Flora arrived at the training yard earlier than usual, eager to see Phoenix. The past week had seen her rising early, working relentlessly all day with the horse, then dragging herself home, late, to an irritated Dylan. Dylan considered himself dedicated to his yard, but Flora was something else; and whilst he applauded her commitment, he didn’t particularly appreciate being cast aside on the back burner, playing second fiddle to Phoenix. As ridiculous as it sounded, he rather resented the endless time Flora was spending with the horse. Since Phoenix’s arrival Flora had spent every waking hour on him, from dawn till dusk, leaving her far too tired for any quality time with him. Even her day off was whiled away tending to Phoenix.
Last night, when she’d crept into bed next to him, he’d waited to see if she’d cuddle into him like she used to, but within a few minutes he’d heard her gentle snores, obviously out like a light. Charming. Gone were the days when she couldn’t keep her hands off him. ‘Flora…’ He’d softly tried to rouse her, giving her a slight nudge, but there was no response. Sighing with frustration he’d turned away.
Flora entered Phoenix’s stable. As always, the horse’s eyes darted towards her and he neighed in delight at seeing her.
‘Come on, old boy, let’s get started.’ Flora stroked Phoenix’s mane, whilst he nuzzled into her neck. The bond between them was strong and had been formed immediately. Flora hadn’t connected so quickly with any other horse before. She instinctively gauged his every move and he in turn responded to her every command. It was a perfect match, a flawless partnership.
In the week since Flora had begun working on him Phoenix had made remarkable progress. She’d started not only with tending to his whip scars and swollen legs, but by massaging and stretching his tired limbs. Following the horse’s body with her probing hands along and across the muscle fibres had told her Phoenix had tension throughout. Flora had exercised him with gentle schooling to increase his relaxation and suppleness, which should then have a positive effect on the horse mentally and emotionally. Just speaking to him in a soothing manner was helping. After only a few days, Phoenix felt wonderfully loose and pliable underneath her. His paces were becoming more relaxed, without stiffness or tension in his back or muscles. He had an easier action and greater balance, not to mention he was starting to build strength and confidence. Flora soon learnt that by not forcing or restricting the horse in anyway, allowing him elasticity throughout his back, shoulders, knees and hips, letting him move freely, she was starting to get the best out of him. She suspected he had previously been forced into an unnatural shape that hadn’t suited him.
Whilst watching him being ridden up the all-weather woodchip gallop, Flora noticed the horse’s stride. He had a high knee action, which meant he was hitting the ground hard. This didn’t bode well for a flat-race horse. What a horse with high knee action needed was a ‘soft ground’, a turf that was damp from the rain, instead of the hard and dry going it would face in the summer months. It was perfectly clear to Flora that Phoenix was built to run in the winter: he was a jump racing horse, not a flat racer. That’s why he wasn’t winning. It certainly wasn’t because of any lack of strength, talent or agility. He’d been trained to do the wrong thing!
Totally convinced of this, Flora had gone a step further and looked up Phoenix’s pedigree from the paperwork Graham Roper had left with Dylan in the office. She’d seen that both the sire and dam side had been flat racers, but the dam’s sire was in fact a jump racer. Obviously Graham Roper and the previous trainers hadn’t thought to look at the lineage of the mother’s father. Recognising that Phoenix wasn’t a loser after all, but could almost certainly be a winner, had made Flora even more resolute about keeping him. But how? One thing was for certain: she would do everything she could to keep him away from Graham Roper.
Dylan pulled into the yard. He didn’t expect to see Flora in the office, knowing full well where she would be. He quickly flicked through the post and turned on his computer. As always, a list of emails glared up at him. He noticed one was from Graham Roper and his jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed at the tone of the message, which was every bit as conceited as the man was in person:
Any results? I’ll be there at the end of the week.
Dylan closed his eyes. If Roper decided to take his horse back, how the hell would Flora handle it? He got up and made his way to Phoenix’s stable. For a moment he stood and watched her. She was an absolute natural, that was for sure. He could see the bond between her and the horse and his heart was pulled. Phoenix saw him and snorted, as if objecting to his presence, making Dylan laugh to himself.
Flora turned and smiled brightly. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ he walked over to stand next to her and put his arm round her waist. Phoenix snorted again, making them both giggle.
‘He’s jealous,’ she said, ‘aren’t you, old boy?’
‘Hmm, don’t see why. He’s the one you spend every waking hour with,’ Dylan replied with a smile, then patted the horse.
‘Dylan, I want you to watch him down the wood-chip gallop.’
‘Why?’
‘Just look. Tell me what you see,’ she replied.
After tacking Phoenix up and setting off to the gallop, Dylan stood at the side and watched closely through his binoculars. He observed the horse’s knees rise high in the air, then slam down with force to the ground as he pelted down the strip. The penny dropped. Clever Flora for noticing it. He couldn’t help but admire her as she came trotting back with a look of hope on her face.
‘What do you think?’ she panted, dismounting.
‘He’s got high knee action.’
‘Exactly! Phoenix isn’t meant for the flat. He’s a jump horse.’
Dylan frowned.
‘Look at his pedigree,’ urged Flora.
‘I have,’ replied Dylan.
‘But the dam’s sire was a jump horse,’ she insisted.
Dylan nodded and thought for a moment. What was he going to tell Roper? ‘Flora, Graham Roper is coming at the end of the week.’ His heart broke to see her face fall.
‘Don’t let him take him, Dylan,’ she pleaded.
‘He owns him, sweetheart. I can’t stop him,’ he spoke gently.
‘Please, Dylan,’ she begged.
Dylan sighed. What in God’s name was he to do?