Whirlwind cantered calmly up the hill, with Charlie securely aboard. Sam’s breath still came in shallow spurts but with every second that passed, her hands unclenched a little. Unbelievably, it looked like Charlie was going to be all right.
The mare had stunning movement. Extended and elevated, cadenced and harmonious. Sam imagined for one moment how Whirlwind’s gait would wow judges in the dressage arena. Whirlwind and Charlie gained the brow of the hill, just as Meg arrived with Uncle Spike in tow.
‘Afternoon, Princess,’ he said, with a cocky raise of his eyebrow. Meg looked on curiously.
Ever since the fateful buckjump competition, Sam had gone to extraordinary lengths to avoid Spike. He’d not pursued her. Perhaps because he’d lost the bet, the deal that they’d go on a date if Spike was crowned King of the Mountains. He wasn’t, Drew was, so maybe that was that?
Of course, this was a ridiculously simplistic take on things. Spike would have to be a very concrete thinker indeed to believe a relationship could be governed by the same sort of rules as a poker game, and she could be picked up like the kitty. But for whatever reason, until now, he had stayed away.
Meg pointed up the hill, to where Whirlwind’s grey rump was disappearing into the trees. ‘Did you see her?’ she asked her uncle.
‘Nah,’ said Spike. Meg’s face fell. ‘Cheer up,’ he said. ‘There are other brumbies, aren’t there, eh?’ He tickled her and made her laugh. ‘You show me them instead.’
Sam sized him up, and saw no sign that he’d recognised the mare. Charlie’s courage and presence of mind had undoubtedly saved Whirlwind’s life.
Meg grabbed Spike’s arm and pulled him away to look at the new foal. Sam waited until they’d moved off, then ran over to where Drew was saddling Clancy. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘I’ll find her,’ he whispered, and took off up the mountain. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. There was still a lot to do – collect the money, for a start. Hand out coffee and Tim Tams, collect some feedback.
‘You’ve quite a fan in my daughter,’ said Sue, as they watched Meg drag Spike over to see Phoenix. Sam smiled at the compliment and invited her into the office. Sue took out her credit card and slipped it into the reader. It whirred and clicked, and a few seconds later Sam was handing over a receipt for the very first payment to Brumby Trails. It wasn’t a lot of money – petty cash from her father’s perspective. But for some reason, it felt like she’d made a million dollars. It must be true what they said about appreciating things more if you worked for them.
Sam was suddenly ashamed to think of how often she’d taken money for granted. Not this time, though. This time she’d earned it. Holding that humble credit-card docket felt as good as acing her final exams, or being selected in the A-team for the state dressage squad. No, it wasn’t like that at all. It was ten times better.
The whistling kettle brought her back to earth. ‘Coffee?’ Sam asked.
Sue nodded and took a Tim Tam. ‘You really have got the perfect set-up here,’ she said. ‘Now, what brumbies are for sale? Meg has her heart set on one. I want a mare, freshly broken if possible. She’s very keen to train a horse from scratch.’ For a moment Sam didn’t follow. She started to speak, but Sue was already off again. ‘And that stunning palomino colt,’ said Sue. ‘How much is his stud fee? I’m retiring my mare, and I’d like to put her in foal to him.’
Sam didn’t know what to say. Sue misinterpreted her silence. ‘Don’t say he’s already fully booked for next season?’ She sounded so disappointed. ‘I like your buckskin stallion. He’s beautiful too. But I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with the palomino.’
Think quickly now. Her first instinct was to say no, to explain that there were no horses for sale, no stallions at stud. But this woman was handing them a potential new income stream on a plate. Bushy had half a dozen young brumbies, green broke, but going well under saddle. And Phoenix as a stud? Sam’s head told her that Phoenix wouldn’t even be here in spring, but her heart refused to believe it.
‘I do have some young stock,’ Sam said cautiously. ‘But wouldn’t Meg be better off with an older, fully schooled horse? It’s not a great idea for two youngsters to be learning on their own.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Sue, nodding. ‘That’s why I want Meg to have lessons. We’ll leave her new horse here on agistment, and I’ll drive her three times a week after school.’ Sue dipped the biscuit in her coffee. ‘Oh, and on weekends. What do you charge for a full day? Do you have some sort of school-holiday program? Meg might like to bring her friends along.’
‘We can do that,’ said Sam, trying to sound bright and confident. Trying not to show how overwhelmed she really was. She needed to talk to Charlie. But Charlie was off in the bush somewhere, riding an unbroken man-killer without a saddle or bridle. So much for the promises she’d made to Mary about not letting Charlie overdo it, about keeping her safe.
