The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

the booth, walked in. The judges cringed.

      Owens beamed. “The decision is final, Pierson, you know that. Go away or they’ll call security.”

      “I have one question,” said Pete calmly. “May I?”

      The man said, “If it’s a quick one. We must get going or we’ll lose the crowd.”

      “Don’t worry about that, you’ve already lost them,” said Pete with a glance at Owens.“This is my question. Who’s disqualified, Dancer or Abby Malone?”

      “Actually, that’s a valid question,” said one of the women.

      The other woman spoke. “Abby Malone is disqualified because she’s underage to ride a stallion. Dancer was invited to compete and has broken no rules.” She looked at her fellow judges for approval. They both nodded.

      “Then Dancer can compete in the jump-off?”

      “Ridiculous!” sputtered Owens. “I never heard such nonsense!”

      The judges, weary of the whole situation, looked at each other in dismay. “Is there a rider?” asked a woman judge. “Of proper age?”

      “Yes.” Pete was going out on a limb.

      “Name and age?”

      “Hilary James, age twenty-two.”

      Samuel Owens turned purple. Veins throbbed at his temples and he gasped for air as the judges whispered among themselves.

      “Dancer can compete in the jump-off with a rider over the age of eighteen,” the man said as he sank down in his chair.“Now, everybody out. I’ve got a terrible headache. I hope everyone is happy.”

      “I’m not happy! And I’m not leaving!” yelled Owens in a croaking voice. “This whole thing is preposterous!”

      “Call security,” said the male judge.

      The jumps were set up. The course designer chose four of the most confusing and challenging of his creations and placed them where the skill of the horse and rider would be tested to the maximum. He introduced two surprises as well. These were permanent fixtures in the paddock, but not generally used for jumpers. The horse with the fewest faults and the fastest time would be the winner.

      Four competitors walked the course. They’d drawn their places. Mario Deslaurier was going first, Kim Kirton was second, Hilary James was third, and Beth Underhill would be showing last.

      While Hilary was in the ring planning strategy, Abby held Dancer’s reins in the warm-up area. An hour and a half had passed since his trip around the jumps. He’d been rubbed and wrapped and walked and rested. The fire had returned to his eyes. He’d had a big drink of water and a flake of hay.

      “You’ll be great, Dancer,” Abby whispered. “There are only four jumps, a drop, and a bridge. They’re tricky, so be careful. This is all about brains, and you’ve got lots.”

      Dancer rubbed his head on her shirt. The moment the announcement was made, Hilary and Abby had exchanged clothes. Hilary now wore the somewhat sweaty riding habit, and Abby was wearing Hilary’s outfit, down to her shoes, which were a bit loose.

      “You’ll have to look after Hilary, Dancer, like you looked after me. She hasn’t ridden in ages.”

      Minutes later, Hilary was up on Dancer, watching Mario DesLaurier navigate Nightingale around the course. He had no trouble with the fan jump or the triple combination. He headed to the picturesque wooden bridge that stood before the four-foot drop. Show jumpers rarely see such things, and Nightingale was no exception. His ears were pinned as they approached it, and his tail swished. He didn’t want anything to do with either the bridge or the drop. He stopped. Mario urged him with his legs, then his spurs. Finally, he smacked him sharply with his crop. Nightingale leapt forward in surprise, which got him halfway over the bridge, but then he skidded to a halt at the drop. No way was he taking another step. He was whistled out. Hilary shook her head in sympathy. “Dancer, don’t watch.”

      She wondered again what she’d gotten herself into. This wasn’t just crazy. This was lunatic. She prayed that her leg muscles would hold out for as long as she needed, and that her body would remember to follow Dancer’s motion over the jumps, neither anticipating nor being left behind. It had been a long time since she’d schooled over high jumps. Her brain would be fine, but her muscle memory was rusty. Hilary patted Dancer’s neck and murmured, “It’s a long shot, boy, but we’re in it now.”

      She nodded hello to Mario as he grimly left the ring and watched Kim Kirton ride in on Sandstorm.

      Kim was determined and brave. Sandstorm looked fit and ready. They cantered fast through the gate and took the fan jump head-on, clearing it by a foot. Sandstorm took on speed around the corner and scrambled toward the triple combination. Kim gathered him up in time and they made a perfect job of it. The crowd was breathless. The bridge was no trouble, and the drop was a breeze. It looked like Kim and Sandstorm were the ones to beat. Tearing around the tight turn, Sandstorm scrambled again. He lifted in time and cleared the wall, but on their descent his back hoof kicked out and knocked off a brick. The crowd groaned in sympathy. The strange-looking yellow jump had been placed in front of the water, and Kim and Sandstorm rode at it with confidence, landing a good foot clear. They left the ring with four faults and an unbeatable time.

      They don’t call her the Queen of Speed for nothing, thought Hilary.

      She felt a hand grab her leg. She looked down into Abby’s intense face.

      “Good luck, Hilary, and don’t forget to breathe!” She patted Dancer’s neck. “Get ’em, boy!”Abby stepped away to let them pass.

      Dancer pranced on the spot, muscular neck arched and haunches coiled. His smooth chestnut coat gleamed in the sun. Abby’s appreciative eyes followed him into the ring as she stepped over to the fence to watch.

      Hilary cantered him through the starting gate at a good pace. Abby knew they were going faster than they looked, because Dancer’s stride was extra long. Dancer powerfully soared up and over the optical illusion and tightly turned the corner toward the triple combination. Hilary hung on as tightly as she could, correcting her balance after the turn. Dancer’s sinewy muscles flexed with each stride, and his coat shimmered with good health. His intelligent eyes were fierce with determination as he figured out his distances.

      Hilary was doing incredibly well, Abby thought. Her legs looked slightly wobbly, but her position was correct. She was smiling, Abby noticed. But what was this? Tears were coming from Hilary’s eyes! Abby understood, and wiped a tear from her own eye. I sure hope emotion doesn’t overpower her, Abby thought.

      Dancer lifted and flew over the first of the jumps in the combination. Hilary grabbed his mane and flopped onto his back. Land, one. The second jump. She lost a stirrup. Land, one. The third. Well done! Hilary pushed her hat back into place and adjusted her feet and reins as they made their way to the arched wooden bridge and then the drop.

      Abby felt a cold nose in the palm of her hand. “Cody! What are you doing here?” she asked her pet. He must have hidden himself in the horse-trailer. He wasn’t in the truck, she’d checked. He merely stared into her eyes with a panicked look and whined. Abby was alarmed. Cody never allowed himself to be seen unless there was a very good reason.

      Abby looked up to see Dancer canter over the bridge as though he did it every day. He sprang with a huge leap down the drop, closing the distance to the wall.

      Cody whined again. He urgently pulled her hand with his mouth. Something must be very wrong. Abby let herself be led by Cody. He was taking her, as fast as she could go, behind the call-board.

      At a run, she turned her head to see that Dancer was cleanly over the wall. He was turning toward the yellow jump and moving well. He was sitting back on his haunches, preparing to jump when Abby bumped hard into someone and knocked him over. It was Samuel Owens. The crowd was cheering madly and Cody was nowhere to be seen.

      “I’m