Read Online Storm and the Silver Bridle by Stacy Gregg - Free Book Online
Authors: Stacy Gregg
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room and drew back the rainbow-striped curtains to reveal a view of the cobbled courtyard below.
“It’s amazing!” Issie said. “Everything is amazing. It’s so beautiful here!”
“It is, isn’t it?” Francoise said, gazing out over the hacienda. “When we travel away on tour with the horses we are gone for such a long time, and then to come home to this—it always makes my heart leap when we return here.”
She pointed towards the stable blocks. “You see over there where we keep the mares? Salome—I mean Blaze—was born right there in those stables, in one of the foaling stalls.”
Issie stared out of the window and felt a shiver up her spine. She knew Blaze was an El Caballo mare, but it had never occurred to her before now that this farm had once been Blaze’s home. Her beautiful chestnut mare was actually born and schooled here, just as the rest of El Caballo’s horses were.
“I remember I had only just started working for El Caballo back then,” Francoise said dreamily. “It was foaling season and the mares due to have their babies were brought in each night, and I would sleep in the stables, to keep a close eye on them. Blaze’s dam, Bahiyaa, was the most beautiful of all the mares in our stables so we were all waiting with great excitement to see what her foal would be like. We were not disappointed—when Blaze was born we knew immediately that she was special. Oh, she was the most beautiful foal! I wish you could have seen her then! To witness the arrival of a new life, to see a new foal being born, it is so magical.”
Issie’s smile melted away as Francoise spoke. She too knew what it was like to be the one to deliver a newborn foal. When Blaze had foaled, it was Issie alone who had been there to help Nightstorm enter the world. In the excitement of her arrival here at El Caballo Danza Magnifico she had briefly forgotten the reason they were here in the first place. Her baby, her Storm, was somewhere here in Andalusia.
“You must want to rest now,” Francoise was saying. “You have come such a long way. Perhaps you would like to take a siesta? We eat late here in Andalusia—dinner will be served at 10 p.m.”
“No, Francoise,” Issie said. “I know I should be tired, but I’m not.”
Francoise smiled. “I understand. I am not either. I tell you what, why don’t you have a shower and change into your jodhpurs? Meet me downstairs in ten minutes and I will take you on a tour of El Caballo and we can talk some more.”
Ten minutes later, Issie came downstairs to find Francoise also freshly changed with her long black hairslicked back into a wet ponytail. She was wearing the traditional
vaquero
clothing of the Spanish cowboy—turned-up trousers with brown leather boots, a short cropped jacket known as a
chaquetilla
, and a wide-brimmed stockman’s hat. Francoise handed Issie a hat too. “Put this on,” she instructed. “The sun is hot here and you’ll need it.”
Francoise led the way back across the cobbled courtyard. At first Issie thought she was heading to the stables where the mares were, but then they kept walking past the mares’ quarters, and Francoise took her past the fountain and through the archway that led to the stallions’ loose boxes.
Issie had caught a glimpse of the mares’ stables as they went past. They were in the old Spanish style, very traditional, stone stalls as dark and cool as catacombs. She had been expecting the stallions’ quarters to be the same, but in fact they were quite different. On the outside they were classically Spanish too, but inside the loose boxes were all stainless steel and pale wood, sleek and ultra-modern.
“Roberto loves the history of El Caballo, but he is not always a traditionalist,” Francoise explained as they walked down the row of stalls. “He rebuiltthe stallions’ quarters to match the best stables he visited when he was competing on the three-day event circuit in Europe.”
Francoise reached one hand to
“It’s amazing!” Issie said. “Everything is amazing. It’s so beautiful here!”
“It is, isn’t it?” Francoise said, gazing out over the hacienda. “When we travel away on tour with the horses we are gone for such a long time, and then to come home to this—it always makes my heart leap when we return here.”
She pointed towards the stable blocks. “You see over there where we keep the mares? Salome—I mean Blaze—was born right there in those stables, in one of the foaling stalls.”
Issie stared out of the window and felt a shiver up her spine. She knew Blaze was an El Caballo mare, but it had never occurred to her before now that this farm had once been Blaze’s home. Her beautiful chestnut mare was actually born and schooled here, just as the rest of El Caballo’s horses were.
“I remember I had only just started working for El Caballo back then,” Francoise said dreamily. “It was foaling season and the mares due to have their babies were brought in each night, and I would sleep in the stables, to keep a close eye on them. Blaze’s dam, Bahiyaa, was the most beautiful of all the mares in our stables so we were all waiting with great excitement to see what her foal would be like. We were not disappointed—when Blaze was born we knew immediately that she was special. Oh, she was the most beautiful foal! I wish you could have seen her then! To witness the arrival of a new life, to see a new foal being born, it is so magical.”
Issie’s smile melted away as Francoise spoke. She too knew what it was like to be the one to deliver a newborn foal. When Blaze had foaled, it was Issie alone who had been there to help Nightstorm enter the world. In the excitement of her arrival here at El Caballo Danza Magnifico she had briefly forgotten the reason they were here in the first place. Her baby, her Storm, was somewhere here in Andalusia.
“You must want to rest now,” Francoise was saying. “You have come such a long way. Perhaps you would like to take a siesta? We eat late here in Andalusia—dinner will be served at 10 p.m.”
“No, Francoise,” Issie said. “I know I should be tired, but I’m not.”
Francoise smiled. “I understand. I am not either. I tell you what, why don’t you have a shower and change into your jodhpurs? Meet me downstairs in ten minutes and I will take you on a tour of El Caballo and we can talk some more.”
Ten minutes later, Issie came downstairs to find Francoise also freshly changed with her long black hairslicked back into a wet ponytail. She was wearing the traditional
vaquero
clothing of the Spanish cowboy—turned-up trousers with brown leather boots, a short cropped jacket known as a
chaquetilla
, and a wide-brimmed stockman’s hat. Francoise handed Issie a hat too. “Put this on,” she instructed. “The sun is hot here and you’ll need it.”
Francoise led the way back across the cobbled courtyard. At first Issie thought she was heading to the stables where the mares were, but then they kept walking past the mares’ quarters, and Francoise took her past the fountain and through the archway that led to the stallions’ loose boxes.
Issie had caught a glimpse of the mares’ stables as they went past. They were in the old Spanish style, very traditional, stone stalls as dark and cool as catacombs. She had been expecting the stallions’ quarters to be the same, but in fact they were quite different. On the outside they were classically Spanish too, but inside the loose boxes were all stainless steel and pale wood, sleek and ultra-modern.
“Roberto loves the history of El Caballo, but he is not always a traditionalist,” Francoise explained as they walked down the row of stalls. “He rebuiltthe stallions’ quarters to match the best stables he visited when he was competing on the three-day event circuit in Europe.”
Francoise reached one hand to
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