by Marcia Lynn McClure (Author)

Briney heard the jingle of spurs approaching but couldn't seem to tear her attention away from the friendly horse nuzzling her arm. It wasn't until the person drew nearer to her and spoke that every hair on the top of her head tingled-that every inch of her flesh broke into goose bumps. "Mornin' there, ma'am," the rich, smooth voice greeted, the same voice that had lulled Briney to sleep on several occasions since Mrs. Fletcher's death. "I hear you've come lookin' to buy a horse."

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