Trophy Horse (Mill Farm Stables Book 2) Read online

  Praise for Amanda Wills

  ‘I enjoyed every second and barely put it down! Another great horsey read from one of my favourite pony authors.’

  Amazon five star review

  ‘I wish all teen books were more like Flick Henderson and the Deadly Game. It is a terrific read, with a twisty, engaging plot, just enough romance and lots of pets. I'm only sad I've finished reading it - bring back Flick!'

  Alison Boshoff, Daily Mail

  ‘Absolutely love this author.'

  Amazon five star review

  Trophy Horse

  Amanda Wills

  Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Wills

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Disappearing Act

  2. Celebrity Status

  3. Miss Raven’s Request

  4. Blue Lights

  5. Slave Labour

  6. Calling the Shots

  7. Sports Car Man

  8. Circles and Serpentines

  9. Gone

  10. A Debt Repaid

  11. Curve Ball

  12. Annie

  13. Quadrille Practice

  14. Pretty Please

  15. New Coach

  16. Super Sleuths

  17. Too Much Fizz

  18. Goodbye Cassius

  19. Dress Rehearsal

  20. Jigsaw’s Flight

  21. Mane Attraction

  22. Teddy

  23. Fortune Favours the Brave

  24. Princess Bella

  25. Together Again

  26. Trophy Horse

  Afterword

  About the Author

  FREE AND EXCLUSIVE!!

  Also by Amanda Wills

  1

  Disappearing Act

  Kristy Moore stared at the outfit hanging on her wardrobe door, her heart fluttering in her chest like a hyperactive butterfly. Pearly-white jodhpurs, courtesy of her friend Sofia, who had outgrown them the previous summer. Midnight blue fitted jacket, courtesy of her mum, who’d found it at the back of her own wardrobe, a relic from the days when she had attended glamorous cocktail parties with Kristy’s dad.

  ‘You might as well use it as a riding jacket,’ her mum had said, fingering the silky material with a faraway look in her eyes. Since her dad had lost his job and they’d been forced to sell their four bedroomed house and move to a cramped apartment on the other side of town, their tiny mantelpiece had been bereft of a single gold-edged party invitation.

  Under the jacket was Kristy’s white school shirt. The final touch was a red, gold, blue and black striped tie. This was Norah’s work. She’d spotted the ties in their local department store and bought four, one for each of the quadrille team.

  ‘They’re our colours,’ she’d said, as she’d produced them with a flourish while they’d been sipping their usual hot chocolates in the tack room after evening stables the previous week.

  ‘Our colours?’ said her twin brother William, his face screwed up.

  ‘Red for Sofia to match her hair and gold for me, to match mine,’ said Norah patiently. ‘Blue for you because you’re a boy and black for Cassius, of course.’

  Kristy bit her lip but said nothing. It was as if she didn’t exist. She knew Norah hadn’t wanted her in the team from the outset, but she thought she had finally been accepted. Apparently not.

  Kristy picked up a jodhpur boot and gave it a final buff with her sleeve. Her mum poked her head around the door.

  ‘Shouldn’t you have left by now? It’s nearly twenty past ten.’

  Kristy dropped the boot on her toe and yelped. The film crew was coming at eleven. That gave her precisely sixty seconds to get changed if she stood any chance of being at the stables in time to groom Cassius and be tacked up and ready for filming.

  Kristy’s mum must have registered the look of panic that swept across her face.

  ‘I’ll ask Dad if he can run you over, shall I?’

  Kristy shot her a grateful smile and wriggled out of her jeans. ‘Thanks Mum.’

  Sofia’s white jodhpurs fitted like a second skin and the tailored cocktail jacket, with its velvet collar and fitted waist, could easily have passed for a proper show jacket. Kristy fixed her tie, pulled on her riding gloves and inspected herself in the mirror.

  ‘Not too shabby at all,’ she said with satisfaction. She flicked her hair, narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, a perfect impression of a disgruntled Norah. ‘Apart from the tie,’ she told her reflection in Norah’s bossy tones. ‘I think it’s gaudy. The colours clash.’

  She poked her tongue out at her reflection, the butterflies forgotten. If it hadn’t been for Kristy they wouldn’t have had a quadrille team, let alone won the competition at the Mayor’s New Year’s Eve show. No, if Norah was thinking she could revert to type and start lording it over Kristy she could think again.

  ‘OK if I drop you here?’ said Kristy’s dad as he indicated right and pulled into the driveway of Mill Farm Stables.

  ‘’Course it is.’ Kristy gathered her hat and gloves from the footwell.

  ‘You alright? You look a bit pasty.’

  ‘Bit nervous,’ said Kristy. ‘I don’t want to let Cassius down.’

  Her dad patted her knee. ‘You’ll be fine. Just pretend the cameras aren’t there and be yourself. Have they told you when you’ll be on?’

  ‘Tonight, I think.’

  ‘I’d better tape it. Gran’ll want to see your five minutes of fame.’

  Kristy rolled her eyes. ‘People don’t tape stuff any more, Dad. They record it. Onto their hard drive.’

