The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

      “Dancer, please! To the gate!” The voice sounded muted and distant.

      In a state of cold agitation, and with the sense that her mind was not connected to her body, Abby allowed Dancer to do as he was told. Abby couldn’t move, let alone direct him. She was in another zone.

      As Beth Underhill rode out of the ring to loud applause, Dancer trotted in. Vaguely, Abby heard the crowd recognize the retired legend. Her vision blurred, and she had the delayed feeling that she was slowly tumbling off. She wasn’t breathing, wasn’t present, wasn’t coherent. All she knew was that she was blacking out.

      Dancer jumped straight up in the air and landed exactly where he’d started, shifting his weight slightly to keep himself under Abby. He tossed his head and whinnied loudly. Shaking his body as if he’d been through a rainstorm, Dancer managed to wake Abby from her frozen terror.

      He snorted impatiently and stamped his foot. He neighed angrily. “Yes, Dancer, I hear you,” Abby rasped, struggling to get herself together. She took a deep breath. In. Out. Another. In. Out. She took hold of the reins and gripped with her legs.

      Dancer reared up and thrashed with his forelegs, whinnying his deep, fulsome noise. He was the king of all, he seemed to trumpet.

      Her body racked with nerves, Abby cantered Dancer through the starting gate. She clenched her teeth to keep them from rattling. She swallowed her bile and willed herself not to vomit. Blinking hard, she tried to focus on the first jump. “Let’s go, let’s flow,” she chanted, struggling to clear her head as Dancer reduced his stride to take off at the perfect distance. Abby’s body reacted automatically and followed him through.

      Abby remembered where to go next, and headed Dancer toward jump number two. She was still in dreamland. They skimmed over the huge hedge and Abby counted absently, “Land, one, two, three, four,” and they lifted again over a rainbow-shaped jump of many colours. “Land, one, two, three, four, five.” They turned the corner of the ring, hugging the fence to get in straight to the broad oxer.

      Abby awoke from her stupor. Immensely grateful that the mighty horse had carried her this far, she spoke to him through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to let you down, Dancer.”

      Her eyes were focused now, her brain intact. The feeling returned to her legs. Abby blinked and licked her lips. She felt resolve and courage well up in her heart along with the desire to win. This was Dancer’s show, and she had almost blown it. She was determined to let him shine.

      The oxer looked huge to Abby, but Dancer continued toward it with confidence, head up and eager. She looked over the jump through his delicately pointed ears. “If you can do it, I can do it,” she muttered. Three, two, one. Liftoff. Dancer’s muscled haunches sprang with great power. His front knees tucked into his chest, and his neck lengthened gracefully as he straightened his head. Abby knew how beautiful he must look.

      She was riding well. Pure joy filled her chest.

      They were quickly coming to the water jump. “Head up,” muttered Abby, remembering the tip her father had given her. “Head up, heels down, sit back.” She rode into it imagining a five-foot-tall jump. Dancer flew over the water and landed safely on the other side. On they cantered to the triple combination, the jump that had caused the most problems for this experienced group of riders.

      Abby felt Dancer’s excitement. “Easy, big boy,” she said as she sat up slightly. Abby made the decision to let him set his speed. It was faster than she would’ve chosen, but he’d been right so far. Plus she didn’t want to fight him so close to the three big obstacles. At the third to last stride, the intelligent stallion slowed considerably and organized himself perfectly.

      Over the first jump, land, then a stride. Over the second jump, land, stride, stride. Over the third, and land. They’d done it. They’d cleared the triple!

      Wow. Abby grinned broadly. Holy. What a horse. She focused ahead. They weren’t done yet. Four difficult jumps remained.

      Up in the stands, Hilary James sat rigid. Every muscle in her body, every fibre of her brain was involved in Dancer’s ride. She’d been alarmed when she saw Dancer carry in Abby’s unresponsive body. Abby was in shock, and Hilary could hardly watch, but as Abby gained control, Hilary started feeling better. Now, Hilary was jumping each jump with Dancer, counting the strides aloud. Mousie James was riding again.

      Sandy Casey sat on her left. He remembered the first time he’d seen Hilary riding Dancer. It had been at the Queen’s Exhibition in the Coliseum, five years earlier. They’d been a spectacular team. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

      Christine sat on Hilary’s right. Sympathetic and supportive, she sat with her arm firmly around her daughter’s shoulders. Sitting beside Christine was Rory. He marvelled at Dancer’s incredible strength and beauty, and noted the difference Abby’s training had made in the scruffy, ill-mannered beast that had been jumping the farm’s fences only months before. Liam and Fiona held hands, breathless, eyes on their daughter. Liam nodded and urged her on. Fiona sat quietly with tears of admiration glistening on her cheeks.

      Pete Pierson’s arms surrounded Laura as she buried her head in his chest, her eyes securely shut. Her lips moved as she said a prayer that Abby would not get hurt. Pete watched Abby carefully. She was allowing Dancer to clear the big jumps by leaving him alone, and he admired her restraint. It was rare for a young, inexperienced rider to have the wisdom that Abby was demonstrating.

      Joy Featherstone and Robert Wick had slid into the stands behind Christine and Rory just in time for the start of the show. They sat slack-jawed, in awe of this incredible combination of talent and determination. Sam and Leslie Morris had brought Lucy with them. The teenagers huddled together silently, eyes riveted. This was intense.

      Each face in the stands was intent on Abby and Dancer’s progress through the course. Not only were they clearing each fence, but their time was looking good.

      Another face in the stands wore an altogether different expression. Samuel Owens, bandages off but still using a cane, glowered through the coyote scratches. He would put a stop to this and he knew how to do it. Pushing himself up onto his feet, and clutching his cane, Owens made his way down to the judges’ booth on the other side of the stadium.

      Abby concentrated on the job ahead. The optical illusion was next. This jump fanned out, making the ground line completely off-angle from the top rail. The width was deceptive. If you went strictly for the top rail, you might step on the bottom rail and tumble it down. If you rode to the centre rail, you came in crooked and risked ticking the angled top rail with a back hoof.

      Abby decided to ride straight to the top rail. Dancer noticed the illusion and slowed. Abby let him figure it out. They cantered on the spot for a stride, then Dancer surged ahead. He took off well ahead of the jump, and sprang a foot over it. Abby was thrown slightly back with the unexpected enormity of the action, but grabbed his mane and regained her balance as quickly as she’d lost it, taking care to leave his mouth unjerked.

      They landed too long. They could take either four extra-small strides or three extra-long ones before they got to the wall.

      Head up, ears forward, hind end in gear, Dancer hopped straight-legged. Four, three, two, one. Up they sprang, over the wall with its precariously balanced top bricks. Clear! Land, one, two, three, four, five, turning tightly all the way, into the tall yellow and white vertical. Over they went, Dancer tucking his hind legs sideways to avoid the top rail. He then gently landed, switched his leads, and turned right. Now they were facing the last obstacle.

      Abby noticed that Dancer was getting tired. His sides were heaving, and his strides were less springy. He was going too fast, reasoning wrongly that speed would help him clear the wide, colourful steps that loomed ahead. For the first time in their short riding history, Abby sat back and forced him to change his speed. He resisted, throwing his head up and down.

      She spoke to him. “Steady, Dancer, we’re almost home.”

      The stallion relaxed, and Abby released her pull. He steadied in time to take the last