Книга - The Prize

The Prize
Stacy Gregg


Saddle up for the fourth exciting PONY CLUB RIVALS adventure! Will Georgie fulfil her riding dreams at the ‘All-stars’ Academy?It’s a new term at Blainford ‘All-Stars’ academy in Lexington, USA, and Georgie is eager to take on her rivals once more. Having surprised everyone on the polo field, Georgie’s ambitions are sky high and she’s keen to take her riding to the next level.Meanwhile Kennedy Kirkwood has plans of her own, which might not turn out so well for Georgie… find out about all the gossip, drama and competitive challenges that lie ahead for our riding star in the next PONY CLUB RIVALS adventure!










Dedication

For Isadora, who was just a baby when I wrote my first book and is now old enough to apply for Blainford Academy. I hope your future is full of ponies and happiness.


Contents

Cover

Title Page (#u1e45d19b-ce00-5935-9f28-d443eb9634c2)

Dedication



Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen



About the Author

The Pony Club Rivals series

Copyright

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)





Chapter One

Dominic Blackwell was a phenomenon. Blessed with aristocratic good looks and a talent for magically coaxing a clear round out of the most temperamental and difficult horses, he was the rock star of the showjumping circuit. His fans utterly adored him. Girls had posters of him on their bedroom walls and in his hometown of Kentucky, he often got a standing ovation when he entered the arena.

“They wouldn’t be so mad about the big jerk if they actually knew him,” his head girl, Louise, muttered under her breath. She was waiting anxiously in the wings of the Kentucky Horse Park stadium, holding the reins of Dominic Blackwell’s big grey stallion, Maximillion, looking out at the crowd of more than ten thousand in the grandstand. Any moment now Dominic was due to ride his crucial final speed round on Maxi. The only problem was, he was nowhere to be seen.

A sudden roar rose up from the crowd in the stadium and the voice of announcer Jilly Jones came over the loudspeaker.

“An unfortunate four faults for Penny Simpson on Delphine! And now our last rider in this final speed round; Dominic Blackwell on Revel’s Maximillion.”

They were calling him into the ring! Louise’s eyes scanned the warm-up area, her heart racing. Where was Dominic? She’d sent Frannie the junior groom off to find him and now Frannie had disappeared too! Now Louise was stuck here, holding on to the enormous grey Holsteiner. Any minute now they would be disqualifying her boss for failing to turn up and…

“Louise!”

It was Dominic at last. He was striding towards her over the soft sawdust of the warm-up arena, a dark scowl on his face, with Frannie scurrying along in his wake looking flushed with anxiety.

“Why aren’t you onboard Maxi warming him up?” he snarled.

“What?” Louise was horrified. Dominic had given her specific orders that on no account was she allowed to ride Maxi, however, she knew that contradicting her boss wasn’t an option.

“I’m sorry, Dominic,” she said and swallowed her pride.

“Use your common sense,” Dominic Blackwell snarled at his head groom. “I’m going to have to take him into the ring cold now.”

He snatched the reins out of her hand and glared at Frannie who was standing by nervously. “Well, come on, girl! Leg me up!”

Frannie gave a grunt as she lifted the man who was almost twice her size into the saddle and he jabbed her in the face with his knee. Without an apology or backwards glance, Dominic Blackwell wheeled the grey stallion about and headed into the ring.

The two grooms watched as their boss entered the arena to thunderous applause. A moment ago Dominic had a face like thunder, but as soon as he was in front of the crowds he was the smiling, cheerful Dominic Blackwell that fans knew and adored. He gave a friendly wave to the grandstand as he did a lap around the perimeter.

“And here he is,” Jilly Jones trilled, “Local Kentucky boy and a former pupil of Blainford Academy, Dominic Blackwell. You may have noticed his red jacket; that denotes his status as a member of the United States international showjumping team. Dominic is only twenty-eight years of age but he has already won gold at the last Olympics and the horse he is riding today looks set to compete at the next games in Rome. Many are calling this horse the best in his stable, the ten-year-old stallion Revel’s Maximillion!”

In the wings of the stadium, Louise felt sick as she watched her boss ride towards the first fence. The fences in this Grand Prix arena were the full height of a metre sixty and even a horse with the class and grace of Maxi required a warm-up to get over jumps of that height.

Maxi made a plucky attempt at the first fence but he took down the top rail with his hind legs. The crowd let out an audible cry of dismay. Louise kept her eyes glued on Dominic’s expression. His smile had slipped a bit but he still had his game face on. He came into the second fence and rode it perfectly, but yet again Maxi dragged a hind leg and another rail went down. Dominic’s smile was replaced by a grimace. He turned the grey towards the next fence – a very wide red and green striped oxer – and rode at it for all he was worth. Maxi cleared this one with a grunt of effort and before they had even landed Dominic was looking to the next fence. In three quick strides they were at the blue and white upright. It was also set at the maximum height of a metre sixty but Maxi flew it with air to spare. The big grey was in the groove now and he took the wide, wide spread of the water jump with ease, popped the double with no trouble, put in a brilliant leap over the Swedish oxer and came in on a perfect stride to the triple. The last two fences gave him no problems either and he was home through the flags on a time of one minute and twenty-three seconds.

“It’s a good time,” Jilly Jones told the crowds, “but with those early eight faults it doesn’t matter. Dominic Blackwell and Revel’s Maximillion slip all the way down the leaderboard to ninth place and out of contention for the considerable prize money and the trophy here at Kentucky.”

Waiting in the wings, Louise steeled herself for the worst. In the three months that she had been working as head girl for Dominic Blackwell she had never seen her boss lose. The expression on his face was fearful as he rode out of the arena, his eyes black with fury.

Frannie reached out a hand to take Maxi’s reins, expecting Dominic to slow down, but he trotted straight at her and she had to leap aside to let Maxi past! Both girls cast a glance at each other and then began to run after the big Holsteiner.

When they had reached the sanctuary of the stable block, Dominic performed a flying dismount and threw the reins at a puffed, exhausted Frannie.

He was still bristling with uncontrollable, violent anger, but he managed to resist taking it out on his horse. Instead, he stormed off in a huff and, out of sight of the other riders or crowds, he began to thrash at the ground with his riding crop. In a blind rage he rained down blow after blow until the whip broke in his hand, then Dominic dropped to his knees, a spent force exhausted by his own fury.

His two grooms knew better than to try and comfort him. “Let’s get out of here…” Louise told Frannie.

Taking Maxi’s reins, she turned the grey stallion to head for the stables when Dominic rose up off his knees and turned to her.

“Head girl!” he barked, “Come here!”

Louise handed Frannie back the reins and took a reluctant step towards her employer. “Yes, Dominic?”

“Why didn’t you warm the horse up like I told you to?” Dominic asked through gritted teeth.

Louise didn’t know what to say. Dominic had specifically ordered her not to warm up Maxi. But her boss seemed to have conveniently forgotten this fact. “You told me to wait for you,” she said nervously.

“No I didn’t.” Dominic corrected her.

“But Dominic…” Louise began to argue but her employer shot her down with a cold stare.

