Christopher's Medal Read Online Free PDF

the lead rein. “Just enjoy the ride, Gracey.” With that final piece of advice, he rose in the stirrups and Grace watched him canter the horse down the track toward the gates.
    Christopher took her hand when she returned to the paddock. “Is everything all right?” he asked as they made their way to the rail.
    “Everything is just fine.” She smiled and leaned against him when he slid his arm around her waist. Sometimes, Billy came up with good advice.
    “Good.” His voice was a whisper when he kissed the top of her head.
    The colt finished mid-field, which came as no surprise to Grace. The owners, by the time she led their horse out of the paddock, were on their way back to the bar, assured that he would progress for the race. She was glad to get him loaded back into the box and the box back onto the M42 as clouds moving from the north swallowed the sun. She hoped she could beat the rain back to Newmarket.
    * * * *
    The first spots didn’t touch the windscreen until the box rolled into the yard.
    “Can I help with anything?” Christopher asked when Grace backed the colt out of the box.
    She nodded toward the traveling trunk. “Could you take that to the tack room?”
    “No problem.” He picked it up and followed her into the yard. Grace led the horse into the stable and tied him up. She was aware that Christopher watched her while she removed the traveling rug and bandages and as she ran her hands down the colt’s legs.
    “Why are you doing that?” Christopher leaned over the stable door.
    “I’m just checking for hot spots. All-weather tracks can put a bit of a strain on a horse’s legs. I just like to make sure there are no little injuries. If there’s heat in the leg that can mean trouble.”
    “Is there any?”
    “No, not that I can feel. Why don’t you give it a go?” She smiled at him.
    “Me?”
    “Yes…you.”
    The straw rustled and he squatted beside her. “What do I do now?”
    “Wrap your hand gently around the back of his leg, like this.” Grace curled her hand around the colt’s foreleg, just below the knee. “Just a light touch. It should feel cool. Cooler than you’d think for a warm-blooded animal.” The scent of his cologne drifted between them, his breath soft on her face.
    “Like this?” Christopher’s hand covered hers.
    Grace took a deep breath. “Yes, just like that.” His hand was warm, his touch gentle.
    “You’re trembling.” His voice was low, close to her ear.
    She was glad for the darkness of the stable. Her face was on fire.
    Bloody hell.
    “Gracey?” Her father’s voice echoed along the stable block. “Are you there?”
    Bugger.
    “We’re here, Dad.” Grace rose and Christopher scrambled to his feet, knocking straw from his jeans.
    Her father appeared in the doorway, grinning. He looked at Christopher and held out his hand. “Hello, you must be Christopher.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Grace watched her father while he took the measure of her companion, looking him up and down with the same appraising stare he used when looking at a new horse. “Well, son, it’s nice to meet you. The General has said good things about you.”
    “Thank you, Mr Webb.”
    “It’s Ed, just call me Ed.” He glanced at Grace. “How is he?”
    “There’s no heat in his legs. I think he’s all right.”
    “Good.” He patted the colt’s rump. “He’ll come on for the race.”
    Grace nodded. “The owners seemed happy enough.”
    “I expect they were half-cut as usual?”
    “More or less.”
    Her father glanced at his watch. “I expect you two will want to go off and get something to eat.”
    “That was the idea, Dad. I booked a table at the Rosery.”
    “Well, off you go then. I’ll take care of things here. Don’t keep the poor lad hanging around the stables when you could be off having fun.”
    “Thanks, Dad.” Grace kissed his cheek and slid out of the stable with Christopher following. He took her hand when they walked back to the house.
    “Do you