Sam took a moment on waking to recall the momentous happenings of the previous night. She stretched and yawned, reaching for where Drew should have lain beside her in the bed. It was an unpleasant jolt to find herself alone. Then the fullness of last night’s events returned, and she knew exactly where he’d be. Up at the yards, with Flicka and her newborn colt.
Sam pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, feeling like the cat that ate the cream. She tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen, trying not to wake Charlie. They’d all had quite a night, and for a number of reasons, nobody had had enough sleep. Sam yawned, put on the kettle and cut up some carrots for Flicka. She made two cups of tea, one for her and one for Drew, and took them outside.
One for Drew. The significance of simply making Drew a morning cup of tea gave her goosebumps. After last night there’d be no more guilt, no more divided loyalties. Their love was finally out in the open, free of misunderstandings, and best of all, it was graced with Charlie’s approval. The safe arrival of Flicka’s foal felt like a final blessing on their happiness.
‘Good morning, Bess.’ The dog smiled and thumped her tail on the dusty porch. ‘Coming to see the baby?’ Bess barked assent and followed her up to the yards.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ said Sam. ‘Absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Yep,’ said Drew from his perch on the yard rail. ‘He sure is something to brag about.’ Flicka stood guard over a foal so perfectly formed, so finely chiselled, he didn’t look real. His coat was a pretty silvery grey that Drew assured her would shed out to deepest black.
Sam held up a mug. ‘Brought you some tea.’
‘I can’t believe he’s a black. A direct throw back to Abbey,’ said Drew, shaking his head. ‘I have a beautiful black colt with a double Abbey cross in his pedigree. Do you know how hard it is, getting your hands on a horse like that?’
‘Correction,’ said Sam. ‘I have a black colt with a double Abbey cross.’
Drew jumped down from the fence, and pulled her in for a kiss.
‘You’ll spill the tea,’ she said. He took both mugs from her and balanced them on a post. Then he picked her up and spun her around and around until she was dizzy with laughter.
‘Correction,’ he said, retrieving his tea. ‘We have a beautiful black colt with a double Abbey cross.’ The foal nickered on cue.
Sam steadied herself against a rail until she could no longer hear her heartbeat. ‘I don’t know who this Abbey is,’ she said. ‘What’s so special about him?’
‘Abbey?’ he said, looking like he didn’t believe her. ‘Everybody knows Abbey. He’s a legend.’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘By Radiant? Going way back to Radium?’
She shook her head again. ‘Still nothing.’
‘Jesus, Sam. This is important stuff. What do they teach you in Melbourne?’ He looked so completely perturbed, Sam turned away to hide her smile.
‘Tell me, then.’
‘Abbey’s a stock-horse foundation sire. Big and black. Born in 1955 up in New South Wales, in a stall behind the Willawarrin pub. I’ve been there. There’s a photo of me standing outside.’
‘You’ve been there?’
Drew looked embarrassed. It was utterly charming. ‘Kind of a pilgrimage, I guess.’ He pointed to the foal. ‘When I first laid eyes on that little bloke, I thought to myself, I bet that’s exactly what Abbey looked like when he was born.’ How she loved seeing him all fired up like this, brimming with enthusiasm, impatient to dive headfirst into the future – their shared future. ‘You know, they almost cut him as a yearling?’ he said. ‘Can you imagine that?’
‘Cut him?’
‘Gelded him. His dam and sire were both by Radium II, half brother and sister. They thought he was too inbred. Thank Christ they changed their minds. That horse won the Taree campdraft at just eighteen months old.’ Drew slid through the rails and stroked the foal, an expression of immense pride on his face. ‘Abbey won twenty-three campdrafts with the legendary Harry Ball in the saddle. The man worshipped that horse, apparently.’ The foal sucked at Drew’s shirt and he slipped two fingers into its mouth.
‘That’s a nice story,’ said Sam.
‘Tragic ending, though. Harry’s on the Pacific Highway, coming back from the Warwick Rodeo with Abbey, when there’s an accident. Harry’s killed. As a tribute to her husband, Harry’s wife decides nobody will ever ride Abbey again. Sends him over to Theo Hill at Comara Station. That stallion went on to found the finest stock-horse bloodline in Australia.’ Drew knelt down. The foal sniffed his face and he blew softly into its nose. ‘And to think Abbey blood runs through this little horse’s veins, eh? It’s a fucking miracle.’