“Since you have so much trouble understanding my instructions, I want you to listen very carefully,” Dominic said, “because I am going to tell you exactly what I want you to do.”

Louise nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“I want you to go back to the horse truck, pack your bags and leave.”

Louise looked puzzled. “What? You’re joking, right?”

“Blackwell doesn’t joke!” Dominic replied. “Get your stuff together and go! As of this moment, you no longer work for me. I don’t need some half-witted incompetent as my head girl.”

Louise was horrified.

“Now get out of my sight!” Dominic roared. “You’re fired.”

He turned to his junior groom. “Oh and Frannie? You can go too.”

Frannie stood there for a moment in disbelief. “Me? But why?”

“Because,” Dominic said through gritted teeth, “I was in the middle of a very important conversation with one of my owners when you interrupted me!”

“But you would have missed your ride if I hadn’t come to get you!” Frannie blurted out.

“Talking back counts as insubordination in my stables!” Dominic snapped. “You are double-fired!”

As the realisation dawned that her boss was serious, Frannie promptly burst into tears and followed Louise who was already stomping off to the horse truck.

Dominic Blackwell watched their departure with a smug sense of satisfaction. After a disappointing performance in the arena it had at least cheered him up to rage at his staff. It was of slight concern that he’d fired both girls at once. Normally Dominic liked to keep at least one groom in his good books but his temper had been taking its toll lately. He’d fired six grooms in the past six months and these two raised the total to eight.

Dominic Blackwell frowned. He should have held his temper until Frannie had finished her work and then fired her. Now he would be forced to untack Maxi himself. Some riders enjoyed being around their horses; schooling and training – but Dominic Blackwell was not one of them. He lived purely for the thrill of the show ring and the roar of the adoring crowd. The behind-the-scenes stuff was what grooms were for. Or, he thought, that was what they had been for before he got rid of them all.

The problem was, Dominic had developed a bit of a reputation on the circuit and good staff were becoming harder and harder for him to find.

Well, big deal. Dominic huffed as he unsaddled Maxi and loaded his own kit into the truck. Grooms were a dime a dozen. There was bound to be a good, keen stablehand out there who’d be thrilled to work for the famous Dominic Blackwell – a professional head girl who could meet his exacting and high standards without falling apart. The perfect groom was out there. He just had to find her.






Georgie Parker stood up her stirrups and looked directly between the pair of ears in front of her, fixing her gaze on the hedge.

It was hardly a big fence, not by Blainford Academy standards, and Georgie didn’t even bother to slow Belladonna down as she came at it. She let the mare gallop, only taking a last-minute check on the reins when she was close enough to see a stride and then sitting deep in the saddle and driving the mare on with her legs. The mare’s dark bay ears pricked forward at the hedge and then Georgie felt the horse lift up beneath her. There was that brilliant moment of suspension when they were sailing in mid-air, and then they were landing again on the other side and galloping for home.

The grounds of the school were in sight and ahead of them was the start of the bridle path that led to the school grounds. This was the route the students usually took to the stables, but instead Georgie veered sharply to the right, urging Belle to stay in a gallop as she rode the mare in a straight line towards the stable block over the open grazing fields of the Academy.

“It’s OK,” she told the mare as she leaned down low over her neck, “we’re going off-road. This is a shortcut.”

Belle’s gallop stretched out, her strides devouring the green pasture. Georgie perched up in her stirrups, her weight in her heels to keep balance, her eyes still trained directly between the mare’s ears. Ahead of her she could see the fence that ran around the perimeter of the stables. Like most of the fences in Lexington Kentucky it was an elegant post and plank fence, with a five-bar wooden gate at the entrance near the stables. It would be easy enough for Georgie to pull Belle up and get off and open the gate – but where was the fun in that?

As they neared the gate, Belle snorted and hung back. She knew the difference between a jump and a school gate and she wasn’t sure about hurdling the obstacle in front of her. But Georgie put her legs on firmly and urged the mare with her voice and Belle surged forward, putting in one-two-three neat strides before soaring the five-bar gate as if it were no more than a cavaletti.

They arced over the gate, landing neatly on the grass on the other side, and by the time they had reached the verge of the concrete forecourt Georgie had pulled the mare up to a walk and was dismounting.

“Good girl!” Georgie gave the mare a slappy pat on the neck. She had run her stirrups up and was leading the mare towards the stalls when she caught sight of the boy in prefect uniform rounding the corner of the stable block.

“Uh-oh,” Georgie groaned as she recognised the arrogant lope and russet hair of Burghley’s head prefect, Conrad Miller.

Georgie could tell by the smirk on Conrad’s face that he’d seen her take the shortcut over the gate.

“Hey, Parker!” His voice had the officious tone of a parking warden. “Students aren’t allowed to jump school fences; it’s against Blainford rules.”

Georgie felt a sudden sting of anger. Ever since she’d arrived at the Academy Conrad had taken a perverse joy in picking on her. Last term things had come to a head when Georgie’s boyfriend Riley had held a mallet to Conrad’s throat at the school polo tournament, publicly telling him to back off and leave Georgie alone. For the rest of the term Conrad had heeded Riley’s warning, but clearly he had now decided that the truce was about to come to an end.

“You’ve got Fatigues, Parker!” Conrad said.

Georgie gave the prefect a withering look. “You’re a real numnah, Conrad.”

“Watch your attitude, Parker – or you’ll be on Double Fatigues.” Conrad shot back.

Georgie groaned. There was no point in arguing with Conrad. Besides, it would take more than Fatigues to dent her spirits. Tomorrow was the first day of the new term at Blainford and Georgie was back with a vengeance.

Last term she had been dropped from Tara Kelly’s cross-country class and had to play polo instead. But now her dreams of eventing glory were back on track – she had regained her coveted place in the class for the last term of the year. And while she still had numnahs like Conrad to deal with – and even worse, his spoilt princess of a girlfriend, Kennedy Kirkwood, trying to take her down – she didn’t care.

The past few months riding polo ponies had made Georgie fearless. Her riding had improved and her bond with Belle was stronger than ever. She trusted the mare completely – and more importantly, Belle trusted Georgie. They would be unstoppable on the cross-country course. Which was just as well because apparently this term Tara Kelly had a real test in store for them.

Georgie had heard the murmurings around the school ever since she had returned from her holidays. The final term exam would wind up eliminating more than one member of the cross-country class. By the time the year was over, only a handful of the Academy’s elite young riders from around the world would remain – and Georgie was determined that she would be one of them.





Chapter Two

Georgie Parker was one of the lucky ones – unlike some girls who have to beg and plead their parents for a pony, she was born into a horsey family, destined to ride.

When Georgie joined her local pony club there were whispers that she had an unfair advantage, having a famous, world-class eventing rider for a mother. In reality, Georgie’s mum, Ginny Parker, was extremely busy with her string of eventers so her daughter had to look after her own pony. And as for spoiling her with pricey show ponies, Mrs Parker insisted that good looks and glamour were the last things that mattered in a horse. Georgie’s first two ponies, Smokey and Millie, wouldn’t have won any beauty contests, but they were bombproof and sweet-natured.

