Free Victory and the All-Stars Academy by Stacy Gregg Page A

course that fits like a jigsaw into a tiny space.”
    â€œWe’re not talking about normal cross-country,” Avery pointed out. “It’s nothing like the rambling courses that you’ve ridden in the past. The fences will be similar to the ones that you’ll encounter in your practice sessions here at Havenfields, but on the day of the event you’ll ride a very condensed version of a cross-country course. The showjumps are built in the centre of the arena and the cross-country jumps are built in a circuit around them. You’ll finish your showjumping round and ride straight out of the ring into the pit stop. Then you make a quick change into your cross-country gear and then head off again on the cross-country course.”
    â€œWhat do you mean by ‘pit stop’?”
    â€œYou know, like racing cars do when they change their tyres. You’ll be changing out of your showjumping jacket and getting into your back protector, gloves and helmet. The clock starts when you begin your showjumping round and it doesn’t stop—not even during your quick change—until you ridethrough the last flags at the end of the cross-country. All eight riders from each team will ride the course, but only the best four scores will count,” Avery went on. “The lowest score wins, so we’ll be looking for the least possible time faults and the strongest dressage marks.”
    â€œThe dressage is different for Express Eventing as well,” Tara added. “You must perform a kur —a freestyle test that you have designed yourself, choreographed to music.”
    â€œForget the dressage. These events are usually won or lost on the cross-country course,” said Ryan Stewart dismissively, then added hastily, “Don’t tell Minka I said that. She hates it when I talk about the dressage phase as if it doesn’t matter.”
    â€œYou always talk about dressage as if it is not important,” a cold voice behind him snapped.
    Ryan turned to face the petite woman standing behind him. The woman was tiny, not much taller than Issie, fine-boned and delicate, with a square jawline and pale blue eyes. Her blonde hair was held back in a ponytail under a baseball cap and she wore a navy polo shirt tucked into her jodhpurs. She squaredup to the enormous Australian and spoke once more in a terse, clipped German accent.
    â€œYou are like all Australians. All you care about is the jumping and the galloping, never the refinement, never the true art of the rider. Your dressage was useless before you met me! Useless! You have me to thank for that silver Olympic medal that you won.”
    Ryan smiled sweetly at the birdlike blonde as she chastised him. Then he reached out one of his enormous arms and gave her a hug and she leant against him, laughing.
    Ryan turned back to Avery and Tara. “Tom and Tara,” he said, “I believe you’ve already met my lovely and very opinionated wife, Minka Klein.”
    The dressage trainer may have been a tiny woman, but every movement of her body was so full of energy, she was like a coiled spring. As she walked across the arena with Avery before the lesson, Minka gesticulated wildly the whole way, punctuating her sentences with her hands, slicing through the air as she spoke.
    â€œNo lightness!” she said to Avery in her brisk German accent. “The modern riders are too heavy with their hands. They hold the horse like a pressure cooker. There must be release as well as pressure!”
    Avery was nodding sagely as Minka talked nonstop. His cheesecutter cap, which he always wore to hold back his curly brown hair, was pushed low over his forehead and he adjusted it back before he spoke to the assembled riders.
    â€œMany of the Australian squad will have ridden with Minka before,” he said, “but for those of you who don’t know her, let me give you a bit of background. Minka Klein was formerly a rider with the