Angel and the Flying Stallions. Stacy Gregg

to discuss their plans.

      It had taken a whole six months to negotiate the arrangements for bringing Storm home. Francoise, in her capacity as head trainer at El Caballo Danza Magnifico, had resisted the idea at first. She felt the stallion needed more time to continue his training and she had been reluctant to let Storm go. Eventually, however, she and Avery had reached an agreement and a date was set for Issie, her mum and her trainer to travel to Spain.

      It wasn’t a simple journey to undertake. The flight to Spain from New Zealand took twenty-four hours and after that there was a high-speed train from Madrid to Seville. By the time the three travellers arrived at the railway station in Seville they were jetlagged and exhausted. The heat of the sun struck Issie as she wheeled her suitcase out of the front doors. It was so intense that she felt like she was melting into the pavement. She cast a glance at the road ahead and suddenly caught sight of the familiar beaten-up old Land Rover parked directly in front of the train station. There was a lanky teenager leaning back against the bonnet of the car. He had tousled black hair, tanned skin and the square-jawed good looks of a Spanish film star. The boy waved to Issie and his face broke into a broad grin.

      “Alfie!” Issie squealed as she dropped her luggage and made a dash across the busy street, throwing herself into his arms.

      Mrs Brown watched wide-eyed as her daughter hugged him. “The local Spanish lads are very friendly with tourists, aren’t they?” she commented dryly to Avery as they followed across the road with the luggage.

      “Mum!” Issie was beaming. “This is Alfonso Nunez. He’s the son of Roberto and the head rider in El Caballo Danza Magnifico.”

      “Lovely to meet you, Mrs Brown,” Alfie said, letting go of Issie and racing forward to help with the luggage. “We’re very excited that you could join your daughter on this trip,” he smiled. “Isadora has told me how much you love horses and what a great rider you are. My father has already chosen one of his most spirited stallions and asked one of the men to prepare him for you to ride. We can saddle up as soon as we get to the hacienda!”

      Mrs Brown’s face dropped. “Ride?” She turned to Issie in panic. “He is joking, isn’t he, Isadora? You did tell him that I’m utterly terrified of horses, didn’t you?”

      Alfie and Issie couldn’t keep straight faces any longer and burst out laughing.

      “Very funny!” Mrs Brown fumed as she clambered into the back seat of the Land Rover. Alfie and Avery loaded the last of the bags, then Alfie leapt into the driver’s seat and turned the Land Rover out on to the cobbled streets of downtown Seville.

      Within an hour they had left the city and begun to climb through the forest-clad hills of Andalusia. As Alfie turned off the main road, yellow dust flew up from beneath the tyres and he began to steer more vigorously to avoid the potholes in the rugged road that wound around the hills. Soon they were surrounded by olive trees and then as the Land Rover began to descend into a green valley Issie felt her heart soar. There it was, El Caballo Danza Magnifico! Down below she could see the herds of mares with their foals grazing the sunburnt fields around the perimeter of the estate, its beautiful stone buildings arranged around a cobbled courtyard and enclosed by a vast, white stone wall.

      “The mares are only allowed out to graze during the daytime now,” Alfie told Issie as they drove down the hill. “There was an incident last week, late at night. We think maybe it was bandits trying to raid the herd.”

      Issie was horrified. “The mares and foals were all fine,” Alfie reassured her, “but since then Dad has insisted that we bring the horses in every night, just to be safe.”

      “Do you think it might have been Miguel Vega’s men?” Issie asked.

      Miguel Vega’s hacienda was El Caballo’s closest neighbour. The two great horse farms had been fierce rivals for many years and Vega was not above resorting to dirty tricks.

      “Miguel Vega?” Mrs Brown joined in the conversation. “Why do I know that name?”

      “He’s the one that stole Storm,” Issie reminded her mother.

      Alfonso nodded. “Since your last visit, Señor Vega has been suspiciously quiet. I wondered how long it would be before he gave us trouble again.” Alfie shrugged. “Whoever it was, we have taken precautions now. The mares are locked up at night. It will not be easy for them to try again.”

      The herd was grazing near the dusty road as they drove past and even Mrs Brown was captured by the beauty of these mares with their charcoal-black foals. “Why are the mothers white when their foals are black?” she asked.

      “Lipizzaners and Andalusians are grey, but their foals are always born black,” Avery explained. “Their coats change colour as they age. Eventually the dark colour fades away completely and the horses become grey.”

      “They don’t look grey,” Mrs Brown said stubbornly. “They’re white really, aren’t they?”

      Issie sighed. Her mum was the most unhorsey person she knew. “Mum, technically there’s no such thing as a white horse,” Issie explained. “They’re always called grey.”

      “We have over fifty horses,” Alfie told Mrs Brown, taking up the role as El Caballo tour guide. “All of them are bred here. We have the Lipizzaners and Andalusians, and we also have Anglo-Arabs – the same bloodlines as Isadora’s own mare, Blaze.”

      Alfie pulled the Land Rover to a rough stop outside the gates of the hacienda and Issie leapt out of the car, swung open the enormous wrought iron gates and let him through. Alfie drove sedately around the cobbled compound, continuing his tour for the benefit of Mrs Brown. “That large building to the rear is the mares’ quarters, where we keep them at night,” he explained. “The stallions are in separate quarters over there and that building ahead of you now is our main indoor arena where the riders train the horses. And this…” he said, swinging hard on the wheel of the Land Rover, turning back around the fountain and parking the car in front of the central archway of the main hacienda, “…is our house, where you will be staying as our guests.”

      Mrs Brown was stunned. “Much nicer than the Costa Del Sol!” she muttered.

      The Nunez hacienda was a stately Spanish villa, two storeys high with curved archways on the bottom floor and top-floor balconies smothered in vines of brilliant pink and orange tropical bougainvillea. All the windows were trimmed with wrought iron window boxes filled with candy pink geraniums, and the front steps were lined with elegant topiaries of Seville oranges. The front door was made of heavy, dark-stained wood. It swung open and a man stepped out to greet them.

      “Thomas!” Roberto Nunez skipped down the stairs and grasped Avery by the hand before pulling him into his arms in a manly embrace. “So good to see you again!”

      “You too, Roberto,” Avery hugged the Spaniard who had been his best friend ever since they met as young riders on the international eventing circuit.

      “And Isadora!” Roberto smiled. “Welcome back. And this lovely woman must be your sister?”

      He stepped forward, took Mrs Brown’s hand and clasped it lightly in his own.

      “Roberto,” said Issie, grinning at his charming antics, “this is my mum, Amanda Brown.”

      “Welcome!” Roberto smiled. “Don’t worry about your luggage. Alfonso will take it to your rooms. Come in and sit down! Have something to eat and drink. You must be famished.”

      He guided his guests towards the front door of the hacienda.

      “Where is Francoise?” Avery asked, looking around.

      “Down at the stallions’ stables,” Roberto replied. “Isadora, perhaps you might like to go and let her know you have arrived?”

      Issie’s heart was racing as she headed across the cobbled courtyard. It was so strange to be back here again! She couldn’t believe she was about to see Storm. Her stomach was tied in nervous knots. It had been so long.

      The