Georgie was ten years old when her mum bought her Tyro. The black Connemara was barely broken-in when they brought him home to their farm in Little Brampton.

“You’ll school him yourself,” Ginny Parker told her daughter firmly. “It won’t be easy, but it will make you a better rider. And one day he’ll be a brilliant pony and you’ll be able to say that you taught him everything he knows.”

Bringing on a green pony like Tyro wasn’t easy, but Georgie worked hard over the winter months so that when spring came she was ready to take him out to his first competition.

Unfortunately, the Little Brampton gymkhana dates clashed with the Blenheim three-star horse trials. Georgie usually accompanied her mum to all the big events as her junior groom, but she was so desperate to give Tyro his first outing she decided to go to the gymkhana instead. Her mum’s best friend, Lucinda Milwood, who ran the local riding school, would accompany her.

Georgie would always look back on her decision that day with regret. But how could she have known that while she was having the time of her life at the local gymkhana, events at Blenheim were about to change her life forever.

Georgie still remembered the devastation on her father’s face when she had walked in with her armful of red ribbons. “Where’s Mum? Isn’t she back yet?”

Then her father’s words, chilling and ominous. “Georgie… There’s been an accident, your mother fell on the cross-country course…”

Her mother’s death devastated Georgie, but there was a second blow to come. Grieving for his wife, Georgie’s dad, Dr Parker, could no longer face being surrounded by her horses. So he sold off Ginny’s eventers, and would have got rid of Tyro too if Lucinda Milwood hadn’t offered to keep the pony at her riding school.

In exchange for Tyro’s livery, Georgie helped Lucinda around the stables. The yard became like a second home to her over the next three years. Despite her mother’s tragic accident, Georgie was determined to follow in her footsteps and become an international eventer, and with Lucinda’s support she finally convinced her father to let her audition for Blainford Academy.

Blainford, the exclusive equestrian boarding school in Kentucky, USA, had a track record for producing world champions in every field of horse sports. Georgie’s mum and Lucinda had both been pupils there, and it was Georgie’s dream to take her pony and go there too.

But when Georgie aced the auditions Dr Parker broke the news that he couldn’t afford to send Tyro with her. The fees for the Academy were exorbitant for Georgie alone, and the cost of shipping her beloved Connemara all the way from the UK to the USA – plus the boarding fees for the pony – would simply be too much.

Desperate to go Blainford, Georgie was forced to make one of the toughest decisions of her young life. She agreed to sell Tyro and ride one of the Blainford school horses instead.

That horse turned out to be Belladonna. Beautiful, talented, and oh-so-difficult, the bay mare with the white heart on her forehead had something special about her. It wasn’t until halfway through the first term that Georgie found out that she had been paired her up with the foal of Ginny Parker’s favourite mare, Boudicca.

Belle was a complicated ride and Georgie had spent the first three terms at Blainford coming to grips with this difficult new horse.

Then, just when she was finally connecting with Belle, came the worst blow of all. Georgie was dropped from cross-country class.

Faced with finding a new riding subject, Georgie had taken up polo. Belle coped surprisingly well with the fast-paced, rough action on the polo field, despite being sixteen hands high when most polo ponies were fifteen-two. But Georgie knew that the mare’s special abilities were wasted on chasing a little white ball. Belladonna was bred to jump – plus she had the speed and stamina required to make a great eventing horse. Their comeback in Tara’s class this term wasn’t just about Georgie – it was a chance for Belle to prove herself too.






The boarders had been trickling back into Blainford all that weekend, returning in time for the start of the new term on Monday. Georgie’s room mate, Alice Dupree, came with the news that she was no longer riding her beloved William. She had brought back a new horse on the truck from Maryland and the Badminton House girls couldn’t wait to get down to the stables to meet him.

“Don’t get too excited,” Alice told them as they walked along the driveway to the stable block. “He’s another hand-me-down – like all of my horses.”

Alice inherited horses the way most girls got their big sisters’ outgrown clothes. She was the third Dupree sister to attend Blainford. Her eldest sister, Cherry, was now a professional rider on the national showjumping circuit, and Alice’s new horse, Caspian, had belonged to her.

“He was supposed to be Cherry’s next Grand Prix superstar,” Alice told the others, “but Cherry’s been crazy-busy with work, riding other people’s horses. Mum said since Caspian wasn’t getting ridden, Cherry should give him to me for the term.”

Until now, Alice had been riding William the Conqueror, a well-bred chestnut warmblood. But over the holidays she had noticed that Will was scratchy on his left foreleg. By the last week of the holiday that scratchiness had developed into a hoof abscess and Will was lame. When the vet was called out to the Dupree ranch to cut out the abscess he did some x-rays and found that the gelding also had degenerative arthritis in his hocks. The abscess would cure – but the hocks were a disaster. It was the end of William’s jumping career.

The Badminton House girls knew how much Alice had adored Will. But she seemed pretty thrilled with having Caspian as his replacement – and when they arrived at the stables they could see why.

Caspian was a stunner. A long-limbed Oldenburg, pale grey with dapples on his shoulders and rump, and a steel-grey mane and tail, he stood in his loose box and nibbled blithely on his hay net while the girls admired his beauty.

“He’s gorgeous!” Emily was wide-eyed.

“I know!” Alice looked at him possessively. “He’s so handsome I just keep staring at him!”

“Is he any good at cross-country?” Daisy asked.

“He’s never done it,” Alice conceded. “He’s brilliant over coloured poles, but that’s all he’s ever jumped with Cherry. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

Monday afternoon would be when the eventers had their lesson with Tara Kelly.

“Tara might take it easy on us,” Emily Tait said hopefully. “It’s only our first day back.”

Daisy gave a hollow laugh. “I doubt it!”

Emily turned to Georgie. “Can she eliminate you a second time? Or do you have immunity now?”

Alice frowned. “It’s not an episode of Survivor, Emily. No one gets ‘immunity’!” She did air quotes as she said the last bit.

Georgie agreed. “Just because Tara let me back into the class doesn’t mean she won’t get rid of me again.”

“Someone’s going to have to go,” Daisy said bluntly. “We won’t all make it through to the second year.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Emily said, getting upset. “I don’t want to lose any of my friends.”

“Geez, Emily, it’s only getting kicked out of cross-country class,” Daisy told her. “It’s not like life and death!”

“Isn’t it?” Alice questioned.

All the girls knew that at Blainford, where the cliques ruled the school, being Tara Kelly’s eventers was like a badge that you wore with pride. While the polo boys were rich and arrogant, the showjumperettes were glamorous and stuck-up, the westerns were laidback and the dressage geeks intense and uptight, the eventers stood out as fearless and loyal.

Apart from Kennedy and Arden, who had transferred from showjumping and had always made it quite clear that they wanted nothing to do with their classmates, Tara Kelly’s first-years were a tight-knit bunch.