There was no doubt about it. Sam did have a rival for Drew’s affection, but it wasn’t Charlie. Drew was in love with the little colt. Sam smiled as he gave the foal a great hug and Flicka whinnied her disapproval. The mare gathered the baby up with her nose and urged him away. He obediently turned tail and buried his nose beneath his mother’s flank for a feed, tail wagging merrily.
Sam finished her tea. ‘I have to go to work.’
Drew spun her around again and kissed her comprehensively. ‘I’m going to hang out here for a bit,’ he said. ‘Try that imprinting stuff you were talking about.’
Last night Sam had told him about Dr Robert Miller’s theory for imprinting foals. It was all about bonding with humans in the brief window of time straight after birth. Such foals began to see humans as fellow horses instead of predators. The deep trust they established in their handlers often lead to miraculous training results later on. Sam smiled. She’d handed Drew the perfect excuse to spend all day with the new colt. Flicka laid back her ears as Drew tried to hijack the foal again. Sam fed her the carrots. ‘You’d think he’d done all the work himself, wouldn’t you?’ she said to the mare, before heading for the car.
Phoenix’s piercing neigh greeted her as she came in sight of the showground yards. He knew her car. At first Bushy had put it down to coincidence, but he agreed now that the colt recognised the blue beetle, and even responded to its engine noise coming up the track. Sam parked and went to say hello to Phoenix. The young stallion performed excited pirouettes as she approached, and accepted the carrots she offered with a regal nod of his head. The newborn foal was adorable, true – but no horse could take the special place Phoenix held in Sam’s heart.
Sam headed for Bushy’s ‘kitchen’, the narrow porch between the horse wash bays and his room. She needed a big mug of his strong, sweet tea, and a plate piled high with hot buttered toast, chock-full of fat raisins. A sugar hit might chase away her weariness.
Sam told him about the foal, but instead of being excited Bushy was uncharacteristically quiet. He stirred the tea and handed her a mug. His deep-set dark eyes searched her face. ‘I’m glad you’ve got a little ’un. That fella’s going to teach you a lot.’ He smiled. ‘That’s if Drew ever lets you near him.’
Sam nodded and grinned. ‘He’s head over heels, all right.’
Phoenix burst into a series of commanding neighs. ‘How do you reckon that colt’s been going?’ asked Bushy.
‘Phoenix? He’s fabulous, doesn’t put a foot wrong. Soft mouth, good transitions, great laterals. Awesome stop. He’s good to catch and float. Opens and closes gates. Stands for the farrier. You can even crack a whip off him.’
‘You’re a fair hand with that whip these days,’ he said. Sam nodded, curious. She knew Bushy. He was getting around to saying something important. Bushy finished a mouthful of toast. ‘How’d you like to take Phoenix home?’ he said. ‘That horse could use some bush work.’
‘Really?’ asked Sam, hardly believing her good fortune. ‘I can take him home to Brumby’s Run?’
Bushy nodded. ‘That you can. Ryan said it himself, just this morning.’
Sam’s smile grew larger. This was truly wonderful news. Then why did Bushy look so gloomy?
‘You’re to finish Phoenix for his new owner,’ he continued, looking into his tea.
Sam’s smile faltered. She couldn’t make sense of his words. ‘New owner?’
‘That colt’s been sold.’
Anger and panic formed a heavy stone in Sam’s stomach. ‘Unsell him then,’ she said swiftly. ‘I’ll buy him back, whatever the cost.’
Bushy shook his head. ‘Can’t be done. Apparently the buyer’s promised Ryan a major sponsorship. He can’t afford to welch on the deal.’
No. It was impossible. Impossible to contemplate that this could happen to her again. Sam reeled from the kitchen and pelted to the yard where Phoenix pranced about, impatient for his morning feed. The colt was heartbreakingly beautiful, haloed in morning sunshine, framed by the majesty of Maroong Mountain. But Sam’s eyes were brimful of tears, and she couldn’t see him any more. All she saw was the formless shape of her own loss.