Riding on Air Read Free

almost swallowed my heart I was so afraid Stacey would notice. If she caught me I doubted she’d be impressed. She might phone Dad. If Dad knew I’d fallen off or—even worse—that my hands were sore enough to cause the fall in the first place, I’d be back home before you could recite an Introductory dressage test. But I was stiffening up already and without the insurance of an extra pill I doubted I’d be fit to ride the next day.
    I had my dressage session in the morning and I really had to be fully operational to show Petra Hein what Jinx was capable of. He could be difficult at the best of times and lately the good times had been pretty scarce. If we were going to crack it at Novice level, he had to be round and soft and thoroughly on the bit, able to collect or really cover ground as required. The guidelines for Novice competition level might not be that advanced, but in reality that was what you had to do if you wanted to be competitive. Jinx thought all my signals meant ‘go faster’ and I’d been struggling physically with this latest arthritis flare, so our riding sessions usually ended with me teary and sweaty and Jinx in a bit of a lather.
    I waited until I was almost back to the horse yards before I slid my thumb—least swollen of all my digits—into the pocket of my jodhpurs and pushed the pill deeper in to make sure it stayed safe.
    I was always careful with pain meds and I usually only took one when it got so bad I couldn’t stand not to. I’d had the dangers of medication abuse drummed into me over and over—how if I relied on them too much now, when my joints deteriorated further I’d have a high tolerance and the drugs wouldn’t work. That was a really scary thought; things could get pretty bad now. And lately, my good times, when I felt almost normal, had been scarce. I’d had one flare after another. They were still saying I might grow out of it, but I was having trouble believing it these days. It felt like time was getting away on me.
    The chance to ride with Petra Hein had never happened before and might never happen again. I had to be fit to ride. If my hands were puffed-up crab-claws in the morning I may as well not even bother rolling out of my swag. That extra pill was insurance against that happening.
    I turned up the alley between the pony yards, heading towards the back where the bigger horse yards ran parallel to the road beneath the shelter of a belt of gigantic old oaks and plane trees. I wanted to dump my helmet, currently slung carefully over my forearm, and get Jinx’s halter before I went looking for him. But as I stepped out of the alley into the sun-speckled shade, what I saw startled me so much I missed my next step. Slowing down long enough to avoid a stumble—I didn’t think my rattled bones would appreciate another crash—I went to where Jinx was standing calmly in his yard, pulling at a bulging hay net.
    His reddish brown coat gleamed with brush strokes, black forelock hanging sleek and straight as he turned his head in recognition. His yard was immaculate: water bucket brim-full, halter and lead coiled neatly on the gatepost. Even the brushes and other bits and pieces I’d left strewn around when I got him ready that morning had been picked up, probably packed into the grooming kit that rested on top of Jinx’s neatly folded rug outside his yard. No sign of his saddle or bridle, but I guessed those would be just as neatly put away in the float Dad had parked in line with all the others, about twenty metres away along the back fence of the grounds.
    William. It had to have been.
    I looked at Jinx, who gazed back at me briefly from his large, honey-flecked dark brown eyes before swinging his long, elegant head away to tend to the much more important business of scoffing his lucerne hay.
    Sliding the helmet strap down over my arm, I tucked my wrist to make sure it didn’t bump into my