Storms Over Blackpeak Read Online Free PDF

‘Did you sleep all right?’
    ‘Yes.’ Cally nodded. ‘Very well. Thank you.’
    ‘Have you had breakfast?’
    ‘No, really,’ she hedged, ‘I’m fine. I don’t usually eat breakfast.’
    Lizzie looked disapproving. Before she could say anything, Ash walked out of the pantry, a piece of toast in each hand.
    ‘Morning, all,’ he said, making a beeline for the porch door.
    ‘You heading out?’ Carr asked, his attention leaving Lizzie at last.
    ‘I’m just off down to the yards to work Windy.’
    ‘Take Cally with you,’ Carr ordered casually. ‘You can show her around.’
    Cally exchanged a look with Ash. Okay. Clearly, three was a crowd.
    ‘Come on.’ Raising his eyebrows, Ash grinned. ‘I’ll give you the tour. You haven’t lived till you’ve seen our woolshed.’
    Out in the porch, he pushed open a door. ‘Do you want to grab a pair of gumboots? What size do you take?’
    Oh, bloody hell. She stared at the array of weathered boots on the floor. They had a better selection than PGG Wrightson.
     
    Cally watched from the yard in front of the stables as Ash, having finally cornered his quivering horse, began to walk him down. The stallion’s eyes remained glued to Ash’s approach as he reached his head. Instead of clipping on the rope he had slung around his neck, Ash laid his palm on the horse’s forehead and spoke into his twitching ear, runninghis other hand over the neck and chest, every movement treacle-slow, as if he could calm the animal by osmosis. And maybe he could — as his hands moved over him, the horse dropped his head, relaxed his ears, and gave Ash a nudge as if to apologise for having been so much trouble.
    Ash reached into his jacket pocket. Cally saw him take a bag out and offer something to the horse. As the horse chewed, Ash clipped the rope to his halter and led him back to the yard, the stallion walking serenely at his side.
    ‘What did you give him?’ she asked, as Ash hitched the rope to the rail beside her.
    ‘Toast.’
    Toast? Cally smiled. ‘What does he have on it?’
    ‘Marmite,’ answered Ash, with perfect seriousness. ‘He loves the stuff.’
    Taking an old towel from the rail, he began to rub the horse down. Cally watched the huge head drop further.
    ‘Is he called Windy because he’s so fast?’ The stable paddock wasn’t large, but in his attempts to get away from Ash, the horse had shown an impressive turn of speed.
    ‘He can be pretty quick in the wrong direction, all right,’ Ash agreed. ‘But his full name is “Windscleugh Arabica Macchiato”. He’s an American Quarter Horse. We used to breed them here. Windscleugh was our stud.’
    ‘So, Windy for short?’
    ‘It should be “Mac”,’ frowned Ash, ducking under the horse’s neck to start on the other side. ‘But he’s a bit of a nervy guy. Spooks at nothing. Dad’s old shepherd christened him Windy, and I guess it just stuck.’
    Cally tried to exude an Ash-like calm as Windy’s muzzle moved along the length of her arm, sniffing exploratively. Concluding his investigation, the horse looked at her. Cautiously, she put out her hand.
    ‘Touch his neck,’ Ash said softly, ‘not his head.’
    She laid her hand gently against the horse’s black-coffee-coloured hide, admiring the lighter, sooty-silver dapple. With his long, enviably highlighted silver-blond mane and tail, Windy looked as though he’d just had a very expensive trip to the hairdresser’s.
    ‘He likes you,’ Ash said, sounding surprised, as Windy — perhaps reading her thoughts — stretched his neck for a closer look at Cally’s own lacklustre ponytail.
    ‘I like him.’ Forgetting Ash’s instructions, she stroked the side of Windy’s soft nose as he drew back and snuffed her hands. ‘I’m sure,’ she told him, ‘you’re really a very brave and sensible horse underneath.’
    ‘Yep. There’s one in there somewhere.’ Ash ran his hands down the horse’s black foreleg and picked up a hoof. ‘We’ve just