Storm and the Silver Bridle. Stacy Gregg

      With his attempted jailbreak foiled, Storm seemed to resign himself to his fate and began to make friends with Avery’s two horses, Starlight and Vinnie, who grazed in the paddock next to his. By the time Issie arrived at Winterflood Farm the next day she found her colt quite content with his new life without his mum, nickering happily over the fence to her.

      “It’s all part of growing up,” Avery told her. “He’s becoming a horse.” Issie knew her instructor was right, but still, she worried about her colt.

      Now Avery said Storm was ready for the next step—his first outing. For the past two weeks Issie had been practising with the colt in Avery’s horse float. At first she had simply got Avery to park the float around the back of the house in Storm’s paddock. She had dropped the ramp and let the colt sniff his way around it, putting one tentative hoof and then another onboard. Then, she had clipped a lead rope to his halter and led the colt all the way on and off the horse float, talking softly to him whenever he spooked or snorted, reassuring him that it was OK and nothing would hurt him.

      By the end of the second week, Storm was so comfortable around the horse float that he would walk on all by himself and stand like a perfect gentleman as Issie fussed with his halter, tied up his hay net and then lifted the ramp and locked the colt safely inside. Once he was closed in she would leave him standing there for a few moments, just to let him see how it felt before she lowered the ramp and let him out again.

      Today the routine would be just the same as the past couple of weeks, Issie told herself. Except today, instead of going nowhere and staying in the paddock, the horse float was attached to the towbar of Avery’s Range Rover.

      “Easy, Storm,” Issie cooed to the colt. “We’re just going to go for a little ride.”

      Storm lifted his legs in an exaggerated high step, wary of the leg bandages that Issie had put on him today to protect him for the journey. The colt raised his feet deliberately and precisely as he walked up the float ramp. Then he was inside and Issie was bolting the doors behind him before climbing into the Range Rover next to Avery.

      “Is he ready?” Avery asked.

      Issie took a deep breath and nodded. “Uh-huh. Let’s go.”

      As the Range Rover rolled slowly down the driveway, Issie twisted round in her seat and stared out of the back window at the float.

      “Is he OK?” Avery asked her.

      “He’s fine, Tom.” Issie turned to her instructor. “I guess I shouldn’t have worried so much, but it’s his first ride in the horse float, you know?”

      Avery smiled at her. “The pony club is the perfect distance—just a few kilometres. That’s a good first trip for him. It will get him used to travelling and being around other horses. It’s all about breaking him in gradually to new experiences. We start him off by taking him to pony-club rally. Let him understand that it’s not a big deal, just tether him to the float for an hour or so, let him look around, then bring him home again. By the time he goes out to compete at his first gymkhana or one-day event he’ll be quite relaxed because he knows the drill.”

      Issie nodded. Then she turned back to stare out of the rear window again, keeping her eyes locked on the horse float to make sure Storm was still OK.

      If she hadn’t been so busy staring straight at the horse float she might have noticed the car that was trailing behind them to the pony-club grounds. It was a black sedan with tinted windows, and it had been following them ever since it pulled out from behind the trees next to Winterflood Farm.

      The black car kept its distance, travelling slowly behind them all the way to the pony club. When Avery pulled up to open the gates of the Chevalier Point club grounds, the sedan pulled over and parked out of sight behind the hedge across the road. A tinted window was lowered and a pair of binoculars appeared. Through the binoculars, dark eyes were watching Issie and her colt. They watched as Storm came down the ramp of the float, the binoculars trained directly on the colt as he looked about excitedly, letting out a shrill whinny, calling to the other horses. They saw the way Issie held the colt’s head firmly and talked to him all the time, and the way the colt responded to her voice, calming down as she handled him.

      Then, satisfied that they had seen enough, the tinted window was rolled shut again and the black car silently drove off.

      If only Issie had seen the car, she might have realised that there was something suspicious going on. But as the black sedan swept out of sight, she had no idea of the danger they were in. She did not know what was to come—for her, and for Nightstorm.

       Chapter 2

      Issie might not have noticed the black sedan, but it was hard to miss the sour-faced spectacle that greeted her as they pulled into the club grounds.

      Natasha Tucker had spent pretty much the whole season at pony club trying to make Issie’s life a misery. As Avery steered the truck through the gates and Issie caught sight of the girl with the stiff blonde plaits glowering malevolently at her it was clear that today was going to be no different.

      Issie knew precisely why Stuck-up Tucker had her in her sights. Ever since the Horse of the Year Show, when Issie and her skewbald pony Comet had beaten Natasha, the girls had openly been at war. Natasha was still furious that Issie’s aunt Hester had refused to sell Comet to her.

      Natasha’s trainer, Ginty McLintoch, had offered Hester a huge amount of money—$28,000! But Hester had turned her down and given the skewbald showjumper to Issie instead.

      Natasha didn’t take no for an answer. She always got what she wanted and, despite the fact that she kept telling Issie that skewbalds were ugly, she had decided she wanted Comet. Ginty McLintoch had approached Issie twice since then on Natasha’s behalf and offered to buy the skewbald gelding. But each time Issie said no—which just infuriated Natasha even more.

      Issie would never have given up Comet. She had really bonded with the skewbald since she brought him home to the pony club at the beginning of summer. Now summer was over—and so was pony club. The weather was turning rainy and miserable and the club grounds were already getting boggy. Today would be the last rally for a while. For the next month or so, during the very worst of the weather, the club would be closed and most of the Chevalier Point riders, including Issie, had decided to spell their horses over this time, leaving them unridden until conditions improved.

      Issie had been torn when she realised that bringing Storm along today meant she would miss her chance to ride Comet at the final rally of the season. She had even thought she might be able to ride Blaze to pony club today for the first time in ages. After all, Storm had been weaned so the mare was able to be ridden again. But Avery had convinced her to leave Blaze and Comet at home. It was more important, he said, to use this opportunity to give Storm his first experience of the grown-up horsey world. This was a vital part of the colt’s training, letting him get used to new sights and sounds, and other horses. Not that there was any point in trying to explain that to Natasha.

      “So why are you bringing your foal to pony club? What’s the point of that?” huffed Natasha as she strode over from her fancy blue and silver horse truck where she had been standing to watch Issie unload Storm. “Trying to show off, I suppose. You always have to be the centre of attention, don’t you?”

      “I am not showing off!” Issie was taken aback. “Coming here is part of Nightstorm’s training. Avery says—”

      “Avery says, Avery says…” Natasha sing-songed back. She cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure Avery was still inside the horse truck and couldn’t hear her before she went on, “You know, some of us don’t care what Avery has to say. He’s just a pony-club instructor. If he was any good then he’d have his own private stables, wouldn’t he?”

      “Like Ginty McLintoch, I suppose?” Issie said archly. She was fed up with Natasha banging on about her fabulous, expensive lessons