Read Online The Palomino Pony Comes Home by Olivia Tuffin - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Tuffin
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quiet
.
Sophie was riding in the show hunter pony class. It was one of the later, mid-morningevents, so at least it would allow Georgia time to give Wilson another good groom.
Georgia tied him up to the side of the lorry in the shade with his hay net. The sun was already beating down on to the showground and she didn’t want him to overheat.
Once Georgia had brushed the bay over, Melanie fussed around Wilson’s tail, spraying in some more silky shine and combing it out again. “Can you double-check the ring we’re in?” she called to Georgia, who was giving the tack a final polish.
“Sure,” Georgia replied, grabbing a carton of juice. She was glad she had dressed for the weather, wearing a pair of pale-pink bermuda shorts with a vest top and her old trainers.
She set off to find a steward. Glancing with pleasure at the beautiful show horses being slowly cantered in the warm-up ring, Georgia made her way over to a bowler-hatted man. But then herblood froze at the sound of a familiar, unwelcome voice. She followed the source of the voice and to her horror saw Jemma sitting astride a chestnut Welsh stallion.
The girl was yelling at a younger rider with red hair and freckles who was nervously arranging a jump in the warm-up ring.
“You stupid idiot,” Jemma screeched, her cruel, mocking voice carrying loud and clear across the ring. “I told you to bring his other girth!” She dug her heels hard in the chestnut’s sides. He gave a snort of displeasure and broke into a canter.
Jemma was sitting upright in the saddle, her hands tightly clenched on the double reins. Georgia noticed at once how Jemma’s riding style differed from Sophie’s. Her whole body language was hard and unsympathetic, and the horse she was mounted on looked desperately unhappy, his ears tightly pinned back against his head. Whitefoam splattered against his chest, and his eyes were bulging with effort.
Georgia watched Jemma cantering around the arena until she suddenly realised that pretty soon the chestnut was going to come past where she was standing. She tried to turn away but it was too late. As she was about to pass by, Jemma did a double-take.
“I know you, don’t I?” she hissed, pulling the chestnut hard in his mouth and bringing him to a standstill. “Where from?”
“I … I…” Georgia stuttered.
And then, clearly, it dawned on Jemma. “It’s you! You’re the girl who took Lily! You TOOK my pony!”
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
G eorgia didn’t know what to say. She stared at Jemma for a very long time before finally she managed to stammer, “Lily was injured – she nearly died. We had to get a vet to look at her, but we saved her and we’ve bought her now.”
“Bought her?” Jemma laughed, and the sound was cruel and mocking. “Oh, please,” she taunted. “You mean the paltry amount you gave mygrandfather? That wasn’t payment – that was practically a gift. As far as I’m concerned, she’s still mine and I want her back. And what I want I usually get…”
“You can’t take Lily from me. Not ever,” Georgia said firmly.
But Jemma seemed not to hear her. She pointed at the badge on Georgia’s chest, looking her up and down. “What’s this then?” she sneered.
“Groom?”
Georgia opened her mouth to speak, but just then a steward called for the competitors for the Welsh pony class.
Wheeling the chestnut around and digging her heels harshly into his ribs, Jemma cantered away in a cloud of dust, but not before she delivered her parting shot. “I’ll get that pony back, just you wait and see!”
Georgia’s heart felt like it was drumming in herears. She raced back along the dry ground to the lorry where she ran head first into Melanie, who was rolling up Wilson’s travelling bandages.
“What is it? Whatever’s the matter, Georgia?” Melanie asked, sounding worried. “Have we missed the class?”
“No, no it’s not that.” Georgia shook her head.
Pale and shaking, Georgia told her
.
Sophie was riding in the show hunter pony class. It was one of the later, mid-morningevents, so at least it would allow Georgia time to give Wilson another good groom.
Georgia tied him up to the side of the lorry in the shade with his hay net. The sun was already beating down on to the showground and she didn’t want him to overheat.
Once Georgia had brushed the bay over, Melanie fussed around Wilson’s tail, spraying in some more silky shine and combing it out again. “Can you double-check the ring we’re in?” she called to Georgia, who was giving the tack a final polish.
“Sure,” Georgia replied, grabbing a carton of juice. She was glad she had dressed for the weather, wearing a pair of pale-pink bermuda shorts with a vest top and her old trainers.
She set off to find a steward. Glancing with pleasure at the beautiful show horses being slowly cantered in the warm-up ring, Georgia made her way over to a bowler-hatted man. But then herblood froze at the sound of a familiar, unwelcome voice. She followed the source of the voice and to her horror saw Jemma sitting astride a chestnut Welsh stallion.
The girl was yelling at a younger rider with red hair and freckles who was nervously arranging a jump in the warm-up ring.
“You stupid idiot,” Jemma screeched, her cruel, mocking voice carrying loud and clear across the ring. “I told you to bring his other girth!” She dug her heels hard in the chestnut’s sides. He gave a snort of displeasure and broke into a canter.
Jemma was sitting upright in the saddle, her hands tightly clenched on the double reins. Georgia noticed at once how Jemma’s riding style differed from Sophie’s. Her whole body language was hard and unsympathetic, and the horse she was mounted on looked desperately unhappy, his ears tightly pinned back against his head. Whitefoam splattered against his chest, and his eyes were bulging with effort.
Georgia watched Jemma cantering around the arena until she suddenly realised that pretty soon the chestnut was going to come past where she was standing. She tried to turn away but it was too late. As she was about to pass by, Jemma did a double-take.
“I know you, don’t I?” she hissed, pulling the chestnut hard in his mouth and bringing him to a standstill. “Where from?”
“I … I…” Georgia stuttered.
And then, clearly, it dawned on Jemma. “It’s you! You’re the girl who took Lily! You TOOK my pony!”
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
G eorgia didn’t know what to say. She stared at Jemma for a very long time before finally she managed to stammer, “Lily was injured – she nearly died. We had to get a vet to look at her, but we saved her and we’ve bought her now.”
“Bought her?” Jemma laughed, and the sound was cruel and mocking. “Oh, please,” she taunted. “You mean the paltry amount you gave mygrandfather? That wasn’t payment – that was practically a gift. As far as I’m concerned, she’s still mine and I want her back. And what I want I usually get…”
“You can’t take Lily from me. Not ever,” Georgia said firmly.
But Jemma seemed not to hear her. She pointed at the badge on Georgia’s chest, looking her up and down. “What’s this then?” she sneered.
“Groom?”
Georgia opened her mouth to speak, but just then a steward called for the competitors for the Welsh pony class.
Wheeling the chestnut around and digging her heels harshly into his ribs, Jemma cantered away in a cloud of dust, but not before she delivered her parting shot. “I’ll get that pony back, just you wait and see!”
Georgia’s heart felt like it was drumming in herears. She raced back along the dry ground to the lorry where she ran head first into Melanie, who was rolling up Wilson’s travelling bandages.
“What is it? Whatever’s the matter, Georgia?” Melanie asked, sounding worried. “Have we missed the class?”
“No, no it’s not that.” Georgia shook her head.
Pale and shaking, Georgia told her
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