‘Good,’ said Sue. ‘Now, I won’t have a look at your sale horses right now, if you don’t mind.’ Thank God for that. There weren’t any sale horses. ‘I’ll come on my own later. We’re wanting to surprise Meg.’ Sue took a card from her purse. ‘Here’s my contact details. Why don’t you just email me with the price particulars?’ She scribbled on the back and handed over the card.
Sam looked at the list written there. Stud fees. Lesson fees. Agistment fees. This was too good to be true. ‘Meg is interested in that high-school riding. You don’t happen to know of a local coach, do you? It’s all barrel racing and campdrafting around here.’
‘I’m a level-one NCAS dressage coach,’ said Sam, ‘if that’s any help.’
‘That sounds marvellous,’ said Sue, looking impressed. ‘What does it mean, exactly?’
‘It’s a certification through the Equestrian Australia national coaching scheme. It means I’m qualified to teach beginners through to elementary level. I used to coach the juniors of the state dressage squad.’
‘Good heavens, you are a find!’ Sue was absolutely beaming. ‘There’s a group of girls at the Tallangala Pony Club who are dead keen on dressage. Just wait til I tell them I’ve found a coach.’
Craig and the aunties came in for cups of coffee, laughing and joking and saying how much they’d enjoyed their ride. Sam took a second look at Craig. Although he was older and heavier, the resemblance to his brother Spike was obvious now. If only she’d noticed it earlier. Sue kept up a steady stream of chatter, aimed mainly at her husband, talking up the idea of buying Meg a brumby. Sam imagined Sue normally got her own way.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ said Sue as they rose to leave. ‘Don’t forget that email.’ Sam waved Sue’s card gaily about, to show she’d remember. Sue glanced around and dropped her voice to a stage whisper. ‘I’d like photos of your available horses, maybe a little bit about them – and the price, of course. I presume they’re all registered in the brumby stud book, or whatever it is you call it?’
As far as Sam knew, all of Bushy’s horses were eligible for listing with the Brumby Association. She could hurry it through if she had to. Sam nodded at Sue.
‘Perfect.’ Sue took one last biscuit. ‘We’d best get going.’
They all crowded out the door. Meg was describing the finer points of natural-horsemanship training to her uncle. Spike lit up a smoke and slouched against the rails. Buckjumping was as far from natural horsemanship as you could imagine. But then there’d been his impressive performance in the Bareback Challenge, cantering perfect circles without saddle or bridle, revving that silly chainsaw. He knew a thing or two about communicating with his mount. Sam took a good look at Spike. Objectively, he was gorgeous, but she was immune to his charms. Drew had it all over him. Spike sauntered across and winked at her. ‘You’ve done a top job, Princess. Those horses look a million dollars.’
She gave him a smile of genuine gratitude. ‘Thanks, Spike.’ She doubted he’d be so generous if he knew about Whirlwind. She said goodbye and the group moved off to their cars, Meg bouncing about like an excited labrador puppy. Sam stood and watched until she was certain they’d all gone, then felt in her pocket. Where was her phone? It suddenly rang from the office and she dashed to retrieve it. Drew. He’d found Charlie, and she was fine. Was it safe to come home? Right, they wouldn’t be long. Sam let out a deep breath, made herself a strong coffee and sat down to wait.
No rational explanation existed for what she was seeing. Charlie and Drew, companionably cantering their horses down the hill. Whirlwind stood like a rock while Charlie slipped off her back, and then the mare followed – followed – her sister into the yard.
Charlie started to groom her. Sam tiptoed to the rails and watched Whirlwind lean into the body brush, the way Pharoah used to do. She blinked away the sharp sting of tears, wanting to berate her sister for forging this secret coalition behind her back. For making a fool of her. Then she thought of Drew. Charlie had no monopoly on secret coalitions.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do,’ said Sam, regretting the words as soon as they were spoken. It was exactly that preachy attitude that had caused problems between them in the first place. No wonder Charlie hadn’t been straight with her. ‘It all went so well,’ she said. ‘The Morgans were thrilled.’
‘Did they pay us?’ asked Charlie. Sam nodded. Her sister looked exhausted, completely done in, but completely happy at the same time. She waved Sam into the yard. Cautiously, Sam ducked through the rails and approached the mare. Whirlwind showed no fear, no hostility. She allowed Sam to stroke her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. Miracles really did happen.