The danger that they faced on the cross-country course gave them a sense of camaraderie. But there was also a fierce rivalry amongst them for class rankings. Tara Kelly went through her ruthless elimination cull of her pupils in the first year to make sure that only the very best were allowed to continue up the grades. The way Tara saw it, elimination wasn’t about ruining young lives, it was about saving them.

Eventing was a demanding subject – and a deadly one for any rider who wasn’t skilled enough to meet the challenge. Travelling at a fast gallop over solid fences meant huge risks for both horse and rider. Even the rodeo class had a grudging respect for the broken bone count in the eventing department. Incredibly, so far the first-year eventing class had avoided any major injuries.

Or at least they had done until now. As they left the stables and walked up the school driveway the girls spied Nicholas Laurent ahead of them. The French rider was one of their cross-country gang and he was on crutches and sporting a bright blue plaster cast on his leg that went all the way to the knee.

By the time the girls reached the dining hall, Nicholas was already in the queue, trying to hold his dinner tray whilst balancing on a single crutch. The other eventing boys – Cameron Fraser, Alex Chang and Matt Garrett – were all with him but none of them were offering to help. Instead, they were greedily dishing burgers and fries on to their own plates.

“Don’t you guys ever think about anyone else?” Alice said casting a dark look at Cameron and the others as she stepped forward to relieve the grateful Nicholas of his tray. “Nicholas, you go and sit down. I’ll get your food and bring it over for you.”

“Merci, Alice,” Nicholas said. “Get me extra frites, OK?” He hobbled off to take a seat at the eventers’ usual table while Alice piled his plate and her own. As soon as Laurent’s back was turned the girls began whispered speculations on the cause of the broken leg.

“Do you think he did it practising cross-country?” Emily asked.

Georgie shook her head. “I bet he did it on the hunt field in Bordeaux.”

“I hope the horse was OK,” Alice said looking back over her shoulder at him as she dished up the fries. “It looks like it must have been a bad fall.”

When the girls finally joined Nicholas and the other boys at the table, however, he refused to tell them anything about the accident.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nicholas was adamant.

“Why not?” Matt Garrett frowned.

“Because…” Nicholas paused. “Because… it is no big deal. There is nothing to say.”

“Nicholas,” Alice was insistent, “you’re in a cast. You have crutches. It looks like a big deal to us.”

Nicholas shrugged.

“Come on,” Cameron persisted. “Tell us how you did it.”

Nicholas cast a sideways glance, checking the room to see if anyone else was near the eventers’ table.

“OK,” he said, leaning in over the table, his voice hushed in a conspiratorial tone. “I will tell you what happened.”

The riders all leaned in and waited in silence for him to speak. Nicholas looked serious. And then, in a quiet voice he said, “I was playing tennis.”

There was a choking sound as Matt Garrett almost snorted his orange juice out through his nose. “Tennis? Seriously? You did it playing tennis?”

Nicholas looked around the room nervously. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I’ve already had three girls ask to sign my cast. They think I did it falling off on a three-star course in Saumur. If they knew that I tripped making a backhand shot it wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”

The whole eventing table were laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Nicholas said indignantly. “It’s a hairline fracture at the ankle. I’ll be in this cast for seven weeks.”

“You’ve got to see the irony, Nicholas,” Alice said. “You’ve survived three terms in Tara’s class and then you go home for two weeks and manage to break a leg playing tennis!”

“Shhh!” Nicholas hushed her. “Someone will hear you.”

“Bad luck, mate,” Matt Garrett drawled in his heavy Australian accent. “I suppose this means you’re eliminated since you can’t ride?”

Nicholas glared at him. “No, actually. Tara’s offered me a place in the second year already based on my class ranking.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked less than impressed with this news. “Smart move, man – instant upgrade without any final exam pressure. Maybe I should have broken my leg too.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Nicholas shot back.

“I don’t think so, Nico,” Matt replied, turning back to his burger. “I don’t fall off.”






“If you were handing out a prize for arrogance how could you choose between Nicholas and Matt?” Alice said as they walked to class the next morning.

“I feel sorry for Nicholas,” Emily said. “It must be awful not being able to ride.”

“Totally,” Georgie agreed. “Tough as Tara’s classes are, it’s even worse when you’re not in them.”

Today, at last, Georgie was returning to cross-country class. But first she had regular morning school lessons to get through.

Blainford Academy split the school day into two halves. The morning classes were held in the main grounds of the college in the red brick Georgian buildings that surrounded the green square of grass in the middle of the school known as the quad.

Mornings were taken up with science and maths, French and German, geography and English – during which the Blainford girls dressed like students at any other exclusive private school, in blue pleated pinafore dresses and navy blazers with the school crest in pale blue and silver on the breast pocket.

But after lunch the pupils headed back to their boarding houses and changed into their ‘number twos’ – their riding uniform of navy jods and a pale blue shirt – in preparation for their afternoon lessons with their horses.

For Tara Kelly’s class the pupils were also required to wear back protectors, and as Georgie did up the Velcro straps on hers that afternoon she felt like her old self once more: back in the eventers’ ranks, where she belonged.

In the loose box beside her, Belle was tacked up and ready to go in her cross-country saddle and martingale. Georgie was bent down adjusting the tendon boots on the mare’s forelegs when she caught sight of someone leaning over the Dutch door. Georgie looked up expecting to see one of her classmates. Her smile evaporated when she caught sight of the glossy red hair and waspish features of Kennedy Kirkwood.

“So it’s true that you’re making a comeback?” Kennedy’s tone was sarky. “What a pity. I’d hoped it was just a vicious rumour.”

Georgie stood up and wiped her hands on her jods. “Yeah,” she said, “tough luck, Kennedy. And after you went to all that trouble of sabotaging me.”

“Wow!” Kennedy put her manicured hands to her face in mock horror. “That really hurts, Georgie. You know, it’s such a shame the way things have turned out with us.”

“Yeah,” Georgie agreed. “You’re right Kennedy. Where did things go wrong? Do you think it was when you tried to split up me and James by writing fake letters or when you nearly killed me by barging into my horse on the cross-country course?”

“Oh, poor Georgie!” Kennedy sighed. “It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? You’re always looking for someone to blame for your failures. Playing for sympathy because you’ve got no breeding, no money, no talent and no mommy.”

Georgie was speechless. Even by Kirkwood standards it was vicious.

Kennedy looked Georgie right in the eye, her voice as cold as steel. “You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you got to this school. I’ve watched my lame brother fall for your British act like he’s Prince William and you’re Kate Middleton. And I’ve watched Tara treat you like you’re something special. But the truth is you don’t deserve to be at Blainford. You think the past three terms have been tough, Parker? You’ve got no idea how miserable I can make your wormy little life.”

“Is that a threat?” Georgie asked in disbelief.

“Duh!” Kennedy pulled a face. “I’m a Kirkwood. We don’t make threats. We have staff to do that stuff for us.”

Smirking, Kennedy turned to leave and then swung back around. “By the way, my boyfriend asked me to remind you you’re on Fatigues this week. He hasn’t forgotten, and he’s got something special planned, just for you.”





