The Horse Thief Read Online Free PDF Page B

conducted tour of the entire stable block he walked to the first door and gave it a gentle push. It swung free, dangling crookedly on one hinge. All the doors could do with a fresh coat of paint. A distinct odour of poorly mucked-out stalls permeated the air. Not wanting to get young Fred in trouble by mentioning it he took a closer look.
    Once inside the smell intensified and Jim peered over the barrier to see Fred spreading fresh straw on top of the old. He leant over the half-door. ‘Hey, Fred.’
    The boy dropped the remaining straw and gave it a quick kick before looking up. ‘Yep?’
    â€˜Fancy a ride on Jefferson this afternoon?’
    The boy’s eyes grew round and his face flushed. ‘Do I ever!’
    â€˜I think we can arrange that. Let me know when all the stables and yards are spic and span and I’ll see what I can organise.’
    Fred took off as though the bunyip from hell was after him, grabbed a rake and started removing the urine-soaked straw.
    Jim winked at India when she appeared beside him. Her lips pursed and she stepped closer to him. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ she whispered.
    A cloud of something far more enticing than the soaked straw wafted in the breeze. It reminded him of newly slashed grass and spring flowers. ‘Probably because I know what lies closest to a boy’s heart, especially a boy who thinks he’s cut out to be a jockey.’
    â€˜He might make a jockey one day. He has the build for it.’ She turned, her hair flaring behind her and catching the light. ‘We have eight stalls here. Four and four.’ She nodded her head into the shadowy interior.
    Jim swallowed, his throat dry as he controlled the impulse to reach out. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair as she’d done to Jefferson’s mane.
    â€˜And down there is the tack room and the old office.’
    The word ‘office’ brought him crashing back to his purpose. Old office. Of course, how could he have forgotten? He willed his memory into sharper focus. Running through the darkness. Throwing the door open. Seeing his father sitting, pencil tucked behind his ear, poring over the large leather-bound book. The studbook .
    Clenching his fists against the thrill of anticipation coursing through him he quickened his pace. She led him around the corner and into a cool shadowed passageway running the length of the stable block.
    â€˜There’s nothing to see really, just a lot of old tack and …’
    The door sported a small enamelled plate that read ‘Stud Master’. He flung the door open and his heart sank. An assortment of trunks and old furniture filled the room. A broken mirror leant against one wall reflecting an old cedar table, home to a series of wicker baskets, all stuffed full of discarded knick-knacks. A large wooden bucket, a broken lampshade, a bedhead, some faded cushions and folded curtains lay in a pile against one wall.
    India mistook his sigh for disapproval. ‘I know it’s a bit of a mess. We just use it for storage now.’ Her voice carried a hint of apology.
    â€˜You don’t have an office anymore?’
    From the pinched expression on her face she’d taken his words as criticism. ‘Yes, of course. When Papa took over management of the stud he moved everything to the library, in the house.’
    Jim muttered a curse under his breath. So close and such a disappointment. He’d imagined walking into his father’s office and finding all his paperwork filed away with the neatness and precision he’d always demanded. The disappointment made his shoulders slump.
    â€˜I have to admit I have been a little less than diligent with the paperwork since I returned home. It’s one of the jobs I intend to deal with now you’re here. I will have more time if I don’t have to chase up Fred and worry about the horses.’
    Given the perfect opportunity Jim took it. ‘In