  He chuckled. ‘Whatever. Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got something for Cassius.’ He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a large carrot. ‘Ta da!’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kristy checked her watch. It was gone half past ten. ‘Gotta go! Tell Mum I’ll be back for tea.’

  Kristy held the carrot in one hand and her gloves and riding hat in the other and set off towards Mill Farm Stables. The contours of the long gravel driveway were as familiar to her as her own face and she sidestepped puddles and ridges of loose chippings on autopilot, her thoughts on the ordeal ahead.

  It had been Norah’s idea. And, like most of Norah’s ideas, by the time she happened to mention it to the rest of them it was a done deal.

  ‘I’ve invited the BBC to send a film crew over to do a piece on the team,’ she’d told them the previous week.

  ‘You’ve done what?’ exploded William.

  ‘And they’re coming next week,’ she continued.

  ‘Cool,’ said Sofia.

  ‘Did you not think to ask us first?’ said Kristy.

  ‘I think you’ll find that as team leader I am well within my rights to organise a teeny bit of publicity.’

  ‘We don’t need publicity,’ said William.

  Norah ignored him. ‘So I’ve said we’ll perform a section of the routine and they’ll probably want to interview me afterwards. It’s only for the local news. I don’t know what the problem is,’ she huffed.

  ‘You know my mates already take the mickey because I ride. I’ll be crucified if we’re on the telly,’ William glowered.

  ‘Do you want me to sort them out?’ said Norah.

  ‘And that is going to help how, exactly?’ But William’s mouth was twitching and Kristy could see Norah h
ad won him round.

  Sofia nudged Kristy in the ribs. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

  Kristy sighed. ‘I suppose.’

  And, through the sheer force of her personality, Norah got her way. Again.

  The throaty growl of a powerful engine cut into Kristy’s musings and she looked up to see a red convertible bearing down on her.

  ‘Hey! Slow down!’ she cried, waving her hands in front of her. But the car showed no sign of braking as it lurched over the pitted driveway like a supercharged rally car. Kristy leapt into a hawthorn hedge as the car raced past, splattering muddy water over her pearly-white jodhpurs and snapping the carrot in two.

  She stared at the broken carrot in disbelief.

  ‘Idiot!’ she cried, waggling it furiously. But the man in the sports car, crouched low over the steering wheel, his face hidden by a baseball cap and mirrored shades, offered no apologetic wave or dip of the head. She might as well have been invisible.

  Kristy’s heart sank when she saw Norah was already tacking up Silver. The other girl did a double take when she saw Kristy’s mud-splattered jodhpurs.

  ‘You’re kidding me, right? You can’t seriously be planning to wear those?’

  Kristy took a deep breath and unclenched her jaw.

  ‘I don’t actually have much choice, seeing as they’re the only pair I have with me. It’s not my fault some twit in a red sports car was driving like a maniac and covered me in mud.’

  Sofia poked her head over Jazz’s stable door. ‘Oh dear,’ she giggled. ‘Shall I see if Emma’s got a spare pair?’

  ‘You’re a star,’ said Kristy gratefully.

  ‘They’re due in twenty minutes and you haven’t even caught Cassius yet,’ Norah grumbled.

  Kristy held up her hands. ‘I know. I’ll be quick, I promise.’

  She grabbed Cassius’s headcollar and lead rope from the tack room and sprinted down to the bottom paddock, the mangled carrot in her hand. Reaching the gate, she whistled, impatient to throw her arms around Cassius and breathe in his familiar, horsey smell.

  Usually he wandered over to the gate the minute she whistled, but today he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Cassius!’ she called softly, her eyes scanning his paddock. Sometimes he liked to doze in the bottom corner, but he wasn’t there today. He wasn’t behind the big oak tree either.

  ‘Weird,’ said Kristy, wondering if Emma had already brought him in and she’d walked straight past him. But he would have heard her and whickered, he always did.

  A prickle of fear, like the sting of a wasp, sent goosebumps down her spine. Where was he?

  ‘Cassius!’ she called again, her voice rising an octave. Still there was no sign of the big, black Percheron. Kristy scanned the field one last time and ran back up to the stables, almost colliding with Sofia, who was holding up a pair of cream jodhpurs.

  ‘These’ll have to do, they’re all Emma had.’

  ‘Did one of you bring Cassius in?’ said Kristy breathlessly.

  Sofia shook her head. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

  ‘He’s not in the field.’ Kristy threw open his stable door but it was empty. ‘And he’s not in his stable.’ She gripped Sofia’s arm until the older girl winced. ‘Where is he?’

  2

  Celebrity Status

  Sofia eased Kristy’s fingers open one by one. ‘I’m sure he can’t have gone far. Why don’t I check the barn and you go and ask Emma. Maybe she’s put him in a different paddock.’

  ‘There are no other paddocks!’ wailed Kristy.

  She knocked on Emma’s back door and let herself into the boot room. ‘Emma?’ she called, picking her way over the heap of wellies positioned like a booby trap just inside. A tub of minerals balanced precariously on the long shelf above the chipped stone sink and half a dozen creakily-stiff Barbour jackets in various shades of brown and green hung from a row of hooks in front of her. Bert, Emma’s cantankerous Persian cat, eyed her grumpily from his bed above the boiler.