Chapter Three

Typical Kennedy, Georgie fumed as she led Belle out of her box, she waits until now to confront me so that she’ll throw me off my game right before Tara’s class.

She knew Kennedy well enough to recognise her transparent tactics, but that didn’t make it any easier to calm down. She was still bristling with latent fury as she rode towards her classmates who were already assembling on the cross-country course.

“What’s up with you?” Alice asked when saw the look on Georgie’s face.

“Kennedy is what’s up,” Georgie hissed. She could see the showjumperettes watching and she didn’t want to give Kennedy the satisfaction of knowing they were talking about her. “She’s a total witch!”

“And this is news how?” Alice muttered back. “Georgie, you know she only has it in for you because she thinks you’re a threat…”

The students suddenly fell silent as a young woman wearing dove grey jodhpurs and a crisp white blouse walked to the front leading a bay gelding. Her demeanour made it clear that she was in charge.

“Welcome back,” Tara Kelly said. “I know your horses are fresh from having two weeks’ holiday, and Alice has a new horse who has never done cross-country before, so we are going to spend the day doing confidence-building exercises.”

The eventing mistress mounted up on the handsome bright bay, which Georgie now recognised as Lagerfeld, Nicholas Laurent’s well-bred Selle Francais. Tara was keeping the horse in work while Nicholas was in plaster.

“Our basics today consist of three classic ‘bogey’ fences,” Tara said, “and the twist is, we’re going to be jumping them at a walk.”

Daisy looked at the ditch that Tara had nominated as their first fence. “She can’t be serious!”

Alex Chang raised a tentative hand.

“Yes, Alex?”

“I don’t get it,” Alex said. “We’re never going to walk over jumps in a real-life cross-country, are we?”

“No,” Tara agreed. “But there are many things that we do when we are schooling that we wouldn’t do in actual competition. Can anyone tell me what the benefits are of schooling over jumps at a walk?”

“It’s slower?” Emily said.

The others sniggered but Tara confirmed that she was right, “Exactly! The slower the pace that you come at a fence, the more time you have to think and react. Any other reasons?”

No one else raised a hand. “Keeping our horses in a walk allows them to stay cool and calm,” Tara said. “It gives them a chance to negotiate the fence. Remember, it’s the horse’s job to get over it, not yours! They must learn to be clever jumpers.”

Tara walked Lagerfeld over towards the first jump, a narrow ditch.

“It’s not a big ditch,” Tara said. She adjusted her reins to prepare the gelding. “I’m going to let Lagerfeld take a good look as he approaches it.”

Lagerfeld walked forward until he was just a couple of metres in front of the fence. Then the big bay suddenly realised that there was a channel in the ground ahead of him and with a stricken snort he tried to back off. Tara kept calm her legs firmly on at his sides. Lagerfeld lowered his head so that he could get a really good look, with his nose almost down in the ditch and then with a grunt he took one more step and then vaulted it with an ungainly deer leap. Tara stayed with him in the saddle and pulled him up neatly on the other side of the ditch.

“Good boy!” Tara said giving the big bay a slappy pat on his glossy neck.

“As you can see, the key is to let them look but keep them moving forward. Right! Mr Fraser, I think we’ll have you over it next. No jogging, no trotting and absolutely no cantering. And on no account do we ever turn them away or let them refuse!”

One by one, the riders took their turns walking over the ditch. When the time came for Caspian’s turn he seemed quite spooked by the jump, giving guttural snorts that sounded like a steam train being channelled through his nostrils.

“Don’t turn him away, Alice!” Tara was firm. “Back him up three strides and then push him forward again!”

Alice did as she was told, and with much dramatic snorting and fretting Caspian took three steps and popped over the ditch.

“Excellent! Make a fuss of him!” Tara called out.

The water jump was next. The horses had to step off a ledge less than half a metre high and into the pond below. Again, the novice Caspian snorted and fussed on the water’s edge. “Keep him moving forward, that’s it!” Tara encouraged as Alice urged the horse with a brisk bounce of her heels against his sides.

Surprisingly, some of the other riders with more experienced horses also had trouble at the water. When Cameron and Paddy stopped dead on the edge of the pond and the big piebald dithered on the bank Tara wasn’t very impressed

“Come on, Mr Fraser!” she commanded. “If you can’t get your horse to walk through this little puddle then how on earth do you expect it to leap into the lake at the Burghley Horse Trials?”

The last fence the horses had to tackle was a downhill staircase, a series of three low steps cut into a bank, each with a stride between them. Tara encouraged the riders to walk their horses down the tiers on a loose rein. When Matt Garrett’s horse, a handsome dun called Tigerland, managed to lose his footing and trip down a step, Tara praised Matt for staying still in the saddle and letting the horse find his feet again.

“That’s right!” Tara said, “Give him a pat. Making mistakes like that is natural – that’s how they learn.”

Georgie had thought that walking Belle over obstacles would be a bit dull, but this was a trust-building exercise and the mare seemed to blossom as she tackled the jumps with Georgie’s gentle support. Belle took it all in her stride, negotiating the ditch with a graceful leap. The mare splashed about happily in the water jump, pawing at the water so keenly that Georgie worried for a moment that she might actually try to drop down to her knees and roll for the sheer fun of it. At the staircase, the riders had only had one chance to tackle the jump when Tara called it a day.

“We’ll have to leave it at that I’m afraid,” Tara told the class. “There’s an assembly for first-year pupils this afternoon. Can you all take your horses back to the stables and then meet me at the indoor arena in fifteen minutes, please?”






“What’s this about?” Daisy demanded as the girls headed for the indoor arena. “We’re missing a whole hour of class.”

“I don’t get why we’re going to the indoor arena,” Emily said. “If it’s school notices or something Tara could have just told us out on the cross-country course.”

As they entered the arena the girls noticed other first years also arriving. Georgie spotted dressage riders Mitty Janssen and Isabel Weiss already seated with their classmates in the tiered seats facing the sawdust arena.

“The Westerns are here too,” Alice noted as she spied Tyler McGuane and Bunny Redpath making their way up the stairs to sit with Jenner Philips and Blair Danner.

The eventers were nearly the last ones in so they sat in the front two rows. Georgie, Alice, Daisy and Emily crammed into the end seats of the second row right behind Alex and Cam.

Cam was looking worried. “What if they’re going to spring a test on us?” he fretted. “I haven’t studied!”

Alice sighed. “It’s our first day back, Cam. None of us have studied.”

The last students to arrive were Kennedy and Arden. They made a pointed display of sitting as far away as possible from Georgie and the Badminton girls.

Suddenly the overhead lights in the rig above the arena popped and crackled into life, casting a white glare over the sand. Voices could be heard in the wings of the main entrance and a moment later Tara Kelly strode in accompanied by three other members of the Blainford teaching staff – dressage teacher Bettina Schmidt, showjumping master Trent Chase, and Hank ‘Shep’ Shepard, the head of the Western faculty.

Walking alongside them wearing stiff brown tweed was Mrs Dickins-Thomson, Blainford’s headmistress.

