in conversation with two girls who looked a couple of years older than Issie. They were both dressed exactly the same, in smart cream jodhpurs, work boots and dark purple sweatshirts with the letters DP embroidered on them in swirly gold. The DP obviously stood for Dulmoth Park.

  “Issie,” Ginty called out, “come and meet my senior grooms.”

  The two girls looked up at Issie and the one with freckles and honey-coloured hair in a ponytail gave her a warm smile.