  Kristy loved Emma’s boot room. Her mum would be aghast at the tangle of cobwebs that festooned the ceiling like spidery paper chains, and the layers of dirt and horse hair that had turned the once-white floor tiles the colour of parchment. Kristy’s mum was so house proud she polished and dusted every other day and plumped up the sofa cushions the minute you stood up. Emma said housework was for people who didn’t have horses. Her house was messy, homely and always smelt ever-so-slightly of wet horse.

  The horse smell was stronger than ever today, Kristy thought, as she stretched a hand up to stroke Bert and then thought better of it when his tail swished crossly.

  ‘Emma!’ she called again, kicking off her boots and pushing open the door to the kitchen. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  ‘Oh!’

  Cassius was standing between Emma’s scrubbed pine table and the sink, his black ears pricked. Kristy closed her eyes and shook her head. Surely she must be dreaming? He whickered and her eyes snapped open. No, it really was him. Giddy with relief, she could only grip the table and mumble, ‘There you are!’

  Cassius squeezed his huge frame through the gap towards her and snaffled the carrot from her hand.

  ‘You rascal,’ Kristy said fondly, scratching his poll. ‘We’d better get you out of here before Emma sees you.’

  The black gelding followed her out of the kitchen, through the boot room and across a small patch of lawn to the yard. A dusty white estate car was reversing next to Emma’s Land Rover.

  ‘KRISTEEEE!’ shrieked Norah. ‘They’re here! You’ve got literally five minutes to get ready!’

  ‘You found him then,’ said Sofia, handing Kristy Emma’s old jodhpurs.

  ‘You’ll never guess where.’

  ‘No time for chat!’ Norah screeched.

  ‘She’s a nightmare,’ said William, dumping Cassius’s grooming kit at their feet and running his fingers through his unruly blond hair. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  Kristy darted into the tack room to change. Something was bugging her but she didn’t have time to think about it now. Norah was already on the warpath. She’d go mad if Kristy wasn’t ready in time. Emma’s old jodhpurs smelt of mothballs and were at least three sizes too big. Kristy glanced longingly at the mud-splattered pair she’d shed like a snake skin on the floor and then looked down at Emma’s cast-offs, which flared at her hips and wrinkled around her ankles like a melted candle. If this was an omen, she thought glumly, it did not bode well.

  A freckly girl with long, auburn hair was lugging a camera out of the boot of the car. She lifted it onto her shoulder with practised ease.

  ‘Ruth,’ she said, holding out her free hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘But where are the others?’ said Norah, her hands on her hips.

  ‘This is it, I’m afraid. We self-shoot and self-edit these days.’ Ruth hoisted the camera onto her other shoulder. ‘You weren’t expecting a whole crew, were you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Norah, pulling an ‘are you mad?’ face. A dull flush crept up her neck. She flicked a speck of dust from her jacket.

  ‘The ponies are all ready,’ she said, her composure recovered. ‘What do you want to do first - film our routine or interview me?’

  Ruth blinked. Kristy had the feeling she didn’t meet many thirteen-year-olds as assertive as Norah Bergman.

  ‘Um, the planning editor said I’ve got to interview the owner of the blind horse.’ Ruth consulted a battered notebook. ‘Kristy Moore. Is that you?’

  Norah shot the reporter a look that could have frozen boiling water. William gave Kristy a gentle shove forwards.

  Kristy swallowed. ‘It’s me. But your planning editor has made a mistake. Cassius isn’t blind, he’s just lost his sight in one eye.’

  ‘One bad eye is good enough for me,’ Ruth said cheerfully. ‘It’ll still make a nice heartwarming piece for the end of the programme. Where is he?’

  Kristy pointed to the Percheron, who was standing patiently outsi
de his stable, pulling wisps of hay from a haynet.

  ‘Big, isn’t he?’ said Ruth.

  ‘He’s small for a Percheron, actually. But plenty big enough for me. Want to say hello?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Ruth, digging about in the pocket of her coat. ‘I bought some Polos especially.’

  ‘He’ll love you forever,’ grinned Kristy.

  ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of cupboard love. We’ll do the interview first, then I’ll film you all in action. So you might as well go and get ready,’ Ruth told the others, seemingly oblivious to Norah’s baleful stare. ‘We don’t want the other ponies distracting the star of the show, do we?’ she added kindly.

  ‘You’re right, of course. That would be beyond awful,’ said Norah, her voice heavy with sarcasm. Her blonde curls bounced indignantly as she turned on her heels and stomped across the yard to Silver. Kristy winced as Norah yanked down her stirrup leathers, sprang into the saddle and wheeled her plump dappled grey gelding towards the indoor school.

  William hooted with laughter. ‘About time someone took her down a peg or two.’

  He vaulted onto Copper and trotted after his sister. Sofia blew Kristy a kiss and followed. Ruth was on one knee, fiddling with her camera. Kristy leant on Cassius. Suddenly her mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. She swallowed.

  ‘How did your planning editor know about Cassius’s eye?’

  ‘It was in the paper. I’ve got a photocopy in the car somewhere.’