If she were a horse, Mrs Dickins-Thomson would have been a rangy Thoroughbred. Her long face was dominated by a Roman nose and a mane of chestnut hair. Formidable and stern, the headmistress possessed a commanding presence – and the first-year students fell respectfully silent as she cleared her throat to speak.

“For many years now Blainford Academy has built a reputation as the premier equestrian institute in the world. Our pupils go on to become world champions in every field. But to maintain that status we must move with the times and adapt. We have to ensure that the skills that you are learning at the school are directly applicable to the workforce.”

Mrs Dickins-Thomson paused. “And that is why, for the first time, we are introducing the new first-year apprentice programme.”

The bewildered faces of the young riders stared back at her.

“Hey, does she mean like that TV show with Alan Sugar?” Cameron whispered.

Alice kicked his seat to make him shut up.

“The Blainford apprenticeship programme utilises the resource of former pupils, alumni of the Academy, who have kindly agreed to take a current pupil under their wing,” Mrs Dickens-Thomson explained. “You will spend one term as their apprentice and your performance will be assessed as your final exam for the year.”

Alice boldly raised her hand. “Do you mean that they’re going to be, like, our private instructors?”

Mrs Dickins-Thomson shook her head. “No, Alice, not your instructors. They are your employers. This is not a classroom situation we’re putting you into – this is real life. You’ll be working as professional grooms. They will treat you exactly as they would their own employees. They have the power to hire or fire you and, since this is the real world, there will be no makeup test and no reprieves…”

Georgie felt as if Mrs Dickins-Thomson was referring specifically to her.

The headmistress clapped her hands briskly together. “Starting from next week you are apprenticed to your new masters. We haven’t been able to place all of you within your unique disciplines. However, your apprenticeships will provide you with valuable experience and skills. So no complaints please because there will be no transfers. It goes without saying that I expect all of you to represent your school in the appropriate manner and show our former pupils that Blainford remains the best equestrian academy in the United States.”

“For most of you the routine of normal morning classes here at the school will not alter,” the headmistress told them. “All afternoon classes will be cancelled so that you can attend your apprenticeships from next week onward. Also, when required, you may be given additional weekend leave to perform your duties as many of these riders will require you on weekends for competitions.”

The first-years began chattering excitedly and Mrs Dickins-Thomson raised her hand to demand silence before she spoke again.

“It gives me great pleasure now to introduce you to your new employers.” The headmistress turned to face the entrance to the arena. “Former pupils of the Academy, would you please come out into the arena and join us?”

Through the doorway a group of men and women appeared, some of them dressed in jodhpurs, others in jeans, T-shirts and baseball caps, walking in unison towards the headmistress across the sand.

“That woman at the front looks really familiar,” Alice frowned as she stared at the woman in the beige jods and yellow jersey.

“Ohmygod!” Emily clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. “It’s Tina Dixon! I just saw a photo of her in Horsing Around Magazine.”

Blonde and tanned, Tina Dixon was engrossed in conversation with a hard-faced woman with short cropped brown hair.

“That’s Allegra Hickman talking to her,” Alex Chang said. “She’s the only American to ever be ranked in the top ten dressage riders in the world.”

Beside Allegra, a tall man with honey-coloured hair and a matching tan cast a supercilious glance across the arena.

“Dominic Blackwell,” Alice hissed in Georgie’s ear. “Cherry has a poster of him on her wall at home. He’s a showjumper – he’s in the national team.”

It was strange, to see these famous riders right here in front of them, talking and laughing with each other. It was becoming clear that every one of the men and women in the arena was an equestrian superstar.

“Right!” Mrs Dickins-Thomson continued. “We’re going to do this class by class, beginning with Tara Kelly’s eventing pupils.”

Tara stepped forward and opened the manila folder in her hands.

“I’m going to call you out one by one to come down to the arena to be introduced to your new employer.”

Tara read the first name on her list.

“Emily Tait?”

Emily looked extremely nervous as she stood up and walked down between the seats to the arena. Painfully shy at the best of times, she was almost shaking as she stood in front of the elite riders that were assembled behind Tara Kelly.

“Emily is from New Zealand and she’s consistently at the top of my class rankings,” Tara did the introductions. “Emily, I am pairing you with Tina Dixon. Tina, as you are all no doubt aware, recently came third at the Lexington Four-star event and has made the US eventing development squad.”

Tina Dixon stepped forward, waved to the class and thrust out a tanned and sinewy arm to shake hands with Emily. “I’ve already got a New Zealander grooming for me so you’ll fit right in with my team,” she informed her. “Welcome aboard.”

“Alice Dupree?” Tara called the next name on the list.

Alice looked more excited than daunted as she took her turn to join the superstars in the arena.

“Alice is from Maryland where her family breeds eventers and showjumpers,” Tara told the assembled riders. “Jumping is her strength, but her dressage needs work so that’s why I’m assigning her to you, Allegra.”

The excited smile on Alice’s face slipped. She was being assigned to Allegra Hickman – a dressage rider!

If Tara noticed the look of disappointment on Alice’s face she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Allegra’s achievements include a gold medal at the games in Saumur for her musical dressage performance in the kur,” she read the notes in her folder to the class. “She currently has two Grand Prix mounts and four horses in her stables at Prix St Georges level and is a great supporter of the modern dressage method.”

Allegra stepped forward and gave a stiff wave to the students, then shook Alice’s hand and stepped back into the ranks of the riders, taking Alice with her.

“Cameron Fraser?” Tara called out.

Tara consulted her notes. “Cameron, I am pairing you up with Frank Carsey. Frank, where are you?”

There was a general murmur as everyone looked around expectantly for Frank Carsey. Then a small hand appeared, poking up from behind the riders and waving to make its presence known.

“Make way! Coming through.”

Frank was lithe and wiry with pointy features and slicked-back brown hair. But the truly notable thing about his appearance was his height – or rather lack of it. Frank Carsey was a jockey and he was tiny. When Cam stepped forward to shake his hand he towered over him by a whole head.

“Last year Frank Carsey won more division one races than any other jockey in the state of Kentucky,” Tara said. “He has a reputation for turning horses around and if you want to learn how to condition a horse and get it into peak galloping performance for eventing then Frank is your man.”

“You’re a bit taller than I’d hoped,” the diminutive jockey told his new apprentice, “but you’re light enough to ride trackwork. See you at the yards at four am on Monday.”

“Four am?” Cam squeaked.

Tara confirmed this. “Some of you will be working early mornings as well as afternoons to keep to the timetables of your employers.”

“Daisy King?” Tara called out the next name on her list and Daisy rose from her seat. “Here!”

Daisy and Georgie had known each other back in the UK, but they were never friends back then. Daisy had always been far too competitive to make friends. At Blainford, however, the girls had been thrust together in the same boarding house and Georgie had developed a grudging admiration for Daisy’s single-minded will to win. While that made it hard sometimes to be her friend, it also meant that Daisy was someone you wanted on your team.

“Daisy King has been eventing since she was eleven,” Tara introduced her. “She won the national UK secondary schools ODE finals last year.”