‘Here, what do you make of this?’ said Charlie, tugging at Whirlwind’s long grey forelock. ‘I’ve been dying to show you.’ The mare obligingly lowered her head. Unbelievable.
Charlie took hold of Sam’s hand and placed it under the forelock, below the ears. What the hell? Beneath Sam’s fingers were two bony bulges, like baby horns. Sam looked at her sister askance. Charlie grinned. ‘Cool, isn’t it? She actually is a demon horse.’
Sam had a closer look. There was no doubt about it. A pair of tiny horns grew from Whirlwind’s forehead. Sam guessed the rodeo men wouldn’t have noticed them. You’d have to lift her forelock first.
‘This is amazing,’ said Sam, dumbstruck. A thought struck her from left field. ‘She doesn’t have warts under her tail, does she?’
‘How did you know?’ said Charlie. ‘You can’t see them unless you’re right up close.’ Sam ignored the reminder that, until now, she hadn’t been able to get anywhere near the mare. Sure enough, there was a cluster of little warts at the base of her tail. It was beginning to make outlandish sense. Whirlwind’s height and strength, her luxuriant mane and tail, her magnificent charisma.
‘There is a breed of horned horse,’ said Sam, slowly. ‘Very rare, though. Impossibly rare.’
‘Get out!’ said Charlie.
‘It’s true. They’re called Carthusian Andalusians. The most ancient equine stud book in the world. All descended from one grey foundation stallion, Esclavo. He had little horns, and warts under his tail. Monks protected his bloodlines for hundreds of years. Esclavo was said to be the perfect horse, perfect in conformation and perfect in temperament. My dressage coach says Carthusians are the finest high-school mounts ever known.’
‘Are there any left?’ asked Charlie.
‘Some,’ said Sam. ‘They’re bred at a special stud farm, owned by the Spanish government. Not much chance of running into one on Maroong Mountain, though.’
‘So these Carthusian horses,’ said Drew. ‘They’re Andalusians, you said?’
Sam nodded. ‘The oldest, purest strain of all.’
‘But Jarrang is Whirlwind’s father,’ said Charlie. ‘The same striped hoofs. That’s no coincidence.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Drew. He’d been listening to their conversation with a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Jarrang’s her sire all right. A more interesting question is, who’s her dam?’
He ducked through the rails and headed for the hayshed. Sam chased after him, followed by Charlie.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ said Sam.
‘I might.’ Drew was gathering biscuits of hay. ‘But don’t you think the horses deserve a feed first?’
They distributed the hay. It took forever. When they’d finished, the trio sat outside the office with the last of the coffee and biscuits.
‘So?’ asked Sam.
‘There’s a place that breeds those Andalusians over at Jindabyne. El Soldado Stud or something like that … Don Campbell’s joint. A few years back they lost a filly. Real special, she was, apparently. Imported all the way from Spain.’
‘When you say “lost”, you mean what? Died?’
‘No, I mean just what I said. Lost – or stolen, more like it. Some brumby stallion came down and kicked the sliprails out of her yard during the night.’
Everybody sat without speaking. Sam guessed they were all thinking the same thing. That lost Andalusian filly was Whirlwind’s mother. ‘Did she have horns and warts under her tail?’ asked Sam.
‘Beats me,’ said Drew, and swigged his coffee. ‘But if I were you, I’d be finding out.’
Sam slapped some cheese on the sandwich and pushed it across the table top. Out the window, late afternoon was ambling through to evening. ‘Think we can do it?’
‘Hell, yeah!’ said Charlie. ‘Our own brumby stud. They’ll be the next big fashion. We’ve already got the makings of a great herd. We get Jarrang and Phoenix into the stud book.’ Sam’s heart lurched. She hadn’t told her sister that the colt had been sold. ‘And there’s Whirlwind and the two creamies. In the meantime, we buy in some started brumbies from Bushy, school them a bit more and sell them as heritage horses.’ Charlie was buzzing again with excitement and energy. It was impossible to believe this was the shadow of a girl she’d first met in the hospital, all those months ago. ‘We’ll offer the Coalition an overflow sanctuary for freshly caught horses, in return for being able to train up and sell some youngsters. We’ll run the herd up near the park boundary, and give brumby-spotting tours. Oh, and take in horses for training, charge agistment for them. We’ll make a fucking fortune.’
‘And what will we do in our spare time?’ asked Sam, trying to keep a straight face.
‘Don’t,’ said Charlie, giving her a playful punch. ‘We can do it. You just watch us.’