Free Nightstorm and the Grand Slam by Stacy Gregg

in a matter of minutes.
    Issie, Avery, Francoise and Stella stood around watching in silence as the vet examined Nightstorm, who still wasn’t keen on letting anyone touch the injured leg.
    â€œIs it serious?” Issie asked.
    â€œIt looks like he might have damaged a tendon,” David White said. “But I can’t examine it with him moving around. I’ll need to bring him into the clinic so that I can sedate him and clean and stitch the wound.”
    The trip to the vet was awful. Issie stayed in the back of the truck with Nightstorm, making sure that he didn’t aggravate his injury. As she stood there stroking the stallion’s muzzle and whispering to him softly, she kept going back over the events that had just happened. She should never have left the stallion in his box! If she could go back in time, she would. But the damage was done. It seemed incredible that on Sunday she had been looking to the future withtwo world-class eventers in her stables ready to ride at Burghley, and now, on Monday evening – she had none.
    In the waiting room at the vet’s clinic she paced the floor anxiously, unable to bring herself to sit down while David White and his team examined the horse.
    The next half-hour seemed like an eternity and Issie was just about to barge her way into the operating theatre when David emerged through the surgery doors with good news.
    â€œThe tendon is lacerated but it’s going to heal,” he told her. “I’ve put four stitches in the leg near the hock and dressed the wound. You’ll need to keep him on antibiotics to avoid infection – and he’s on box rest for at least a month.”
    Issie was distraught. “But he’ll make a full recovery after that?”
    The vet nodded. “There’s no reason why not. The tendon is still intact. But you’ll have to bring him back into work slowly.”
    â€œHe’s due to compete at Burghley in August.”
    â€œAh.” The vet frowned. “Well, that will be touch and go. He might be well enough by then, or he might not.I can’t make you any promises at this stage, we’ll have to see how he goes.”
    Back at The Laurels late that evening, Nightstorm was put back in the loose box. This time, however, he had another horse in the stall next door for company and he also had a makeshift grille of wooden bars blockading him in which Avery had hastily hammered into place.
    â€œIt’s ironic,” Stella said to Issie as they prepared his feed, “Storm tried to jump out of his box because he didn’t want to be stuck in there – and now he’s stuck in there for a whole month!”
    â€œI don’t think horses understand irony, Stella,” Issie said.
    â€œNeither do I really,” Stella sighed. “But I’m pretty sure this qualifies.”

    That month was the very worst of times at The Laurels. Nightstorm hated being on box rest. The bay stallion was so fit and full of energy that he couldn’t stand to be kept still all day and night and he didn’t seem toaccept that he was injured. He was in a sour, dejected mood and Issie would come away from her visits to his box feeling utterly miserable to see him in such a depressed state.
    Issie returned to the house one morning after giving Nightstorm his breakfast and found Stella, Avery and Francoise at the kitchen table crowded around the morning paper laid out in front of them.
    â€œOhmygod!” Stella was saying. “I don’t believe it!”
    â€œWhat is it?” Issie asked innocently.
    The others all turned around, startled.
    â€œIt’s nothing!” Stella said hastily, trying to sneakily turn the page. “The usual rubbish. Nothing to see…”
    â€œStella?” Issie frowned. “Let me see the paper.”
    Stella shook her head. “Honestly, you don’t need to read it, Issie,” she insisted.
    â€œStella! Stop acting weird and