Tara paused. “Last term Daisy was on the girls’ polo team that won the low-goal award at the Bluegrass Cup. And I think her natural abilities as an all-round rider could further benefit from more polo training which is why I have assigned her to you, Sebastian.”

A man stepped forward from the ranks of the elite trainers. He was devastatingly handsome, in a broad-shouldered and unshaven way. He had jet black hair and startling blue eyes and he wore the number three jersey for his polo team, along with the regulation uniform of polo whites and long brown boots.

“Seb Upton-Baker is an eight-goal player,” Tara smiled at him. “We’ve been friends since school – and we’re very lucky that he divides his time between his polo ranch in Argentina, his polo club in London and his small holding here in Kentucky. Seb will be playing this season on a patron team and Daisy is grooming for him.”

Daisy didn’t notice the envious looks that she was getting from Kennedy and Arden. In fact, she was a bit miffed about being lumbered with the hunky polo player when all she’d really wanted was to work on Tina Dixon’s yard.

Georgie, meanwhile, was on the edge of her seat. With all of her friends already allocated their apprenticeships, she was expecting Tara to call her name next. But instead, Tara worked her way through allocating apprenticeships to every other member of the class. Georgie watched as both Alex and Matt were placed in well-respected Kentucky eventing stables and Arden was put in the hands of a woman named Frisky Newton who ran a famous breaking-in facility for green horses. Even Nicholas Laurent was given a placement at the Bloodstock association offices which ran the Thoroughbred breeding programme.

In the end, only Kennedy and Georgie were left.

“Kennedy Kirkwood and Georgina Parker,” Tara called both their names at once. Georgie had to walk down the stairs with Kennedy so that they were both standing with their eventing teacher in the arena.

“Kennedy comes from the famous Kirkwood showjumping family, and was a showjumper herself before she swapped codes to join the eventing class,” Tara told the assembled riders.

“And Georgie was in the House Team that won the showjumping cup earlier this year…” Tara said.

“So it seemed logical that you should both be placed with Dominic Blackwell. Dominic, as you all know, is a member of the US showjumping team. He has been kind enough to offer to take two apprentices at his stables.”

Instead of shaking hands with his new apprentices like the other riders had done Dominic Blackwell walked over to Georgie and stuck his palm up in mid-air.

“Hey! Team Blackwell! High-five!”

Georgie stared back blankly, leaving Dominic Blackwell holding his hand aloft.

“C’mon!” Dominic Blackwell was undeterred. His enthusiasm amped up even higher. “You’ll be working at the best showjumping stables in the whole of the Southern States! Can I get a high-five?”

“Woo! Yeah!” It was Kennedy, doing a peppy little cheerleader skip and barging roughly past Georgie. She made a lunge at Dominic Blackwell and slapped a high-five on his open palm. Then she gave him a perky grin. “Go Team Blackwell!” she cheered brightly.

“Yess!” Dominic grinned like a maniac. He turned to Georgie once more. “C’mon, Julie,” he said, getting Georgie’s name wrong. “Give me some skin!”

Georgie rolled her eyes but clearly Dominic was not giving up. She stepped forward and slapped the palm of her hand hard against Dominic Blackwell’s.

“Woo! Welcome aboard, Julie! Go Team Blackwell!”

And Georgie knew that she was about to spend the next term in hell.





Chapter Four

The track at Keeneland Park was shrouded in fog at five in the morning. Georgie stood at the railing and watched Riley and Marco galloping into the mist, until they disappeared completely at the third furlong. She peered into the gloom, listening to the rhythmic pounding of Marco’s hooves, the beat growing ever more distant and then coming closer as Riley and the horse emerged once more.

Georgie marvelled at the feline grace of the golden Thoroughbred and the skill of the boy on his back. As they turned the corner of the track and came down the home straight in front of the grandstand Riley began to urge the gelding on, pumping his arms above the horse’s neck and suddenly the hoof beats began to quicken.

The chestnut gelding was responding to his jockey, extending his stride so that his body seemed to flatten out and devour the ground as he thundered down the track.

She was so lost in the beauty of the spectacle that Georgie almost forgot to press the stopwatch as the gelding’s nose reached the line.

With an emphatic click, she hit the button. Then she checked the time, popped it back in her pocket and waited for Riley. He had eased Marco down to a canter and then a trot and had carried on around the track to cool the Thoroughbred down before he came over to the railing to join her.

“So?” Riley looked at her expectantly. “How did he do?”

“He covered eight furlongs in one minute forty-one,” Georgie said.

Riley looked pleased and gave Marco a slappy pat. “Hey, not bad, boy!” he told the chestnut.

“Is that time good enough to win the Firecracker?” Georgie asked.

“Maybe,” Riley said, “but there’s a big difference between blowing him out like this on the track all alone and riding a real race when sixteen other jockeys are trying to cut in front or ram you off the track. It’s not until you’re coming down that final furlong with the pack at your heels that you find out what your horse is really made of.”

Georgie looked at the little chestnut gelding dancing and fretting anxiously beneath Riley. Less than six months ago if you had asked any racing pundit in the country whether this scrawny, diminutive horse stood a chance of winning the coveted Firecracker Handicap, a race worth $232,000 in prize money, they would have laughed at you. Marco’s racing career was all but washed up when Georgie purchased him for $150 from his former trainer Tommy Doyle. The dirt cheap price tag reflected the total failure on Marco’s part to win any races – and the fact that the four-year old Thoroughbred had a reputation for doing lethal 180 degree turns in the middle of the track which meant that even the bravest jockeys refused to get on him.

Georgie had bought Marco in the hope that she might be able to put his turning tendencies to good use and train him as a polo pony. But Marco was even more lethal on the polo field than he was on the racetrack and Georgie didn’t have a clue what to do with him – until Riley had offered to swap him for a more suitable polo mare.

At the time, Georgie’s boyfriend was doing her a favour. But it had never occurred to her that Riley could actually see any potential in this difficult and temperamental Thoroughbred. Everyone else had given up on Marco, but Riley persevered with the little chestnut, retraining the horse, experimenting with his feeding and workout schedule, and making friends with the complicated little gelding.

Then, last month, he entered Marco in his first race and the chestnut won by a clear two lengths with Riley on his back.

Looking back, Georgie wasn’t surprised that Riley had turned Marco around. Her boyfriend had a way of getting a song out of the most difficult horses. Sometimes Georgie could swear that he had the ability to read their minds. How else could you explain the change in Marco?

“The talented horses are always temperamental,” Riley told Georgie. “Marco just needed someone to believe in him.”

Riley’s belief in Marco was proven justified when the horse won again in his second race. This time the win was hard-fought. Riley had been boxed in behind a clutch of riders on the railing all the way to the three-quarter marker. Things had looked impossible but somehow he had found a hole and driven the chestnut hard towards it to break free of the pack, putting on a burst of speed in the home straight to edge out in front of the favourite by a nose.

Even with two wins under their belt, Riley wasn’t content.

“He’s still holding back. There’s more speed in him,” Riley told Georgie as they walked together back to the stables. “Look at him! He’s hardly even breathing hard.”

Jogging and skipping alongside Riley, Marco was bounding about as if the track beneath his feet were made of hot coals. Riley didn’t pay any attention to the Thoroughbred’s dangerous antics and eventually Marco stopped larking about and settled down. By the time they had reached the stables he was walking sedately at his jockey’s side.

That was the way it was with Riley and horses, Georgie mused. He was real quiet with them, but somehow he always got them to do exactly as he wanted. She had seen that from the moment she met him. She’d been having trouble with Belle in her first term at Blainford and it was Kenny, the Academy’s caretaker, who suggested that she get some help from his nephew.

Georgie had been expecting some wizened guy like The Horse Whisperer but it turned out that Riley was a teenager just like her. Riley’s dad, John Conway, was the owner of Clemency Farm and Riley worked for him riding track most mornings before his classes at the local High School.

Riley and Georgie had been dating for a term now – despite predictions of doom from Daisy who said it was plain crazy even trying to go out with a boy who didn’t attend Blainford. Georgie knew that Riley had his own reservations about dating a girl from a private equestrian school. It didn’t help that total numnahs like Conrad were determined to cause trouble. The last time Riley had clashed with Conrad, the Burghley House head prefect found himself pinned to the wall with a polo mallet at his throat. Georgie hadn’t asked Riley back to a school event since then. And she was hardly going to tell him about the fatigues that the prefect had given her last week.

Riley led the gelding into his loose box back at the stable block, and Georgie bolted the door after him.

“Did I tell you that I’m going to enter him in the Hanley Stakes?” Riley asked. “I figure he needs one more outing before the Firecracker, just to keep him on form.”

“What sort of race is it?” Georgie asked as she undid Marco’s girth.

“A grade three, over a mile and a half,” Riley told her as he slipped the gelding’s bridle off. “It’s a big distance for him, but I want to see how he handles it. He’ll be up against The Rainmaker.”

Georgie had heard of The Rainmaker. Thoroughbred Magazine had called the jet-black stallion “one of the most perfectly put together Thoroughbreds the sport of racing has ever seen” and the smart money was on the big black horse to win at Churchill Downs. At sixteen-three hands high, The Rainmaker was a massive horse compared to Marco who stood at a mere fifteen-two.

Georgie slid the saddle pad off Marco’s back, and nearly collapsed under its weight. “Ohmygod!”

“Are you OK?” Riley rushed to take the saddle from her. “Be careful. It’s heavy.”

How could such a tiny jockey’s saddle weigh so much? Georgie stuck her hands into one of the pockets stitched into the brown leather and pulled out a round metal disc.

“What are these?”

“Lead weights,” Riley said. “All horses have to carry a certain weight when they run. It’s a handicap to even out the odds.”

“So will Marco have to carry weights when you race him in the Firecracker?”

“Nah,” Riley pulled two more weights out of the lead pad. “I’m already heavier than most of the other jockeys anyway. And Marco and me aren’t the favourites by any stretch. But all the same, I’ve been training him to carry the maximum – just in case.”

He went to take the saddle out of Georgie’s hands, but she refused.

“I’m going to be Dominic Blackwell’s groom this week,” she said. “So I might as well get used to doing all the work.”

“So this Blackwell guy, he’s, like, a top showjumper?”

“Uh-huh,” Georgie said. “I’ll be working for him for six weeks and if he gives me a good grade then I’m through into the second-year eventing class – otherwise, well, I’m just through.”

“So you’re working for him during school?”

“Uh-huh,” Georgie said. “And after school and weekends – you know, helping out at the competitions.”

“So I should expect to see you again when? Next Christmas, maybe?” Riley said sarcastically.

“It won’t be that bad!” Georgie was taken aback. “We’ll figure something out.”

Riley looked doubtful. “I hardly get any time with you, Georgie. All the other guys at my school are always taking their girls out on dates. We never go anywhere together.”

“We’re together now,” Georgie said. “I bet most girls don’t get up at four a.m. to be with their boyfriends!”

Riley looked hurt. “I thought you liked coming to Keeneland Park.”

“I do!” Georgie groaned. “And I don’t need to go on a date with you. I’m happy just being here like this. It’s not my fault that I have school and this apprenticeship – this is who I am, Riley.”

“I get that,” Riley said. “I guess I was hoping you’d be able to help me out over the next few weeks with Marco’s training.”

“I’ll try,” Georgie said, “but this apprenticeship is really important.”

“So the Firecracker isn’t important?” Riley frowned. “It’s a $232,000 race. I think it’s a bit more important than impressing some showjumping guy.”

Georgie felt herself getting flustered. She took a deep breath. “Listen, can we not get into a fight about this?”

Riley didn’t say anything. He cast a surly glance at his watch. “It’s almost six thirty. I’ll mix Marco’s feed and then we’ll go.”

The drive back to Blainford was tense and silent. But eventually, as they got closer to the school, Riley’s mood seemed to thaw a little.

“So, anyway,” Riley said, as he pulled up outside Badminton House to let her out. “I could really do with someone for Marco to race against. I was thinking that maybe you could come out again with me and ride Talisman?”

“When?” Georgie asked.

“Monday? Pick you up after dinner? We can give them an evening workout under the lights.”

Georgie was going to be crazy busy on Monday. It was their first day of the apprenticeships and she had Belle to look after and schoolwork too, but after the conversation she’d just had, she didn’t really see how she could say no to Riley.

“OK,” she smiled and kissed Riley goodbye. “See you then.”






At midday on Monday Alice and Georgie were waiting in front of the red Georgian brick buildings of the Academy for the minibus to take them to their apprenticeships.

“I can’t believe I’ve got stuck with dressage,” Alice groaned.

“I can’t believe I got stuck with Kennedy,” Georgie said as she watched the showjumperettes approaching.

Georgie noticed that Kennedy Kirkwood had somehow managed to substitute a pair of expensive navy Animo breeches with Swarovski crystals on the pockets for her regulation jods. She wore her glossy red hair loose and flowing over her shoulders as well – not very practical when she was about to spend the afternoon mucking out Dominic Blackwell’s stables.

As the minibus pulled up in front of the school buildings, Kennedy tried to push her way past Georgie and Alice.

“What’s the hurry, Kennedy?” Alice said. “There’s no first-class section on a minibus. You’ll have to sit in economy with the rest of us.”

There was a titter from the crowd of eventers waiting to get onboard. Kennedy shot the girls a filthy look.

“Tell your sidekick to watch her mouth or she’ll end up on Fatigues with you,” Kennedy told Georgie.

“You can’t give Fatigues. You’re not a prefect, Kennedy,” Georgie glared at her.

“Her boyfriend is!” Arden, ever the lapdog, leapt to Kennedy’s defence.

Kennedy stepped past Georgie to take up position at the front of the queue. “Just because Tara has stuck us together doesn’t mean I have to be nice to you,” she sniped.

“Trust me,” Georgie said, “that never occurred to me.”

Kennedy and Arden took their seats at the back and Georgie stopped by the driver’s seat to talk to Kenny.





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